"Come quickly," Wynn urged. "She is down this tunnel."
Chap bolted ahead. Leesil followed, pulling Wynn along behind him as he called out, "Chap, stay in sight."
The dog paused, yipped once, and continued at a slower pace. Wynn's fatigue and soaked robe slowed them too much, but Leesil wouldn't leave her behind. The three of them moved as quickly as possible.
"Not far now," Wynn panted once.
Ahead was an opening in the runnel that flickered faintly with torchlight.
Chap stopped there, staring off to the right. But it was from the left side of the wide crossing of tunnels that Leesil saw Magiere inching forward through the shallow water, crossbow pointed in the direction the hound gazed.
She was soaked, and her hauberk had been severed near the left shoulder. The wound bled, and there was another gash across her right thigh.
Leesil handed off his torch to Wynn and pulled both his blades as he came up behind Chap. To the right on the far-side walkway stood Welstiel. His striking face, dark hair, and white temples were unmistakable even in the dim light.
Magiere's eyes flicked briefly in Leesil's direction and then back to Welstiel.
"It's him," she breathed. "He killed Chesna to get us here."
Leesil didn't understand any of this. An undead had butchered Lanjov's daughter, not this obsessive man who babbled about the Noble Dead. Leesil glanced at the topaz upon his chest, but there wasn't the faintest glow coming from the stone. Chap didn't react as if a vampire were present and merely stood with his head swiveling between Magiere and the black-clad gentleman.
Welstiel looked at Leesil with a slight frown.
"She is distraught. I was simply here to make certain she was able to handle the conjuror. I have assisted you in the past. Now, I am here to make you both an offer."
Wynn listened as well, but she hung back as Leesil stepped into the intersection toward Magiere, watching her closely.
Her eyes were intense and unblinking as she watched Welstiel. She gripped the crossbow so tightly her fingernails were whiter than her skin.
"Magiere," Leesil said, stepping closer. "He's not the one. It was Chane."
She sidestepped away from him and took another advancing step toward Welstiel, who began to back away.
"Magiere…" Leesil said gently, and pointed to the topaz with the tip of one blade. "No light, see? And Chap, he would know."
Her eyes flicked only briefly toward him and the hound.
"One way to be certain," she said, and her grip closed on the lever.
"No!" Leesil shouted.
He slashed at the crossbow, but the quarrel was already away. It struck Welstiel in the chest. In panic, Leesil turned to rush toward the man.
Smoke curled up from Welstiel's chest as he stumbled back against the tunnel wall.
"No," Leesil whispered.
"Take his head!" Magiere shouted, her voice echoing through the sewers. "He murdered Chesna."
Chap snarled, crystal-blue eyes turning to Leesil.
How was this possible? Leesil had seen no glow in the amulet. Chap hadn't sensed this. Even Magiere wasn't afflicted with the rage she succumbed to in the presence of an undead. But only an undead burned at the touch of garlic.
Leesil rushed at Welstiel as he shouted to Chap.
"Take him, now!"
Chap lunged out, splashing past him. Welstiel's hand clamped over the quarrel, and he jerked it out. Leesil saw Welstiel's lips move, and strange words buzzed in his head. Welstiel's free hand snapped out, scattering a fine white powder into the air. The smoke around the man grew in a billowing cloud that welled out to fill the tunnel.
It thickened around Leesil until he could no longer see beyond an arm's length. He tried striking at Welstiel's last position, but his blade only clanged against stone. Then he saw what looked like the quarrel floating in the smoke, and it suddenly shot past him.
A cry of angered pain came from behind.
"Magiere!" Leesil shouted, and he spun about, thrashing his way into the clearer air of the intersection.
Magiere had dropped the crossbow and now gripped her upper arm below the wounded shoulder. She was still on her feet, but slumped as he reached her, head dropping upon his shoulder. Leesil quickly lifted her hand. The quarrel had grazed her, leaving a bleeding gash in her arm.
Gray smoke boiled from the tunnel, and he heard Chap choking inside of it.
"Get out, Chap," he shouted. "Back the way we came."
"No," Wynn said. "To the ladder and up to the street."
"He'll get away," Magiere said, choking. "You can't lose him."
But Leesil stared into the billowing gray cloud rolling toward them and couldn't tell if Welstiel was even in the tunnel anymore.
Wynn waded across to the ladder, urging them to follow, and Chap came lunging out of the smoke. Leesil sheathed his blades and guided Magiere to the ladder. She seemed able to climb well enough with one hand. Leesil reached down and lifted Chap and proceeded to climb as well.
The shaft was tall, and its narrow width helped steady him as he climbed the rungs with one hand, holding on to Chap with the other. Three times the sack of heads at his back caught on the wall, and he stopped to twist himself free of the snag. When he reached the top, Wynn and Magiere grabbed hold of the hound and pulled him through the open grate, and Leesil crawled out to lie panting on the street's cobblestones. He gulped in mouthfuls of fresh air.
Magiere stared down at the ground, expressionless. The sound of running feet and voices traveled up the street, and Leesil rolled to his knees, hands dropping to this blades. But it was only three of the guard rushing toward them.
"Chetnik's men," he said in relief. "I'll have them fetch a wagon so we can get you back to the guild."
Magiere neither looked up nor answered.
Chane limped through the shadows of the residential district near their home when he experienced an unexpected hollow sensation inside his mind. It was almost painful in its intensity, as if something had been ripped out of his head. Just as suddenly, it vanished.
His thoughts felt clear and crisp, more than he remembered in recent times. He paused for a moment, and even stepped out openly into the street to look about.
There was no one present. Even in his own thoughts, he was alone. He smiled and closed his eyes.
He had not had any conception of what freedom would feel like when it came. He had not known if he would feel anything at all, but the realization now settled upon him.
Toret was dead.
Chane's smile vanished.
He was injured and homeless and certainly unwelcome at the sages' guild. The dhampir and her people, as well as the sages, now knew his identity, and it would not be long before others would hear of it as well.
"Wynn," he whispered.
Chane wandered the dark streets. All that remained were belongings he could carry, if he reached the house. He could no longer stay in Bela.
Between the deep slash on his knee, the hole in his chest, and the burning wound in his back where Wynn had shot him, he could not face another conflict. His rat would still be in its cage on his desk. As he stood out back, near the servants' entrance, he reached into the animal's limited mind and listened. The house was quiet and still. Drawing his sword, he entered the open back door, and listened on his own.
Nothing. The house seemed to be empty.
He walked through the dining chamber, past Tihko's body on the table and around the wolf's corpse. When he came upon the parlor, there was Sapphire's headless, velvet-clad body lying in a pool of congealing black fluids. He turned back to the stairs and downward into the cellar.
He reeked of the sewers and so changed his clothing first, then quickly packed what belongings he could into a small chest and sack. He had hidden some money in a purse behind a drawer in his desk. On his desk sat a small cold lamp that Wynn had given to him. Taking the crystal out, he fingered it for a moment and slipped it into his cloak. He packed only his most necessary texts and materials, and remembered the day his mother had given him his first book on metaphysics. He wondered if it might still be in his room at home in their manor to north.