No time. Kleef kicked the back of her heels. Her feet flew out from beneath her-and her head dropped out of the shadow ball’s path half a heartbeat before it streaked past.
The woman landed on her backplate, and Kleef was glad to see she had the good training to tuck her chin to prevent her head from hitting. They had already fallen five paces behind the charge, so he grabbed her by her bow arm-and finally recalled where he had seen her face.
“I know you.”
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said. “Though I hardly-”
“You’re that minstrel who used to sing at The Old Oak,” Kleef interrupted, yanking her to her feet. “Elver … Elberta …”
“Elbertina.” The woman’s tone was irritated. “But that was my stage-”
A tremendous battle cheer sounded behind the Shadovar, and it was quickly answered by Duke Farnig’s men-at-arms. Kleef looked up to see nearly a dozen halberds swaying in the air behind the Shadovar lines. The Marsember Watch had arrived.
“Reinforcements!” Elbertina raced after Farnig’s guards. “Now we have them!”
But the shades were in no mood to continue the fight. They broke toward both sides of the bridge, flinging lines of shadow around the balustrades. As their ranks parted, Kleef was surprised to see that the “reinforcements” were his own men, with Jang leading the troop.
The shades began to leap off the bridge, trailing their shadow lines behind them like ropes. As they hit the ends, they swung back and disappeared under the belly of the bridge. Kleef reached the balustrade half a step behind the last warrior, but by the time he leaned out to slash the dark line, the fellow was already dropping into the murk beneath the span. Kleef did not hear a splash.
Elbertina reached his side, leaning over the balustrade to peer into the empty waters. “Where did they go?”
“Good question,” Kleef said. He turned and looked back toward House Seasilver. “I have a feeling we won’t like the answer.”
Joelle Emmeline stood just inside a small carriage court, peering through a narrow gap between two barely open gates. She was looking back toward the bridge where the battle had been, studying the big watchman who had just saved her for the second time that day. With rugged features and dark hair curling out beneath his helm, he was as handsome as he was deadly, and she could not help thinking that the Lady had sent him to her. He certainly appeared capable of protecting her. And if he proved to be as talented in the gentler arts as he was in combat? Well, then-the long journey ahead might even become a pleasure.
“Have you gone mad?” demanded a nasal voice beside her. “You will let in the … shadows!”
The gates banged shut, and Joelle looked over to find her companion with his hands pressed to the oaken planks. Dressed in a drab gray robe and exuding a foul odor that seemed impossible to scrub off, the little round-headed man looked more like a beggar than one of her fellow Chosen. For the hundredth time, she found herself questioning whether he had truly been sent by the gods to help her save Toril.
“Aren’t you curious about him, Malik?” Joelle asked. She helped him slide the heavy crossbar back into place. “Not the least little bit?”
Malik’s face grayed with irritation. “About a big oaf with a big sword and a big thirst for using it?” he asked. “His type is as common as vermin in this vile place. I could stand on any corner of the city and hire a hundred just like him.”
Joelle flashed her radiant smile. She smiled often-and when she did, it was always radiant.
“How sweet,” she said. “You’re jealous.”
A pained look came to the little man’s face. “Why should I be jealous? You will never belong to someone like me-and I am wise enough to know it.”
“Belong?” Joelle chuckled, her voice gentle but chastising. “Love isn’t a yoke, Malik. It’s a gift to be shared freely-or not at all.”
“And it is one you will never share with me.”
“You’re wrong about that, Malik.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “I have already given you my love. And you would see that, if only you would give yours to me.”
“I’m here, am I not?” Malik’s tone was resentful. “If joining you in this madness isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”
“You’re here because your god commands it,” Joelle reminded him. “That’s obedience, not love.”
Malik looked away, as he always did when he did not wish her to see into his heart, then picked up the small woolen satchel he had stolen off a cart soon after the Shadovar began chasing them.
“Enough blather,” he said. “We have to move on. It’s not safe here.”
Joelle turned toward the interior of the cobblestone courtyard, where dozens of other refugees who had pushed through the gate milled about. Many had begun peering into the windows of the carriage house and into the arched doorways of the great house itself, nervously murmuring to one another. If any guards had remained behind when the archer led her company out to join the fight on the bridge, they were nowhere to be seen.
Joelle allowed Malik to take her arm and lead the way around the courtyard’s center monument-a grotesque statue of a diving wyvern. On the far side, he stopped suddenly and clutched the small satchel to his chest.
Joelle followed his gaze and immediately spotted the source of his alarm: a pair of steel-blue eyes shining out of the murk beneath one of the arched doorways. In a single fluid motion, she snatched a trio of throwing darts off her belt and whipped them toward the eyes.
The enchanted darts blazed with the all-consuming heat of Sune’s passion, and a chorus of alarmed cries filled the courtyard as panicked refugees raced for cover. Joelle kept her gaze fixed on the doorway, where the dusky silhouette of her target became visible. Swaddled in a dark cloak that blurred into murkiness at the edges, he was tall and lanky, with a long chin, gaunt cheeks, and the glowing, metal-colored eyes of a Prince of Shade.
Yder Tanthul, of course. He was one of the Shadovar’s greatest living warriors-and the bane of Joelle’s existence.
He caught her first dart on a shield of shadow, which dissolved instantly into magical flame. Unfazed, Yder pivoted aside, allowing the next pair to thunk into the door behind him. He smiled and extended a hand.
Joelle tensed her legs, gathering herself to spring away, but it was Malik who cried out in alarm.
“Help me!” He began to lurch forward, fighting to keep the satchel clutched to his chest. “The Eye! He has the Eye!”
Joelle drew her slender sword and, praying for Sune’s help, stepped between Malik and Yder. Instantly, her long red hair began to emit a faint aura of fiery light. All eyes swung in her direction, and the panic in the courtyard waned as refugees stopped to gape at her divinely enhanced beauty. When she smiled, gasps of awe rippled through the crowd.
Only Yder seemed immune. He emerged from the doorway, hissing and cursing, his hand spraying a beam of shadow in her direction. Joelle spun away and dived into a forward roll, then heard a cold sizzle as the shadow beam grazed the statue behind her. An instant later, the entire courtyard shook as the stone wyvern crashed down and shattered against the cobblestones.
The shadow beam reached the gate and crackled through the heavy oak planks. Cries of alarm and anger echoed across the courtyard. The refugees whirled on Yder in a rage, their hands filled with daggers or clubs or anything else they could use as a weapon. By the time Joelle had returned to her feet, the shadow prince had been swallowed by a screaming mob.
Malik was gone, too, of course. His god, Myrkul, had bestowed on him the ability to vanish like a ghost, and he practiced it often-especially when danger threatened. That left Joelle to handle Yder alone, and when she looked toward the courtyard entrance, she found several of his shadow warriors already climbing through the shattered remains of the gate.