Valder could not see the thief’s face; the light was behind him. All he saw was a black outline that slowly crumpled to the ground, the sword still clutched in the dead fingers. He brought Wirikidor up into guard position and looked for the woman’s other assailant.
That man had scrambled to his feet even as his comrade fell and had out his own sword now. Valder watched him warily.
The thief looked down at his dead companion, then back at Valder. “I don’t know how you did that, old man,” he said. “I guess you surprised him. I’m ready for you, though; you won’t take me by surprise. Maybe you’re better than you look, but you’re still old and weak and slow.”
Valder forced a grin. “I’ve killed fourscore better men than you, fool; run while you can.”
“So you can hit me from behind, perhaps? No, I’ve a friend’s death to avenge and avenge it I will!” With that, he lunged forward, sword extended.
Valder stepped back, suddenly realizing just how much trouble he was in as the other’s blade slid past his neck; he was old and slow, just as the man had said, and yes, without Wirikidor’s aid, he was almost defenseless. The sword sagged in his grip as he flailed helplessly, trying to fend off the next attack. He wouldn’t die — the curse assured that — but it looked to him very much as if he were about to be badly cut up, with eighteen men yet to kill. He saw the blade approaching and knew that his parry would not stop it before it drew blood and weakened him further; he tried to duck and felt himself losing his balance.
Then everything vanished in a sudden violent blaze of intense golden light; he staggered and fell, dazed, to the street.
He lay there for a long moment on his back, staring up at the polychrome aftereffects of the flash, streaks and stars of every color superimposed on the smoke-stained night sky of the city; then a shadow slid over him.
“Are you all right?” a woman’s voice asked.
“I’m not sure,” he managed to reply.
“Can you move?”
Valder tried and discovered he could; he forced himself up on his elbows. “I think so. What happened to the man I was fighting?”
The woman gestured. “I took care of him.”
Valder sat up and looked where she indicated, but could distinguish nothing but a vague black shape. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“Here, let me give you some more light.” She gestured again, this time not pointing at anything, but making a curious pass in mid-air with her hand. A white glow appeared in her palm, lighting the whole alleyway.
“You’re a wizard?” Valder said.
He could see her face now in the light that came from her hand; it was a young, attractive face. She smiled. “Yes, I’m a wizard.”
He looked again where she had indicated and saw that the black shape was exactly that, a charred black lump roughly the length of a man, with protruding fragments that resembled arms, legs, and a head. Valder gagged as he saw the distinctive shape of a human skull beneath a coating of ash and realized that this was all that remained of his foe.
“Not very pleasant, is it?” she remarked. “But then, they weren’t very pleasant people; I suppose they were going to rape me and kill me, if I resisted.”
“Did they know you were a wizard?”
“No, of course not; I don’t walk the streets wearing a sign proclaiming my profession, after all.”
“Why didn’t you fry them both right away?”
“They caught me by surprise; I couldn’t reach any of my magics, or move my hands to gesture, once they grabbed my knife and held it at my throat.” She held up the dagger that Valder’s first opponent had used, and he noticed for the first time that it had the white gleam of silver rather than the gray of steel and that the hilt was carved of bone.
“What were you doing in this alley in the first place, and without any protective spells?”
“Well, if you must know, I took a wrong turn; I’m lost. I had hoped this alley was a shortcut. I was sightseeing, you might say, reacquainting myself with the city; it’s been quite some time since I last visited Ethshar of the Spices. As for protective spells, I had forgotten that I might need them. Foolish of me, I know — but I never claim to be free of human foolishness.” She sheathed the dagger on her belt, then asked, “For that matter, what were you doing here?”
That reminded Valder of his own situation; he looked about, spotted Wirikidor’s scabbard, and got to his feet to retrieve it. The sword itself, under the influence of the Spell of True Ownership, had never left his hand. When he had the sheath, he turned back and answered, “I was looking for thieves and murderers.”
“It would seem you found them,” she replied with a smile. “You’ll have to tell me all about it — but not here. Do you have any idea where we are?”
“Roughly; Wall Street lies three blocks that way, if I’m not mistaken, and we’re not very far from Southgate Market.”
“Ah! Lead on, then.”
“You haven’t any magic to find your way?”
“Not with me; I didn’t expect to need it. I grew up in this city, back when it was called New Ethshar; I hadn’t realized how much it had grown and changed.”
Valder looked at her curiously at that; he had judged her to be in her early twenties, from what he had seen of her, and, though he knew well enough that the city had changed greatly in his own lifetime, he had not thought that any great part of the change had been in the past two decades. Furthermore, he had never heard it called New Ethshar.
That was none of his concern, though. He buckled the scabbard to his belt, sheathed the sword, and then led the way to Southgate Market. They arrived there without further incident, and the wizard then took the lead, in her turn. Valder followed without protest, but did ask, “Where are we going? From what you’ve said, you don’t live in the city.”
“No, but one of my former apprentices does.”
Once again, Valder found himself puzzled; how could so young a wizard have a former apprentice? She seemed scarcely older than an apprentice herself. Still, he walked on in amiable silence, his feet aching with every step, discovering bruises from his fall that had not been immediately apparent.
He had lost track of time, but it was obviously quite late, once they were two blocks from the market, the streets were deserted, and the torches were burning low, some already out. He felt rather burned out himself; it had been a very long and trying day. For a moment, he wondered why he was following the wizard, but that passed; after all, she owed him a favor for his help and might at least save him the price of a night’s lodging.
They arrived, finally, at the door of a small shop in the Wizards’ Quarter, whose sign read “Agravan of the Golden Eye, Wizard Extraordinary.” A light still burned in the window. Valder’s guide knocked twice, and a moment later they were admitted to a young man who did, indeed, have one golden eye, the other being a watery blue.
“Mistress!” he exclaimed. “What kept you? And who is this?”
“I will tell you all about it, Agravan, but first, something to drink, and I think a soft bed would not be amiss — would it, friend? Your questions can wait until morning.”
Valder, who was only semiconscious by this point, managed to nod agreement; he made it up a flight of stairs, then collapsed upon the offered cot and was instantly asleep.
CHAPTER 30