Daine spared a quick glance toward Lei. As instructed, she’d prepared one of the charms in her pouch; the two men who had been threatening her and Pierce were entangled in a mass of thick, sticky ooze. Pierce had an arrow nocked and was covering the astonished Riedrans.
Daine drew his sword. “Now, about surrender …”
The world dissolved into pain. The woman with the crystal had taken a step back, moving just out of his reach, and the crystal in her hand was pulsing with a baleful crimson light. Each pulse sent a wave of agony through Daine’s nerves. He was dimly aware of his companions crying out-even Pierce.
“You were warned!” the spokesman said. Only his eyes were visible beneath his hood and veil, and they were blue splinters of pure fury. “Now they die!” He retrieved his weapon and pushed past Daine, making his way toward Lakashtai.
No, Daine thought.
The pain was overwhelming, a fire that paralyzed every muscle, but he found he could still feel his fingers clenched around the hilt of his grandfather’s sword. He focused on that sensation, feeling the sword, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. He felt every aspect of the weapon: the balance of the blade, the steel wire binding the leather to the hilt, the silver eye glimmering on the pommel. Images of battle flashed in his mind, the hundreds of conflicts the blade must have seen. For a moment, he forgot the pain.
In that instant, he struck.
His thrust caught the swordsman just above the waist, tearing through his chainmail and punching a bloody hole in his flesh. Daine pulled the blade free, expecting the man to tumble to the ground.
He was disappointed.
The Riedran turned toward him; if the gaping wound caused him pain, he showed no signs of it. The crystal blade flashed toward Daine, and he raised his sword just in time to block the strike.
Now Daine was on the defensive. In skill, they were almost perfectly matched; every thrust had a counter, every slash was blocked. Now the supernatural pain was pressing at Daine’s mind, and with each passing moment it grew stronger. The mysterious strength Daine had drawn from his blade was fading, and it was becoming harder and harder to parry the strokes of the crystal sword. Daine took a step back, trying to reach the woman with the crystal. She was no fool, and even as he staggered toward her she darted away, staying out of his reach.
No, Daine thought, struggling against the pain. He fought to lift his sword, but every motion was torture. It can’t end like this …
Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain came to an end. There was a flash of red energy, and the masked woman fell to her knees, clasping her hand. The crystal had shattered, and her skin was raw and studded with tiny shards. Even through the haze of agony, the cause was clear: her hand was transfixed by a short crossbow bolt, which must have hit the crystal dead center.
There was no time to lose. Forcing his heavy limbs to move, he lunged at the woman, landing a solid blow in her left shoulder. It was by no means a mortal injury, but at this point he just wanted to slow her down.
A new pain tore through his back: Daine had lowered his guard, and the man with the crystal sword had not let the opportunity go to waste. Caught between two foes, Daine drew his dagger and turned to face the veiled swordsman.
“Come on, then,” he muttered, vowing to bury his blade in the man’s heart with his last breath.
Fate had its own agenda. The lean man leapt forward, launching a lightning-fast thrust at Daine’s throat. It never connected. There was a blur of motion, and another quarrel lodged itself in the man’s leg, throwing him off of his path. Granted a moment’s reprieve, Daine took a step backwards, setting his back against the wall of the alley. There was a silver streak, and Pierce’s flail came flashing forward from the edge of his vision, knocking the Riedran to the ground.
It’s good to have friends, Daine thought.
He took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the supporting wall. Pierce was fighting the swordsman, forcing the lithe assassin back down the alley. Lei and Lakashtai had also recovered and engaged the two soldiers Lei had trapped in the magic web. That left the woman with the shattered crystal. Though she was still clutching her injured hand, she was rising to her feet, and Daine had no idea what other powers she might have in reserve. He steadied his grip and prepared to strike.
“Kolesq!” a voice cried: the man with the crystal sword. As Daine lunged forward, the woman slapped her left wrist with her right hand. Her outline wavered, growing ghostly and translucent-in an instant, she was gone, and the point of Daine’s sword struck the hard wall behind her. He swept the blade from side to side; he’d dealt with invisible foes before. This time, he felt nothing. It seemed she had fled.
She wasn’t the only one. Glancing around, Daine saw that all of their assailants had vanished-even those trapped in Lei’s mystical web.
“Status?” he called, sharply.
“Nothing serious, Daine,” Pierce called.
He never calls me “captain” anymore, Daine thought.
“Minor injury,” Lei said, and Daine spun to face her, his heart pounding harder. There was a shallow cut on her right arm, and she was clutching her lower left ribs. Daine knew that she could judge her own injuries, but he found himself by her side, studying the cut. “I can heal it …” she said, gritting her teeth. “Made wand …”
Lakashtai seemed to be in the worst condition, for all that Daine could see no physical injuries. She had fallen back against the alley wall, and was clutching her forehead. When she pulled her hand away, her face was paler than usual, her skin covered with sweat-the first time Daine had actually seen her sweat, he realized.
“Who … who shattered the crystal?” she said, her voice tight.
“That would be me,” a voice said, just behind Daine. Even as he spun to face the new sound, a lithe figure slithered down the wall, landing smoothly on the alley path.
“My name’s Gerrion,” the stranger said, in a voice that sounded like laughter. “I understand you’re in the market for a guide.”
CHAPTER 16
At a glance, the stranger was unremarkable; he wouldn’t attract a moment’s notice on the streets of Sharn. His clothes were threadbare and plain, patched brown breeches, tall leather boots in need of resoling, a light wool cloak that had once been a vivid burgundy but had faded under the relentless assault of sun and storm. On closer inspection, unusual details began to emerge. He was wearing a glove of fine leather on his left hand, oiled and polished with a loving care that his boots had never seen. The glove was deep black, with a wreath of vivid flames painted around the wrist and extending up the back of the hand toward the fingers; when he flexed his palm, the fire seemed to dance. But if Gerrion’s gloves were distinctive, his face was even more remarkable. At first Daine had thought that the man was hidden by shadows, but he quickly realized that Gerrion’s skin was gray-the cold color of faint smoke or the sky after a storm has just passed. His hair was a brilliant red with streaks of golden blonde; it fell to his shoulders and filled his hood, so that his head almost seemed aflame. His eyes were a gray so pale they were almost white, so that he seemed to have no irises at all. His eyes were slightly too large, slightly tilted, and his cheeks were high boned and perfectly smooth, with no trace of beard or stubble; after a moment Daine decided that the stranger had elven and human blood in his veins, though neither explained the strange tone of his skin.
“It seems we’re in your debt,” Daine said.