There was still one thing that needed to be discussed before they left their cellar refuge, however. Singe turned around to face Ashi. The hunter had slipped through the goblin-sized door with lithe ease without saying anything. In fact, she’d barely spoken at all during their flight through the sewers. Now she crouched beside the door, a haunted look on her dragonmark patterned face, her mouth pressed closed so tightly the flesh was pale around the bone hoops that pierced her lower lip. Singe squatted down in front of her.
“You’re thinking of Moon, aren’t you?” he said.
The hunter’s eyes flicked up and focused on him. After a moment, she nodded and her lips parted. “I left him behind, Singe. I was supposed to watch over him and I left him behind. Vennet and Biish came over the wall and onto the terrace so suddenly all I could do was defend myself. I had to choose between protecting Moon and trying to warn you.”
Singe spread his hands, sending light and shadows dancing around the room. “I think you made the right choice. If you’d tried to carry Moon with you, you would have been fighting with a dead weight over your shoulder. If you’d tried to stay, either Vennet or Biish would probably have slipped past you and come after us.”
“But they came anyway. Now Moon is probably either dead or Dah’mir’s prisoner.” Ashi looked down at her sword, held across her hands-the bright honor blade of the Sentinel Marshals, a relic of the grandfather who had fallen prey to Dah’mir and the Bonetree clan. “I carry the Siberys Mark of Sentinel,” she said. “I should have stayed. I should have defended him.”
“No,” Singe said firmly. “You shouldn’t have. You couldn’t have. You need to be realistic, Ashi. Think-House Deneith doesn’t defend everyone. The lords of Deneith know it’s impossible.”
A harsh look crossed Ashi’s face. “The lords of Deneith sell their protection.”
Singe grimaced. “Not all of them. You still have a lot to learn about Deneith. For every heir of Deneith like Mithas, there’s someone good, someone who thinks of others before they think of themselves. Someone who does try to defend other people when they can.”
“Someone like Robrand used to be?”
That stung. Singe bit his tongue-and nodded reluctantly. “Like Robrand used to be.” He sighed. “Ashi, what I’m saying is that you can’t blame yourself for everyone that falls. It’s just not possible. You have to look at the greater good. If you’d tried to defend Moon, what would have happened to Dandra and I?”
“You could have defended yourselves.”
“All right then, what would have happened to you? And if you died, what would have happened to Dandra?”
Her only answer was to press her lips tight together again. Singe reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll learn, Ashi. Having that kind of responsibility isn’t easy. You don’t have to forget about Moon, but you have to face that there’s nothing you can do for him now. There are kalashtar up in Fan Adar who are going to be in a lot of trouble very soon. You can’t help them if you’re caught up on one person you couldn’t defend.” He squeezed her shoulder then stood up. “You have to let him go for now.”
Ashi looked up at him, her eyes intense. “This is the second time you’ve talked me into your point of view, Singe. The first time, you convinced me of Dah’mir’s evil and showed me I had the strength to turn my back on the Bonetree clan. I’m starting to think that it’s not your spells or your sword that make you dangerous.” She smiled wryly and stood. “Let’s make sure I didn’t leave Moon behind for nothing.”
She moved past him and went to stand under the trapdoor in the ceiling, stretching up her arms to test its strength. Dandra stepped in to Singe’s side. “You can make a persuasive argument when you want to.”
He shrugged. “My mother wanted me to be a wine trader. My professors at Wynarn University told me I could have become a lecturer.”
“I can’t see you as a wine trader or a lecturer.”
“Neither can I.” Singe smiled. “On the other hand, wine traders and lecturers don’t generally have to worry about dragons.”
The building into which the sewer door opened was very nearly a ruin. The few goblins that Singe spotted as they made their way out to the street stayed far back in the shadows, keeping wary eyes on the intruders from below. A few drew back even further as they saw the dragonmark on Ashi’s face. The hunter’s scarf was long gone and there didn’t seem to be much point in trying to conceal the mark now. She left it exposed, and if respect for or fear of the mark sped their passage even a little, thought Singe, so much the better.
He caught more than one of the goblins covering their noses. If the little creatures found the smell bad, the stink of the sewers that clung to them must have been truly foul. Before they passed out into the street, he cast a simple cantrip that stripped the filth and stench from their clothes. It was disconcerting to cast the magic-there was every chance they would be facing Biish’s gang as well as Dah’mir and Vennet very soon, and he wanted every possible spell at his disposal for the fight-but they didn’t need to attract any more attention than they had to on their way out of Malleon’s Gate. Any delay could cost them on the race back to Overlook.
The delay that waited for them at the nearest lift, however, couldn’t have been avoided no matter how good they smelled. In fact, smelling really bad might have helped them more. Singe stopped on the edge of the festive crowd that plugged the street before the lift and cursed, remembering what they had seen on their ride down to Malleon’s Gate. “Thronehold! Bloody Thronehold! Everyone’s trying to get to the upper city to see the display!”
Mention of the celebration brought a cheer from the nearest celebrants and tankards and wineskins were raised in a drunken toast. Natrac leaned closer to Singe and shouted above the noise. “Biish probably chose tonight for the raid deliberately! The upperr city will be so chaotic that the Sharn Watch won’t be able to respond quickly to the raid.”
“Won’t that make it more difficult for him to find his targets in Fan Adar?” asked Ashi.
Dandra scowled. “No. Remember how few banners there were in Fan Adar? The kalashtar don’t pay much attention to Thronehold. Fan Adar will probably be the quietest neighborhood in the upper city tonight.” She looked at Singe. “I’d bet choosing the night of Thronehold for the raid was Dah’mir’s plan more than it was Biish’s.”
“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Singe said. He stared at the crowd. Goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, some half-orcs, and even a few mangy-looking shifters were packed into the street almost ten ranks deep. It would take at least two runs of the lift to clear them, and more people were arriving all the time. Trying to force their way through the crowd would be bad idea-he saw a hobgoblin try to wade forward only to be met with outraged curses and a flurry of blows that sent him staggering back. There didn’t seem to be much point in trying another lift. He suspected that every lift in the district, probably every lift in Sharn, was jammed with crowds.
The crowds might slow Biish’s people too, but if Biish-or more likely Dah’mir as Dandra had suggested-had planned the raid around Thronehold, he’d likely have planned for the crowds as well. He spun around, eyes raking the streets, searching for inspiration. There had to be a way to get to the upper city quickly …
His gaze settled on a large skycoach as it passed overhead, draped with the colorful banners of Thronehold and stuffed full with goblin revelers. It was old, worn, and flew with all the grace of a wounded dragonhawk, but it was flying. Dandra looked up as well. She must have guessed what he was thinking because she smiled grimly. “There were other skycoaches earlier,” she said. “Smaller ones. Faster ones.”
“That’s what we need.” There were a few more skycoaches in the air, all heading toward the gaps that gave way to open sky. They had to find one on the ground-if there were any left. He turned to Natrac. “Where do you think we’d find a skycoach?”