“This is a war, Twice-Born,” Idar cut in. “There might not be any armies on the field, but that doesn’t change things. The Lightbringer is the enemy.”
Cathan shook his head stubbornly. “None of you will ever get close enough to take him,” he said. “He won’t get close enough to any of you, to-oh, Palado Calib.” He stopped, staring at them, understanding dawning in his mind.
“No,” said Idar, a wicked smile curling his lips. “We won’t.”
Wentha turned away, the pain on his face too much for her to bear. He wanted to grab her and shake her, to shove her aside and leave them all behind and go somewhere far away. But he knew Idar’s men wouldn’t let him. He’d get three paces, and they’d riddle him with crossbow bolts. They might do it anyway, if he showed reluctance to go along with their plans.
Cathan couldn’t remember feeling so weary. He’d spent half his life trying to stop fanatical men like this. “I won’t answer you now,” he said. “I need time.” The ruffians grumbled, looking at one another.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Idar said. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, resting there easily. “I can’t let you go back to the Lightbringer if there’s a chance you won’t help us.”
Cathan shrugged. “There is a chance I won’t help you. Would you rather I lied and told you otherwise?”
Gabbro growled, his ugly face twisting. Idar rested his free hand on the dwarfs shoulder, a grin curling his lips, “Well put, Twice-Born,” he said. “Right, then… you’ll have your time to think it over. But know this-if you give us away, and the Hammer comes after us, they’ll take some of us alive, for questioning. And they’ll find out about your beloved Blossom, here. She’ll go down with the rest of us, and get sold in a market like the one up there.”
Rath’s face darkened, and he growled low, his saber sliding two inches out of its sheath before Tancred caught his arm, shaking his head. He shoved back, and the two brothers struggled with each other until Wentha glared at them.
“Stop it, both of you.” She looked back at Cathan, then at Idar. “You needn’t make threats like that. I knew the danger when I first started working with your fellows in Lattakay. I tell you, my brother won’t betray you.”
“He must do better than that,” Gabbro grumbled. “If he doesn’t help us-”
The sound of running feet cut him off. The ruffians turned toward the source of the noise, echoing down the hall. Crossbows came up, blades came out. Idar drew his own sword and waited; so did Rath. Cathan grabbed his sister and pushed her behind him, jerking his head to tell Tancred to follow her.
The footsteps grew steadily louder, making a frantic cadence, now joined by the sound of labored breathing. All at once a young lad-he couldn’t have been more than thirteen summers old, and pale enough that he mightn’t have seen the sun in all that time-came pelting around the corner, then slid to a stop with a cry at the sight of so much steel pointed at him. He made a strangled noise.
“Branchala’s balls, Larl!” Idar swore. “You just about got about a half-dozen new holes in you!”
The boy, Larl, was panting hard, and couldn’t answer at first. He stared at Cathan, the familiar look of shock and recognition on his face. The boy had grown up on tales of the Twice-Born, a figure who had vanished from the world well before he was born. When Cathan turned his unmistakable eyes on him, though, he was forced to quickly look away.
“What is it, damn you?” Idar insisted.
Larl shrank back. “It’s them,” he said. “The Hammer. They’re out in the streets, looking… and they got something with ‘em.”
Idar’s mouth became a tense line. “What kind of something?”
“Hound of some sort,” said the boy, who had to be a lookout. “But no kind of dog I ever seen before. It’s big and silver, and looks like someone made it out of… water, or something.” Idar let out a scoffing laugh. “Let them use as many dogs as they want,” he said. “We’re safe down here. The Hammer haven’t found these holes yet, and they’re not going to now.”
“Don’t be so sure,” said Tancred. His face was white.
Cathan had to agree. “That creature with them is probably something of Beldinas’s. Who’s to say what it can’t do?”
Gabbro spat something in Dwarvish. It was, evidently, a fine language for cursing. Idar thought quickly, signaling to his men to disperse. “Alert the others,” he said. “Those knights come down here, we’ll give ‘em an Abyssal fight.”
“It’s us they’re looking for,” Wentha said, as the ruffians hurried to obey. “We’ve been missed. Get us back to the surface quickly, and they don’t need to find out about you.”
Idar didn’t like it-he gave Cathan a long, uncertain look- but he managed a nod. “You’re right,” he said, sighing.
“We’ll need a story,” Rath said. “They’ll want to know why we’re out in the city at this hour.”
“I’ve already thought of that,” Cathan said. He turned to Idar. “Do you have any wineskins down here?”
The baying of the yethu hurt Tithian’s ears. The sound it made was like no animal he’d ever heard before, though when he shut his eyes he could nearly imagine it as some sort of cross between an eagle and one of the great whales the mad captains of Seldjuk hunted for oil. There was something else about it, too-something that sounded like the lowest string on the world’s largest dulcimer, hammered by someone with an ogre’s strength. Every whooping shriek loosened his bowels and shook the bones within his flesh. He hoped the beast would find the MarSevrins soon, if only to end the racket.
It loped on ahead of him and the other knights, its paws leaving glistening puddle-prints on the cobbles. Its hide-or surface, or whatever one called it-rippled and eddied as it moved fast, stopping to wait for its two-legged companions whenever it got more than a few blocks ahead, and then letting out another one of its ear-shredding cries. Its eyes glowed like lanterns as it turned to stare at the knights, waiting impatiently for them to catch up.
They’d crossed half the city already, the yethu making an ungodly clamor the whole way. The windows of the buildings they passed glowed with light as men and women, roused from sleep, looked out to see what in the Abyss was going on; the curses on their lips evaporated … they withdrew, wide-eyed, when they saw the men of the Hammer running down the street, following the strange hound. Stray dogs fled before them, and feral cats yowled and sprang for shelter. Still there was no sign of Cathan or his kin. If the animal was following their spoor, it was something it alone could sense. After a while Tithian had to admit he was well and thoroughly lost. If the yethu left him too far behind, he would have more than a little trouble finding his way back to Dejal’s palace.
“Where’s this thing leading us?” asked Sir Xenos. He was breathing hard, his jowly face slick with sweat-a man who had spent too much time in the feast-hall and not enough in the sparring yard. “I thought it was supposed to be a good tracker.”
Tithian shot him a glare, but said nothing. He’d been wondering the same thing, only a moment before, but he would never admit it. The Grand Marshal didn’t question the Kingpriest’s wisdom-at least, not in front of his men.
The yethu bounded around a corner, then stopped, another skirl ringing off the surrounding buildings. When Tithian and the others joined the creature, they found it had stopped at a portcullis of snow-wood, inlaid with twining veins of silver. The church’s triangular symbol hung upon it, above a pair of manacles. Tithian skidded to a halt, staring at the gate, the cages visible through its bars.
A grimace creased his face. He had never approved of slavery, though he’d agreed at the time that the Kingpriest’s arguments in its favor made sense. He’d tried to keep away from the markets, wherever possible. He went to the arena at the Lordcity only when protocol demanded it, which was mercifully seldom. He’d forbidden anyone in the knighthood from owning another man. And yet the Divine Hammer still took a part in the sad business: They arrested hundreds of new blasphemers, idolaters, and heretics every month, at the behest of the Araifas. Most of these ended up on the block, to become gladiators or servants or laborers. Some would repent, and join the church, as the law provided, but most remained slaves the rest of their lives.