Raika and Hume went out next, keeping the Kagonesti in view. Nils, Wilf, and Sir Howland went next, followed by Khorr, Carver, and Caeta. Finally came Malek. He put the last of their paltry valuables, a rough nugget of garnet, on the stall for the landlord to find. That done, he soundlessly swung the door shut.
The town was strangely quiet. The usual bustle and chaos was absent this morning. Practically everyone in town had passed the night hunting for Amergin, and most were abed now, dreaming of the blood money dangled over their heads by the Brotherhood of Quen.
“Go east out of town,” was the only directions the farmers had given, so Amergin walked toward the brightest patch of fog, trusting that was where the sun was rising. Tension within the party ran high.
Carver said, “This reminds me of-”
“If you say ‘Uncle Trapspringer,’ I’ll kick you,” Raika’s voice drifted back.
“I was going to say, ‘the waterfront at Sanction,’ thank you very much.”
“Shh!” Caeta held a finger to her lips.
They had to cross the High Street to get out of town. Amergin halted and pressed himself against a wall. The others stopped.
They heard voices in the fog ahead. Sounds of horses, and wheels turning.
The characteristic whistle of drovers, punctuated by the crack of whips, told them they were near the main thoroughfare. Fog or no fog, morning market goods had to be moved.
Amergin flipped the hood up on his cloak. The dark, forest-colored feathers would not hide him in the mist, but the hood did obscure his elven features.
He strode into the street. Fog closed around him.
Hume started to follow, but Raika held him back. They waited, and when no alarm arose she nodded, and they moved on.
They had no trouble until Khorr crossed. A two-horse dray rumbled up, and the horses faltered and reared at the unfamiliar shape of the minotaur looming over them in the fog. The driver worked his whip, trying to get the team moving.
“Look, Shay-a minotaur!” said the other man on the wagon’s seat.
“So what? Ain’t you ever seen one? Get out of the way, bull-man!” yelled the driver.
“Weren’t those soldiers huntin’ a minotaur last night?”
“Nah, it was an elf. Wasn’t it?”
“No,” the man said in a low voice that carried. “I heard some say they was looking for a minotaur. Killed a man in a bar fight, he did.”
Khorr could have moved on, but instead he turned back to say politely, “I didn’t kill Durand. I only broke his arm.”
The wagoneers did not hear him over the neighing of the agitated horses. Seeing the seven-foot Khorr coming closer, the men panicked. The driver lashed out with his bullwhip. His companion stood on the seat and shouted, “Help! Help! The murdering minotaur’s here!”
Malek rushed out of the fog. “For goodness sake, Khorr! Quiet them!”
The bull-man raised his powerful arms and snorted menacingly. The men paid no attention, but the horses did, straining against their harness, rearing and backing away. The rolling wagon pitched the standing man into the cargo, a bunch of half-grown pigs. Outraged, the pigs squealed and plunged about loudly.
The driver dropped his whip and tried to quiet the horses, but they were too distressed. Pushed back against the ridge of cobbles along the gutter, the wagon teetered then crashed over on its side. Pigs spilled out and ran squealing into the mist. Driver and companion were thrown to the street.
“Come on!” Malek snapped, grabbing the mild-mannered minotaur by the hand. The farmer hated to think what Khorr would do when he tried to cause trouble!
The rest were waiting for them in a narrow lane cut between two houses. The dark bulk of a gang’s tower was visible off to their left. If they’d judged things right, it was the seat of the Silver Circle.
They reached a curving avenue Raika said was called Sawbones Street because so many surgeons lived there. Amergin slipped ahead again. He hadn’t gone five steps before a flurry of arrows fell around him. Iron broadheads struck sparks on the cobbles. The Kagonesti whirled and flung his star-loaded sling at the rooftops behind him.
“Stand where you are!” Hume said roughly, holding Nils back with an outstretched arm. Everyone behind the Khur soldier hugged the wall of the near house and waited.
Having loosed one star, Amergin sprinted for the nearest cover. Directly across from him was a corral full of horses, ringed by a split-rail fence. He vaulted easily over the waist-high barrier, somersaulted into the corral, and vanished.
Without preliminary explanation, Hume cried loudly, “There he goes, men! After him!” He charged out, heedless of the unseen archers. Reluctantly, Raika and the rest followed. Hume waved them on.
“Keep moving,” he said in a low voice. “They won’t shoot if they think we’re chasing him.”
Malek, last in line, stooped to pick up one of the arrows that had been aimed at Amergin. The shaft had splintered, but the pale blue fletching was intact.
Raika glanced back and saw what he was holding. “Sky blue is the color of the Brotherhood of Quen,” she said.
Malek peered up through the mist. He could see the ragged roofline of houses behind them but no sign of movement. Where had the archers gone?
They raced on, barely keeping the Kagonesti in sight. The sky was brightening all the time. When the sun got well up, the fog wouldn’t last long.
Skirting the corral, Caeta saw dim figures dashing through the mist off to her right. Alarmed, she looked left and saw more shadows flickering between the houses on that side.
“They’re all around us!” she said.
“Hounds to the hare,” Howland said, wheezing. “They’re using us to trail their quarry.”
A bowstring twanged. Almost immediately they heard the hum of Amergin’s sling and a short, sharp scream.
They trampled through a muddy garden plot, almost stumbling over the body of a slain elf. One of Amergin’s smoked stars was imbedded under the dead elf’s left ear.
Carver busied himself over the fallen Quen Brother, helping himself to the contents of the elf’s pockets and pouch.
At the far end of the garden was a rubble-stone wall. Amergin was crouched behind it, sling held loosely in his hand. One by one they dropped beside him. Khorr had to practically flatten himself to keep his great head down.
The mist was breaking up. Through tattered shreds of fog, they could see a phalanx of armed gang members blocking the way. Their pale blue cloaks hung limply in the still air.
“Amergin!” called one. “Give yourself up! The rest of you, this is not your fight!”
The Kagonesti uttered a single syllable of his native dialect. No one had to translate his private rejoinder.
“All right, commander,” Raika said to Howland. “Here’s a military problem. What do we do now?”
The old Knight peeked over the long cairn. “In an orthodox battle, I’d called for archers to dislodge them then charge with sword and lance.”
Raika sniffed. “I left my prancing steed at home with my bow.”
“Give up, Amergin! Come quietly, and I promise you a quick death!”
“Who could resist generous terms like that?” said Carver.
Khorr gripped the wall with both hands. “Sir Howland, we have no bows but stones aplenty,” he said. “Will that do?”
“Why not?” Hume said, taking a stone in each hand. “Warriors must learn to fight with ready means.” He hurled them both at the elves barring their way.
Khorr joined in, and the young farmers too. They popped up, lobbed their stones, then ducked down again, expecting arrows to come winging back.
The first stones hit in front of the elves, caroming off the pavement. Startled, the Quenites backed up a bit, then nocked arrows and loosed. Hume got one through the armpit of his tunic before he threw himself down with alacrity.
Raika joined the bombardment. After two of their number were knocked down, the gang officer drew his sword and shouted, “Enough of this nonsense! Let’s charge!”