Teron ran across the turret’s rooftop and jumped down the other side, sprinting for the corner tower that was closest to the Dormitorion. He heard the tread of two score feet in hot pursuit, nearly two dozen statue guardians chasing wordlessly after him.
He approached the corner tower, and Praxle was nowhere to be seen. The tower was swinging around toward the library building; in but a few moments the staircase would start to swing over the rooftop, and the means of escape would turn into a trap.
As he closed, he saw the rope knotted over one of the ornamental Flamic spikes that adorned the side of the soaring staircase. He vaulted over the side of the staircase and grabbed the rope as he fell. Several floors below him, he saw Praxle descending the rope as rapidly as he could.
Teron followed suit, glancing both up, for threats, and down, to follow Praxle’s progress.
Above, the rotating tower started to pass over the rooftop, and as Praxle had tied the rope to the leading edge of the staircase, the rope started getting drawn up. Teron looked up and saw the silhouettes of two statues looking down at him. Just as he realized what they intended to do, he heard a metal clang and the rope went slack. He fell.
A mere five feet later, the rope stopped again, and Teron realized that the knot had, against all probability, hung up on one of the ornamental carvings that decorated the eaves. He glanced down. Below him, Praxle had reached the approximate location of the warding spell. As he watched, the gnome leapt out from the wall, hands gesticulating wildly. The gnome’s clothes flapped as he fell, but Teron realized that he was falling slowly, buoyed by strong, magically manipulated winds.
Teron glanced back up just in time to see that one of the statues had thrown its greatsword at him, hoping to slash him as he hung all but helpless on the rope. Teron kicked off from the wall, swinging himself out of the way like a great pendulum, but as he swung as far as his momentum would carry him, he heard another clang from above, and he saw the end of the rope fling itself out from the rooftop. The knot had been cut away.
20
Meetings
Hunkered against the wall of the Dormitorion, camouflaged against the cobbles and stone wall by his spell, Praxle watched in fear as Teron tumbled from the side of the building. Up above, the guardian statues on the rooftop were lit from below as they leaned over and watched.
Teron hit, hard, grunting with the impact. He struggled to rise, stumbled, and looked up at the statues on the rooftop. Praxle followed his gaze.
One of the statues leapt. And another. And a third, even before the first one hit the street.
The first one landed badly, shattering both legs. Praxle saw its foot and ankle skitter across the cobbles, flung by the force of the impact. The second did not leap far enough, and landed heavily in the ruins of a large shrub. Praxle heard multiple cracks, but couldn’t tell what sort of limbs might have broken. The third, however, took a more daring approach. It fell spread-eagled to the pavement, landing face-first on the cobblestones and dispersing the force of the impact over its entire body. Its greatsword clanged to the ground beside it. It lay motionless for a moment, then stirred and rose, smoothly regaining its feet. In the light of the everbright lanterns, Praxle could see that its stone surface sported multiple chips and cracks, but it acted none the worse for wear. It picked up the sword and moved toward Teron, who half-crawled half-hopped away like a wounded dog. The monk held one arm close to his chest, and one foot lolled to the side, badly broken at the ankle.
Even as Praxle considered what a small gnome like him might be able to do against the towering construct, Jeffers leapt out of the alleyway, swinging his serrated sword. He placed himself between the creature and the wounded Aundairian.
The half-orc engaged the construct, wielding his sword defensively, buying Teron time to make an escape. Praxle started to glide out from concealment to help, but from the alley Teron’s cat hissed, and the sound gave him pause. As he hesitated, a second shadow slid from the alleyway, dressed head to toe in dark gray. Praxle’s eyes went wide as he recognized the unmistakable attire of the Shadow Fox.
Chain kama in hand, the Fox moved with speed and stealthy grace to where Teron struggled to his feet. Seeing the threat, Praxle charged after, drawing his dagger.
The Fox reached Teron, grabbed his vest, and pulled him close, all the while brandishing the weapon. But before the Fox could strike, Praxle yelled, hoping to draw attention away from the wounded monk.
The Fox turned as Praxle lunged with his dagger. The Fox parried, partially turning Praxle’s blade, but taking a long, painful cut along the buttock. The Fox dropped Teron and disarmed Praxle with a quick flourish, then turned and fled down the street.
Praxle checked on Jeffers. The half-orc was holding his own against the statue, but he wouldn’t be able to for much longer. Two more statues had managed to survive the jump from the rooftop in operable condition. Glancing the other way, Praxle saw the Shadow Fox skid to a stop as armed guards turned the corner from the front of the Camat Library. The Cyran thief fled into a nearby alley.
“Run, Jeffers!” yelled Praxle, as he recovered his dagger from the pavement. Jeffers feinted, then disengaged from the statue and sprinted aside. Praxle sidestepped quickly, aligning the statue with the other two that were joining the fracas. He reversed his grip on his dagger, aimed the hilt at the constructs, and raised one hand to shield his squinting eyes.
A heavy bolt of electrical energy spat forth from the back end of the dagger, destroying two of the statues outright and catching a sizeable portion of the third before blasting a crater in the side of the library. A quick turn and Praxle unleashed a second blast at the guards coming from the front of the building. Satisfied that all opposition was dead, cowered, or seeing a blinding afterimage, Praxle ran. “Grab him!” he yelled at Jeffers. “He broke his leg!”
The half-orc heaved one of Teron’s arms around his shoulder, and the threesome made a quick escape into the night, followed closely by the cat.
Praxle opened the door to their room, while Jeffers helped the hobbled monk into the room. As Praxle closed the door, Teron asked, “Who was that, that came up to me right at the end?”
“You don’t know?” asked Praxle. “That was the Shadow Fox!”
“Is that so?” mused Teron as he sat on his bed. Jeffers helped him maneuver his broken ankle and arm onto soft pillows, “Strange. He asked me to go with him.”
“Did he?” said Praxle. He chuckled, “I think he knew we had the notes. Trying to get them for himself.”
“That makes sense,” said Teron. He adjusted himself and reclined on his bed. The papers crinkled as he lay down, so he reached into his vest, pulled out the sheaf of notes, and handed them to Praxle. “Here you go.”
“Most excellent!” chortled Praxle. He danced around the room with the papers, giggling manically. “After all this time, at last, my moment is at hand!” With a sigh that bordered on the erotic, he sat on his bed and combined Teron’s pages with his own, then started poring over them.
“I can endeavor to fetch a Jorasco healer for you, ma—Teron,” offered Jeffers, “though I doubt that any shall make themselves available before morning.”
“That’s all right, Jeffers,” said Teron, “If we contact one right now, it might cause questions. They might connect my broken bones and the break-in, I think we left no witnesses, but I’d rather be as safe as possible. I’ll just take a tumble down the stairs in the morning to make it look good, and we’ll get a healer then.”
Jeffers drew a blanket over Teron. “You’re sure about this?”