"He's an undead," Leesil spit in frustration. "Take his head, now."
The torch's crackle was the only sound for the span of two breaths.
Ratboy screamed out, dropping his sword and stiletto as he lunged at the elf. He collided into the elf, and both collapsed down in a spray of water.
Leesil expected Chap to fly into the battle, but the hound held his place, snarling in frustration as he watched the two flail. Ratboy's hand rose up, fingers hooked, and he slashed down at the elf's neck, fingernails shredding the side of the cowl. The elf's gray-clad leg whipped up and around the front of Ratboy's throat.
Leesil's view was obscured again by the splash of Ratboy toppling, and he saw little more than a whirl of wet bodies and water thrown into the air. When it ended, the elf was behind Ratboy, who sat or knelt with the garrote whipped around his neck.
The elf's hands jerked apart, and the wire closed instantly, cutting into Ratboy's throat.
"Don't let go," Leesil called out. "Finish it."
Even with just torchlight, Leesil saw the line around Rat-boy's throat darken as black fluids began to seep out.
Ratboy reached back and grabbed the sides of the elf's cloak. He jerked the elf over the top of himself. As the elf passed in front, Ratboy kicked out, sending the taller man slamming against the side of the archway. But the elf lost only one grip on the garrote handles, and as the wire lashed free of Ratboy's neck, it bit deeper.
Ratboy scuttled back, holding his throat. His gaze never strayed from the tall gray figure as he fumbled in the water to recover his sword.
"Go," the elf said again. "Go hunt humans. Leave the majay-hi."
Chap inched toward the wiry undead.
Still clutching his throat, Ratboy passed one last hateful glance toward Leesil, turned, and ran out of view.
"No!" Leesil screamed out and smashed his blades against the gate.
Hunger boiled up from Magiere's stomach.
Torch held high, she slowed at the intersection ahead and aimed her crossbow toward the arched opening. When the blade flashed out from her left, she quickly swiped it aside with the torch and sidestepped into the intersection.
Chane stood on a walkway with Wynn directly behind him. He pulled her around in front of himself with one hand clamped over her mouth. The sage was so small that her head barely reached his collarbone. Magiere felt her teeth begin to ache.
"Let her go," she ordered.
She tossed the torch to the far side walkway and drew her falchion. To her surprise, his voice was calm and polite.
"Is Toret dead?"
She didn't care about his questions or anything but seeing his head come off, and she took two steps toward him through the water.
"Take your hand off her. Unless you want to fight with one arm."
"I doubt you could accomplish that without severely wounding your friend."
For an answer, Magiere squeezed the crossbow's firing lever. The quarrel pierced Chane's exposed calf, already marred from Chap's teeth, and he cried out as smoke rose around the embedded shaft. Chane's grip faltered as he folded in pain, reaching for the quarrel, and Wynn lunged away along the wall.
Magiere threw the empty crossbow onto the walkway at the sage's feet. It would have been a perfect moment to press Chane, but until Wynn was better protected, Magiere couldn't afford to rush the tall undead. As Chane jerked the quarrel from his leg and stepped into the tunnel's running water, Magiere cut the quiver's strap with her falchion and tossed the quarrels after the crossbow.
"Load it," she ordered Wynn, stepping forward to put herself between the sage and the undead nobleman.
She could feel a shift in Chane's presence. Before, at the inn and in the house, she'd sensed hunger and evasion. She saw a hint of determination.
"Stop it! Both of you," Wynn called. "Chane, she is unique-do not harm her. Magiere, none of this is his fault. Toret took him without permission."
Pointless words, but as Magiere glared over to silence her, Wynn was fitting one of the last two quarrels into the crossbow.
"When I tell you," Magiere said, "shoot him."
It was unlikely Wynn had any skill with the weapon, but the words would play upon Chane well enough. The undead circled, looking for an opening.
"She will not fire at me," he said with quiet certainty. "You are wasting your breath."
"At least I have breath to waste," she replied.
It had never occurred to her that Wynn was anything other than a hostage, but there was apparently something more between these two. But as Magiere matched Chane's maneuvers, she saw the sage point the crossbow at the undead.
He rolled his arm over and up and swung downward, trying Rashed's old trick of brute strength to crash through Magiere's guard. The force was immense, and Magiere dropped halfway to one knee as she blocked. He wasn't playing anymore.
But she never had been.
Magiere deflected and slashed low at his legs. When he retreated, she spun backward through the water for distance. He charged immediately, swinging the sword down as she rose to her feet. This time she dodged and slashed again for his leg. He tried to step away, but the falchion's tip cut across his left knee. He grunted, and as he buckled from the burn of her blade, he slashed upward.
The long sword's point cut partway through Magiere's hauberk below the collar and sliced her left shoulder. She staggered back, regaining her feet as the pain flared.
Chane favored his wounded leg, and Magiere felt blood seeping into her shirt at the shoulder. She needed him off guard for a moment.
"Wynn, shoot him!" she called.
Chane tried to circle but was now limping. At the sight of her blood, his irises dilated, turning crystalline. She felt hunger grow in him, and something else as well.
Desire.
Chane took pleasure in killing, in feeding, in the last moments of his victim's lives.
Why hadn't Wynn fired?
He rushed forward and, at the last second, swung low with his sword.
When Magiere dipped her falchion to block, his free hand snapped out around her wrist. On momentum, he thrust her back against the wall.
Magiere let the hunger rash through her flesh. She thrust her fist into his jaw.
His head snapped back so hard that his body arched away from her, and he lost his grip on her sword arm. His eyes widened as he reeled, and his teeth were stained with his own black fluids.
Magiere swung her freed blade down at his head.
Chane blocked, and the steel clang echoed sharply. He pressed on her throat, forcing Magiere into the wall again.
Blades locked between them, Magiere slapped her free hand around his throat, and her fingers squeezed into cold flesh. Her back came away from the wall.
Chane slowly lost ground, and then set himself, pushing harder, trying to lever the long sword around her falchion toward her face.
In a quick spasm, his eyes and seeping mouth widened as he cried out and pulled away.
The sudden release threw Magiere off balance, and she stumbled. When she regained her footing, Chane was trying desperately to reach a smoking quarrel protruding from his lower back. He looked overwhelmed with shock more than pain as the smoke rose up from his body.
"Wynn…?" he whispered in confusion.
Magiere saw the young sage already reloading the last quarrel. In that moment of distraction, Chane slashed out wildly with his sword and sliced Magiere across the right thigh.
Her weight gave, and she splashed down to one knee. But Chane staggered as well, smoke still rising from the quarrel in his back. He moaned, clutching at the shaft.
Magiere braced with the falchion to get back up, but she couldn't keep weight on her wounded leg for too long. Chane was in no better shape. If she could get close enough for one swing…