The crossbowman pulled the trigger. Aeron twisted aside, and the quarrel just missed him. Half a dozen of the ranger's fellow wayfarers glided toward him, fanning out to flank him as they came.
Then two of them swayed and crumpled to the ground. Aeron surmised that Dal had surreptitiously thrown a spell of slumber. But why had the magic only affected a pair of them? Apparently they were seasoned warriors, strong in spirit, or else they carried talismans of protection. Either way, it was discouraging.
Aeron still had nowhere to run. He gave ground, trying to keep skittish goats, horses, and pack mules, all thoroughly spooked by the keening saddlebag, between himself and his pursuers. Meanwhile, he prayed for more magical assistance, a brilliant plan, or something that could extricate him from his fix, and he snatched a long, heavy, single-edged "Arthyn fang" from its sheath.
His prize finally stopped screaming, though his ears still rang from the clamor it had raised. The green light died, too, but it didn't matter. Fighting, even if it was just a punch and a kick, had ended his invisibility. That was the way the cursed potion worked. Why, only mages knew.
An instant later, he discerned that he'd run out of animals to interpose between his pursuers and himself, which meant it no longer mattered that he didn't like slicing and stabbing people. There was nothing to do but crouch and await the assault. He took a deep, slow breath to steady himself. Some of the Paer's servants and patrons shouted encouragement to his foes.
The outlander in the lead swung his sword in a vicious head cut. Aeron twisted aside and sprang forward in a single motion, bringing himself so far inside his opponent's reach that the long blade ceased to be a threat. The range, however, was exactly right for a knife, and he sent the traveler reeling backward with a slashed belly.
That was one man out of the fight, but Aeron had to keep moving, spinning, dodging, for if he faltered for even a heartbeat, one of the other three would kill him for certain. Most likely they would anyway, but at least he'd make them work for it. Glimpsing movement at the corner of his vision, he pivoted and snapped the knife across his torso in a lateral parry. Fortunately, the Arthyn fang was heavy enough to brush aside even the thrust of a spear.
But for all its virtues, it couldn't block out two attacks at the same time, and when he saw a bushy-bearded guard in scale armor hacking at him, he felt a surge of terror. Remarkably, though, the stroke wobbled and flew wide, and the warrior collapsed. Kerridi had buried a falchion in his back. Gavath came running up behind her with his own fighting knife in hand.
Aeron was pleasantly surprised at their recklessness, and Dal's, too, come to that, though the latter was still doing his level best to make sure no one noticed he was the one casting spells, relying on magic that didn't burn any sort of trail on the air. Up until that point, no one had known they were Aeron's accomplices. They could have allowed him to fight and die alone, and had a good chance of stealing away unhindered, but evidently they were too fond of him to abandon him. Or else they were hungry enough for the payment Kesk had promised that they were willing to take a considerable risk to get it. Either way, Aeron was grateful for their aid.
The spearman started to pull his lance back for another jab. Aeron cut him across the face, then kicked him in the knee. Bone crunched, and the guard fell.
Aeron whirled to fight alongside his partners. Armed men rushed in at them, too many, but then three of them staggered and tripped as though sick or blind, victims of Dal's wizardry.
Aeron, Kerridi, and Gavath stood fast against the foes who did reach them. Steel flashed and rang, the thieves hurled the next wave of guards back, and for an instant, Aeron dared to hope that somehow they might all escape. Then, across the courtyard, the willowy scout dragged herself to her feet.
She lifted her fingers to her lips and gave a piercing whistle, and even though it was wide eyed with terror, the sorrel mare heeded the call. The steed trotted to her, and she snatched her yew bow from the saddle.
Aeron was sure that meant trouble, but another guard lunged at him, and that kept him from even trying to do anything about it. As he and his opponent shifted and feinted, he saw the ranger whip an arrow from her quiver, then stumble. Dal, bless him, had evidently assailed her with a spell.
Unfortunately, she didn't fall down. Shaking off the effect of the magic, she caught her balance and pivoted in the wizard's direction. Despite his efforts at stealth, she'd discerned he was the source of the unseen attacks that kept hindering her allies.
Dal babbled and slashed his hands through a mystic pattern, not caring who saw anymore, just trying to throw the next spell quickly. Even so, he was too slow. The woman in green nocked her arrow, pulled the gray goose-feather fletching to her ear, and let fly. The shaft slammed into Dal's chest. He blinked as if puzzled, and his knees buckled, dumping him down in the dirt.
Aeron felt shocked. Astonished. He'd seen plenty of men die violent deaths. Indeed, Oeble yielded such a steady crop of slaughtered corpses that the Faceless Master, ruler of the city, employed the freakish "gnarlbones" Hulm Draeridge to drive the Dead Cart through the streets every morning and collect them. But that was Dal!
Perhaps sensing Aeron's horror, his current opponent cut viciously at his flank. Fortunately, the thief's reflexes sufficed to twitch back out of range. Then, before the swordsman could swing his weapon back into position for another chop, Aeron sprang in and stabbed him. The warrior fell.
Aeron peered around. More guards were charging toward the outlaws, or rushing out of the Paeraddyn's market to see what the fuss was about. The ranger strode through the milling horses and goats, plainly seeking a clear shot at the remaining thieves. A gash bisected Gavath's bald spot, and blood stained his face and ridiculous puffed doublet.
Aeron realized he and his comrades had no hope of escape, not without Dal's magic to aid them or a clever idea presenting itself in the next couple of heartbeats. He cast about once more, and finally, it came to him.
The sandstone walls enclosing the compound were high, but not impregnable-citadel high, only about twenty feet. Assuming a man could make it to the top, he might have a chance of surviving a jump.
"Come on!" he shouted.
He and his partners fell back, defending themselves as they retreated. They reached the patch of cool shadow at the foot of the wall, flung their current assailants back, and Aeron led them scrambling up a flight of stairs. Gavath was in the middle, and Kerridi brought up the rear.
Unfortunately, their frantic ascent gave all the bowmen clear shots at them.
"Surrender!" the guide shouted.
Had she been talking to some other scoundrel, Aeron might have laughed. Perhaps, since she was an outlander, she truly believed that a man in his situation might improve his circumstances by giving up, but he knew the sort of unpleasantness awaiting any prisoner who'd tried to commit a robbery in the Paer, particularly if he'd carved up a guard or two in the process. A quick demise was much to be preferred.
Crossbows clacked almost before she finished speaking. It was hard to dodge on the narrow steps, but Aeron flung himself down, and luck was with him. No shaft touched him, though they smashed into the stonework all around.
"Oh, sheltering shadows of Mask," Gavath whimpered.
Aeron looked back. The small man had a quarrel and one of the scout's gray-fletched arrows protruding from his torso. His throat rattled, and he slumped motionless.
"Keep moving!" Kerridi snapped.
She reared up as if she didn't realize she had a crossbow bolt sticking in her too, then swayed, fell over backward, and tumbled down the stairs, knocking into the pursuers who'd started up after her.
Aeron sprinted on. There was nothing else to do. For the next few seconds, he had little to fear from the cross-bowmen who'd just discharged their weapons. It took them some time to cock and load. The scout, however, was a different matter. She was already pulling back her bow.