Leesil waved Chap back, and the hound retreated several steps. The elf moved away from the wall, sidestepping toward the sloped passage.
"What is your name?" Leesil asked.
"Sgailsheilleache a Oshagairea gan'Coilehkrotall," he replied, as if challenging Leesil to even try to repeat it. "Sgaile, if that is easier for you to speak, though it gains you nothing. I am not known to anyone you will ever meet."
He stepped partway down the slant before looking back.
"You were my task, but you are no threat to us. You are anmaglahk, but not yet a traitor. Go your way and do not interfere with ours."
Sgaile turned and disappeared into the sewers.
Chap's growl pulled Leesil's awareness back. The hound stood at the narrow passage down which Ratboy had fled. Leesil was about to follow but stopped and faced down the slope.
Sgaile's words rushed together in his mind and spread an anguish that nearly made him cry out. He ran down the slope, footfalls splashing in the open tunnel, but the elf was gone.
We do not kill our own… She will never again teach another our ways.
If the elves wouldn't kill their own but still punished a traitor…
Where was this Cuirin'nen'a-what had truly happened to his mother?
Toret ran, arms swinging wildly, barely clutching his short sword.
Elves-cursed elves everywhere.
He turned with the flow of water, heading toward the bay.
The quarrel wound in his head still seared, and the elf's wire had cut deeply into his throat. His damaged eye was not fully healed, and he needed to feed.
All of his lessons with Chane seemed useless. Master of his own family and house, he'd wanted to take Rashed's place. Such a role begged for skill at arms. But even with superior strength and speed, he couldn't match in two moons what took a swordsman years of practice. What a fool he'd been.
Chane, on the other hand, could fend for himself, yet the coward had left him with the dhampir and the half-blood. Toret simply wanted to find Sapphire and leave this place behind.
He ran hard. Sapphire must have escaped into the city near the bay, but he still couldn't sense her presence no matter where he turned. What if she'd managed somehow to find her way completely out of the city? That would explain his lack of connection.
Ahead, the tunnel roof curved downward, creating the illusion of meeting with the sewer floor. As he approached, he noted the passage dipped steeply downward. Water at his feet rushed faster. When he crested the slope, he looked toward the tunnel's end and saw the opening to the bay.
An iron gate was closed over the exit. He heard voices-many voices.
Toret crept a little farther along the tunnel wall and crouched to listen. City guards stood outside the sealed spillway to the bay. By voices, he counted at least seven or more men. Toret crept back up the slope to the level tunnel and began backtracking.
The other bay openings would be similarly guarded, so likely Sapphire had escaped into the city itself. If she'd followed the same path he had, there were any number of shafts she could have climbed up to the street. Most likely, she'd have traveled as far as possible through the tunnels and then used the last ladder shaft to slip out to hide in the city. She must be frightened out there all alone.
At the next intersection, he found the iron bars of a ladder leading up. Any way out would have to do. He reached for an iron rung, and a flicker of yellow light danced across the wall.
Toret flattened against the stone wall and glanced back down the tunnel.
The light came from a glowing stone on the half-blood's neck as he and the hound splashed into the intersection.
Leesil tossed his torch onto the closest tunnel walkway and stood before Toret with both blades out. The hound snarled, his fur wet and matted.
Toret no longer cared if the half-blood died or not. He was tired of all this and wanted nothing more than to find Sapphire and flee this city. In the kingdoms of the Suman Empire, he and his love could feed at will, safe in each other's company. All he need do was scramble up the rungs, and he would be into the streets before that half-blood could blink. If Toret was nothing else, he was quick.
Leesil's face was expressionless. "Wait."
The half-blood shifted both blades to one hand and pulled a dark blue velvet drawstring bag from behind his back. Puzzlement passed through Toret as Leesil clumsily pulled an object from the bag and held it up.
Sapphire's head hung from the half-blood's grip, with black fluids smeared from her gaping mouth across her pale cheeks.
Leesil steeled himself for Ratboy's screaming assault.
The small undead merely lowered his sword arm until the blade point dipped into the flowing water. He stared blankly with his one good eye and his head slowly turned from side to side in denial.
"You couldn't," he said weakly. "She was in the sewer ahead of me. It's a trick."
Leesil flung the head and shifted his second blade back to his free hand.
Sapphire's head struck Ratboy in the stomach, and he closed his arms around it, still clinging to his sword.
"Take a closer look," Leesil said.
Ratboy looked upon Sapphire's blond curls matted with her own black fluids. For a moment, he didn't react, still denying what he held in his hands. His pale face suddenly twisted in a soundless, tearless sob.
"That's for Beth-rae," Leesil spit out. "You cut her throat with your nails back in Miiska. Remember? And Eliza. You left her dead in her own backyard for her brother, Brenden, to find."
Rage welled in Leesil again for all the lives Ratboy had destroyed.
"How does it feel," he whispered, "to lose?"
This time, Ratboy did cry out. The head slipped from his hands as he rushed forward, swinging wildly with his sword.
Leesil controlled his hatred as he sidestepped. All he needed was a clear shot at the monster's neck. Chap howled and closed in.
"Stay back!" Leesil ordered.
The hound snarled in frustration but retreated, circling behind Leesil.
Ratboy swung again-and again. Leesil blocked, the short sword glancing and sliding away along the curves of his blades.
This butchering whelp wasn't skilled, but he was strong and enraged, and Leesil feared becoming locked in a stalemate until he was too exhausted to continue. Undeads seemed to possess endless stamina. But as he circled, forcing Ratboy to keep changing positions, he saw the undead falter once.
Leesil heard Chap growling from behind, but the hound stayed clear. Ratboy struck hard. As Leesil blocked, he dropped to one knee in the water. He kicked out with his free leg to the inside of Ratboy's knee.
The joint gave a muffled crackle on impact, but Ratboy only stumbled and struck again. Leesil rose up inside the downward stroke, his blocking blade's edge up. When the blow connected, there was no clang of steel.
Ratboy's wrist struck the blade's edge, and Leesil slashed outward.
Hand and sword flew away in the water. The undead jerked up his arm to strike again and then gaped in disbelief at the stump of his wrist.
Leesil kicked out to Ratboy's other knee, letting his whole weight drop down and drive the blow home. A resounding crack followed as his boot collided with bone. His outstretched foot dropped through the water to the tunnel floor, and he shifted his weight to it. He slashed his second blade across, waist level, and Ratboy retreated two steps.
Ratboy's movements were halting and unstable, but he showed no sign of outright pain, only angry disbelief. The lower half of his tunic hung loose from the cut, and his sunken stomach was slick with his own black blood.
Leesil lifted his left blade at guard, the right low and ready. Ratboy lunged, and his one remaining hand lashed out.
It was so fast that Leesil couldn't block or duck in time. Thin, cold fingers closed on his throat as fingernails bit into his skin.