Aquint stepped forward. He seized the two pieces of bloodied cloth.
"You're sure?" he asked the wizard, intently.
The man with the grey stubble nodded. "I was trained in this magic. It's what I know."
Aquint continued to search the gaunt face, looking for signs of treachery.
"You will have to trust him, Aquint," said the Minstrel, behind him.
Aquint realized that this was true. He pocketed the blood samples.
"Let's go, let's go!" Ondak was urging, wrestling a chair toward the corner. He hopped atop it, then levered his grunting weight up into the hatchway.
One by one, they swiftly evacuated the rooms. When Aquint finally rolled out onto the roof, he felt the bite of the night air. He heard the large Felk patrol nearing in the street below.
"Keep your heads down," the Minstrel whispered. He was standing by the hatch, making sure everyone got out. Aquint went ahead, catching up to Cat, wanting to put his arms around the boy, but knowing that would only make the lad uncomfortable. He settled for slapping him cheerily on the back.
"I knew you weren't dead," Aquint said, half-lying.
Cat gave him a look that, briefly, was warm and welcoming. Then the boy grimaced and resumed his more normal, stoic expression. He said, "I was able to track you to that granary, then to here." Then he said, pointing, "We're going this way."
Aquint followed, seeing how Cat moved a bit awkwardly, a hand to his side. He hoped the boy's wound wasn't too serious. This rooftop connected to the roofs over the row of craft shops, and these led some distance away from the approaching patrol. The Broken Circle members came after them, everyone hunkered low, moving quickly and stealthily. Nievze was among them, Abraxis's red bag clutched tightly to him.
Frightened voices rose from the street, as people were turned outdoors. If their group could get off these rooftops at the far end, Aquint judged, they could stay ahead of the patrols, long enough to find someplace where Nievze could cast his elaborate blood magic spell.
And after that... what? After that, this whole war might be over. It was a delirious, intoxicating, exciting thought, one Aquint couldn't help but entertain, no matter that his pragmatic instincts told him not to wholly trust this plan.
"You! Up there! Hold!"
Aquint looked back, dread closing over him. The Broken Circle members were rushing toward the roofs' far end, but somebody must have gotten careless. Now the patrol had spotted them.
"Hurry!" Cat said. He had apparently used a ladder to get up onto the rooftops in the first place. It was still leaning against the building's eaves. Gelshiri bounded down it. Ondak followed her over the side immediately. But there wasn't enough time to get everyone down that way.
The Minstrel was still toward the rear. Deo, with his crossbow, was with him. Radstac had reached Aquint near the edge. She looked back now, saw Deo, and reversed course.
"Radstac, don't!" Aquint called, forgetting for the moment that she was partly responsible for Cat being shot.
Cat grabbed Aquint's sleeve. "Come on," the lad said.
He was right, of course. "Everybody jump!" Aquint said to the others, all vying for a chance at the ladder.
As if to demonstrate, Cat nodded and vaulted fearlessly over the edge of the roof. It was a fair distance to the street below, but most would probably survive the fall with a minimum of broken bones.
Aquint took a last look behind. Deo, aiming at the street, fired off his crossbow, then fit it with another bolt. Radstac had drawn her sword. That woman who'd been with the Minstrel at the granary, the one with the amber eyes, was with him now, at his side.
Nievze suddenly stepped in front of Aquint. "I'm frightened!" the wizard said, voice quivering.
Aquint roughly seized Nievze's arm. "Come with me, friend. We still need you to work your magic."
With that, Aquint leapt from the roof, carrying the magic-using Felk deserter down with him.
DARDAS (5)
Life pumped strongly through his veins. Life was there with every breath that moved in and out of his lungs. He surged with it, with its vitality, with its exuberance. He was alive, in every sense.
This was truly the medium of Dardas's life. Finally, this Felk war was delivering what he needed most—an enemy. So far, that enemy appeared to be worthy. There was definitely a tactical intelligence to that opposite army's movements, and in its replies to Dardas's feints and probes. That wasn't some mass of disorganized, armed rabble facing his army out there. Someone, or someones, over there had a knack for military strategies.
Dardas couldn't keep the grin off his face as the field intelligence reports continued to flow in. Never before, in his days of conquering the Northern Continent, had he had such speedy information available to him. He could know within moments how the enemy was responding to a particular thrust. He could have his orders relayed instantly to the various units he wished to mobilize. It was fantastic.
Dardas still had no real explanation as to why Weisel had so suddenly withdrawn from their dual consciousness, leaving Dardas with full command of this body once more. It may very well have been the intense fear the Felk noble had felt. Maybe strong negative emotions weakened one's hold on the shared host body, especially when faced with the equally powerful emotions of joy and expectation that Dardas was experiencing.
He didn't have time to bandy about the theory. At the moment, he was just glad Weisel was out of the way.
Dardas noticed Raven lingering on the periphery of where he'd set up his temporary base of operations. She had performed an invaluable service for him by pointing out the possibility, which he hadn't considered, that this enemy might have studied his ancient strategies. It was conceivable that Raven, with that one bit of advice, had saved this army countless casualties. Dardas couldn't imagine rewarding her enough, once this was done. Perhaps someday he would elevate her to the status of his permanent consort. After all, she knew his secret, knew he was Dardas. He would want her close to him.
The Battle of Torran Flats... that was why it had looked so familiar. It had been a great victory of his, and apparently history had recorded and remembered it. If he had acted as he had during that original battle, surely this enemy would have sprung some cunning trap. Maybe his whole army would have been slaughtered, the ferocity of his warriors and the might of his mages notwithstanding.
By now, there had been several, relatively small engagements between the two armies. First blood had been spilled, and Dardas fancied he could smell it on the night wind, the scent bitter and coppery and... stimulating.
As yet, however, the all-out clash between the armies hadn't commenced. Dardas had wondered if this enemy would show signs of shying from a nighttime battle. But each of his exploratory thrusts had been met with decisive force, to say nothing of the wily, bold move that had drawn out a unit of his fire-working wizards. Those casualties had been high, but his army could absorb the losses.
Of course, when things really got under way Dardas had several resources he could tap that would vastly increase his advantage. Those Far Movement mages were certainly going to earn their pay. Dardas had a number of strong, compact units of fighters scattered throughout his forces, with Far Movement and Far Speak wizards attached. He planned to use these for fast disruptive attacks, keeping them in almost constant motion through the portals, stabbing the enemy with short vicious jabs.
This Isthmus plain would be glutted red with blood before the sun rose.