He realized he had no idea of his direction. He’d turned and dodged so often that, ridiculously, the handful of interconnecting rooms now felt like a maze. Clamping down on a surge of panic, he glanced around and spied a window.
He blew the shutters to splinters with a blast of sound, then ran toward the opening. Shrouded in mist and bitter cold, a white abishai lunged at him. He stabbed it in the eye with his spear, jerked the weapon free, and leaped through the opening-into the street where Jet had set him down.
No help was in sight, and he realized he shouldn’t have expected any. He’d only been inside for a little while, even if it had felt like all night to him.
He took a breath and aimed his spear at the abishais springing and clambering out after him. Come on, then, he thought.
Gaedynn loosed his last arrow, dropped his bow, pulled his scimitar out of the ground, and lunged from the thicket. He closed to striking distance before the shadar-kai he’d shot finished falling down.
He cut the second one across the kidney. By then the remaining two had their chains whirling. He jumped back, and the ends of the weapons streaked past him. He instantly stepped in and sliced into the torso of yet another silent, scar-faced opponent.
He looked for the last one and couldn’t find him. Pain smashed through his ankle, and then something yanked his leg out from under him. As he slammed down on his belly, he realized the last shadar-kai had shifted behind him and caught his leg with his chain.
Gaedynn heaved himself over onto his back and slashed. The shadar-kai was diving down at him with a wavy-edged dagger in his hand, and the scimitar sheared through his throat. Blood gushing from the wound, he fell on top of Gaedynn, shuddered, and then lay still.
Gasping, his ankle throbbing, soaked in gore, Gaedynn rolled the corpse away, rid himself of the chain, and crawled to the shadar-kai he’d shot. He relieved that body of a full quiver of the black arrows.
It was actually rather ridiculous how glad he was to have them. He was still ill from the poisonous gaze of the faceless men. If anything, fatigue was making the sickness steadily worse. Most likely, thanks to the stroke of the chain, he’d be limping from now on.
His flight had taken him to a patch of relatively low ground where flickers of shadow told him his pursuers were on the wooded slopes and ridges to every side. Despite his best efforts they’d somehow managed to surround him, and now they were going to converge on him.
And there was still no sign of a rescue in the offing. Taken all together, it meant that unless Lady Luck truly loved him today, the arrows could only extend his life for a little longer and make the shadar-kai pay more dearly for the honor of snuffing it out.
Still, that was better than nothing. It just might mean the mad gamble would pay off-for Jhesrhi anyway-and in any case, better to go down drawing a bow than swinging a blade. That way, Keen-Eye would know to welcome his spirit into his camp.
Just to make sure the enemy stayed eager, he flicked the living flame out of his hand and into visible existence. “If you can fight,” he told her, “this would be a perfect time to show me.”
He wasn’t certain, but he thought her glowing, fluid features smiled derisively.
As Jhesrhi backed up, she told herself, I don’t have to cringe and run. I can kill this brute. My magic is stronger than any kenkuni’s ever was.
Her staff too implored her to stand her ground. It promised that if she only unleashed its power, she could incinerate any foe.
Still, she kept retreating. Leering, the giant came after her in a leisurely manner, evidently so unimpressed with her that he didn’t see any urgency about closing the distance.
She realized he hadn’t even bothered to draw the enormous sword strapped across his back. Perhaps he didn’t even mean to kill her. Maybe he planned to keep her, put his collar on her neck, touch her in all the dread, unbearable ways.
So fight! Don’t let him! But instead, she merely gasped and whimpered.
He waved his massive, dirt-colored hand. A tremor ran through the ground and tossed her off her feet. Then suddenly he ran, and before she could even scramble up, he was looming over her. He bent down.
I’m sorry, Gaedynn, she thought. I tried. She imagined the archer fleeing and fighting in the dark.
And somehow that-or that combined with the urgings of the staff and all the things she’d already tried to tell herself-brought her to the tipping point.
She’d tried? And that was how it ended? That was all she had to offer one of the only true friends she’d ever had? Rage and hatred welled up in her like lava, burning her panic away, excoriating the elemental mage and herself in equal measure.
But the torrent of flame that leaped from the staff only targeted the giant. It caught him square in the face and hurled him backward.
When he caught his balance, she saw that the attack hadn’t seared his body exactly as it would char human flesh. But it had plainly hurt him. Parts of him looked hard, discolored, and cracked, like badly made pottery.
He bellowed and stamped his foot.
She disregarded the staff’s yearning for fire and reestablished her connection to the earth. When the shock reached her, it simply lifted her and set her back down. It didn’t even stagger her, let alone snap her neck or jolt her limbs out of their sockets.
The giant snarled, and bits of his contorted features broke loose. She laughed at him.
He pulled his sword from his scabbard and charged. She spoke to the wind, and it carried her upward, her magic in a race with his long legs and reach.
A close race-he leaped as high as he could, swung the sword in an overhand cut, and it whistled by just a finger length under her feet.
But after that, there was nothing more to fear. Hovering above him, she hurled down gout after gout of flame. While he staggered around and screamed, and his body broke and broke again.
By the Nine Dark Princes, it felt good! So good that when it was over, a part of her just wanted to keep raining fire on the shards of the corpse.
But she had a job to finish. So she struggled to control her ragged breathing and put her thoughts in order. Then she asked the wind to carry her to the prisoner.
Despite his shackles and extreme emaciation, he was still a colossal red dragon, and she floated down in front of him with a pang of trepidation. But all he did was study her with his smoldering golden eyes.
“Are you Tchazzar?” she asked.
“You see that I am,” he answered. His voice was more of a wheeze than either a rumble or a hiss, like it strained him just to talk.
“People say you were a great wizard.”
Despite his debility, his eyes burned brighter, and she found herself taking a step back. “I’m a god!” he said.
“I beg your pardon for misspeaking,” she said, holding her voice steady. “But my point is this. If I set you free and restore your strength, can you take my comrade and me back to the mortal world?”
“I’d do so gladly,” Tchazzar said, “if you could truly keep your end of the bargain.”
“I believe I can. You’ve seen I have an affinity for fire, and that’s the essence of life to you. I’m going to pour it into your blood and sinews.”
Tchazzar hesitated like she’d surprised him. “That might actually work, assuming you can channel a prodigious quantity without losing control. If you’re willing to try, you’d better get started.”
“Before the shadar-kai come back?”
“Before Sseelrigoth-the blight dragon-himself arrives. It’s our good fortune that he can’t actually live here, lest he drain the life from his subjects. But I’m sure that by now, he’s sensed all the commotion and is on his way.”