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Soffjian slowly relaxed her pose and stepped away from the action, shaking her head slightly as if to clear it. I have no idea what she did, but it was both awesome and terrible to behold. I knew Memoridons were rumored to possess unholy powers, but seeing it right in front of me, crippling two men and apparently driving them mad, one to the point of death, was something else entirely, and made the fact that I had just watched Hewspear slit someone’s throat seem pleasant by comparison.

Skeelana was still near me, content to leave the fighting to the soldiers or give herself an escape route if things turned as ugly as they appeared, as the fight still seemed to fall in the Hornmen’s favor, even with the Syldoonian discipline and the Memoridon’s aid. Despite Braylar admonishing me to hold off, he had armed me, and recognized that I’d played a part in saving his life. Clearly now was the time to get involved if there was one.

Raising my crossbow, I was careful to keep my fingers off the long trigger until I knew what I intended to do with it. The melee had broken down into small unit affairs, clumps of men here and there, with formations having no place in a street brawl now. I looked at the closest group-four Hornman forcing two Syldoon back. While the Hornman appeared to get in each other’s way more than anything, the Syldoon couldn’t overcommit or expose themselves, so mostly deflected, blocked, and gave up ground as they fought shoulder to shoulder.

I waited for them to move, to present the best Hornman target with the least chance of accidentally killing a Syldoon. They didn’t cooperate, so I moved to my left, closer to the building, trying to maneuver to a spot for the best shot. I heard a noise right alongside me, spun and nearly unleashed the bolt, when I saw a wrinkled man standing in his door, his curse stuck in his throat as he saw my crossbow, and more importantly, the dozens of men killing each other in the street. He slammed the door without uttering a word and I spun back to the group, hoping I wasn’t too late.

If I held for the perfect shot, it would never happen, so I sighted down the crossbow, turning with them as best I could, lifted three fingers to the long trigger, and squeezed.

The bolt flew across the small space faster than I could see. I hit a Horn man in the upper back, and while I couldn’t tell how deeply the quarrel went, it bit enough to cause him to spin around, reaching for it with one hand, spear in the other. He stopped though, realizing it was lodged in far enough that he’d only cause more damage trying to yank it free, but he also realized whoever loosed the bolt was there reloading another as well.

Or would have been if I hadn’t been staring at him, dumbly expecting him to simply fall over. When he saw me, he grabbed the spear in both hands and came for me at a run. Whatever damage the bolt had done wasn’t enough to slow him down.

I reached for another quarrel then, fumbling with it as I had trouble not looking at the man charging at me and ready to run me through. I nearly dropped it, slid it home on the stock, and started to work the lever of the devil’s claw, knowing he was going to reach me before I had a chance to span the crossbow and loose again-he was going to ram the spear through my belly and out the other side, and I’d fall to the dirt, dying slow, dying fast, but dying for certain. But it was too late to run, so I worked the lever and the claw pulled the hempen rope back, dropping it behind the nut, all I had to do was work the claw free, just as Braylar had shown me, get it out of the way, lift and loose. I heard the Hornman’s feet, nearly on me, but I kept going, it was the only thing left to do, expecting any moment to feel an explosion of pain in my belly.

And then suddenly the running stopped. I looked up, wondering why I wasn’t skewered. The Hornman was there, standing five feet away, but instead of driving the spear home, he was raising one hand in front of his face, shaking his head quickly, as if trying to dislodge a bad dream.

Then I realized why. Skeelana was just off my shoulder and a little behind, her own hand raised, fingers splayed as Soffjian’s had been, mouth knit tight in concentration, eyes closed. Only this time, the soldier wasn’t clawing his own eyes out or screaming, just shaking his head, looking confused, slowly waving one hand in the air.

Skeelana whispered, “Finish loading, Quills. Quickly, if you please.”

When the Hornman heard her voice, it was as if the spell had been broken, or diffused somewhat, as his eyes cleared, and it was obvious he saw the pair of us. He drew the spear back with both arms, took a step forward, and I wasn’t sure which of us would die first, but Skeelana raised her other hand, fingers out as well, and the Hornman paused, lips drawn back like an angry hound’s, eyes darting, confused again. He did thrust then, and it went through the air in the space between the two of us.

I finished working the lever just as he drew the spear back again. It was clear he couldn’t see at all, or saw something that wasn’t there, but even a blind or mad man can still kill with a spear if he jabs it enough times.

The Hornman did thrust again, this time missing Skeelana by inches. Reflex forced her to jump to the right, away from the thrust, and then the soldier’s eyes cleared again and he cocked the spear back.

But before he impaled her, he jerked back, a bolt protruding from the side of his neck, above the mail, below the nasal helm, in all the way to the fletching. He dropped his spear, took two steps back, hands scrambling for purchase on the bolt, eyes wild with fear. His fingers touched the fletching, jerked open as if feeling the bolt really embedded in his flesh made the doom more real. Then he dropped to his knees, looking at me the entire time, now in accusation more than panic, as he tried once to pull the bolt free before opening his mouth, gurgling blood all over his armor, and falling onto the ground, the bolt I’d hit him with earlier protruding from his back. A link might have broken, but it hadn’t punctured the mail that much, and probably hadn’t gotten too far past the gambeson underneath. No wonder he hadn’t been slowed down any. I’d only scratched him. Well, before shooting him in the neck, that is.

I turned to the side, stomach roiling, glad he’d landed on his face, so the accusation was at least in the dirt now, but still unable to stop ale and some undigested egg from spewing out my mouth. I was careful to keep the crossbow clear. Braylar would not have been happy about a crossbow caked in vomit. Such a good day for crossbows. I heaved again, though it was mostly spit and bile, and put my free hand on my leg to keep from falling over, not surprised to find that both leg and arm were shaking violently. After all, it’s not every day you shoot and kill someone for the first time.

Blinded by tears, I heaved again. And when I felt a hand on my shoulder, I spun and raised the crossbow, unable to see any better than the spell-stricken Hornman. Before I shot him in the neck.

Skeelana had taken a step back to avoid getting hit with the crossbow as it came up, and said, “I’m not an expert, but it tends to work better when it’s loaded.”

I started lowering it, and wiped at my eyes, feeling weak, ashamed, and still quite sick.

She said, “That wasn’t really an invitation to put it away, Quills.” She gestured at the men still fighting further down the street. “You might have cause to loose it a time or two more.”

Her hands were empty. Not even a weapon. And yet she’d managed to keep a very angry armed man from gutting us, only through the use of some Memoridon sorcery. I was beginning to understand why the Syldoon respected and distrusted them. I was glad to be alive, but what she’d done simply wasn’t natural.

I asked, “Why… why didn’t you simply kill him, as Soffjian had?”