no more than ten feet away. The three magical hounds circled below, snarling and growling. Hot, sizzling spittle drooled from their maws, pitting the cobblestones where it dripped.
'What now, scoundrel?' Mari called across the gap, hands on her hips.
Caledan saw a large oaken barrel perched on the rooftop a few feet away from him. It was a rain barrel, filled to the brim with cool, dark water. An idea struck him. 'Harper, is there anything over there that holds water?'
Mari frowned in confusion, but she looked around the rooftop all the same. 'There's a trough here with some sort of swill in it,' she called across the alley. 'But I wouldn't recommend it if you're thirsty. I think more than a few pigeons have been using it as their personal bath.'
'It'll do. Drag it to the edge of the rooftop, and when I tell you, dump it into the alley.'
Mari glared at him. 'You want to give the dogs a bath?'
'Just do it, Harper,' Caledan growled.
She muttered something under her breath but did as he asked all the same. The fiery mastiffs were scrabbling at the walls, getting higher with each jump. It was only a matter of moments before one of them successfully made the leap.
'Now, Harper!'
Caledan pushed over the heavy rain barrel. At the same moment Mari grunted, heaving the wooden trough onto its side. Cold water rained down on the three mastiffs. There was a deafening hissing sound as a thick cloud of steam billowed up from the alley. The hounds yelped as their flaming auras were doused and extinguished.
Caledan readied himself for a dash along the rooftops. He hoped the trick with the water would give him and the Harper a few moments' head start before they were forced to climb back down and take to the streets. Suddenly Caledan halted. He watched the magical beasts in fascination.
The mastiffs were continuing to yelp and whine, but their movements were growing slower, stiff and jerky. Steam ceased to rise from their sodden pelts. Abruptly the hounds froze in their tracks. They stood motionless for a heartbeat, and then, with a sound like breaking glass, the beasts collapsed into three heaps of jagged black shards.
Caledan shook his head in amazement. The magical beasts were dead, shattered like hot crockery immersed in cold water.
The Harper arched an eyebrow. 'Not bad, scoundrel. Did you know that was going to happen?'
'Of course,' he lied.
The two climbed back down into the alley. With his boot Caledan kicked apart the piles of broken shards. They rang like chimes as they skittered across the cobbles. He found his dagger and stuffed it back into its sheath in his boot.
'Well, it looks like this time it's farewell for good, Harper,' Caledan said thankfully. He had forgotten how much trouble Harpers could be.
'And good riddance, scoundrel,' Mari replied, her eyes blazing. 'Let's make certain we never-'
The Harper didn't get the chance to finish. She cried out as a crackling bolt of crimson brilliance streaked out of a shadowed doorway and struck her in the shoulder. The force of the blow threw her hard against the opposite stone wall. Her eyes fluttered shut as she slumped, motionless, to the ground.
Without hesitating, Caledan reached down, grabbed his dagger, and threw it spinning into the darkened doorway. There was a soft moan, and then a sharp-faced man clad in red robes stumbled out of the doorway and sank to the cobbles, the dagger buried deep in his chest.
Caledan swore under his breath. It seemed he had grown stupid as well as rusty with the years. After an attack by enchanted beasts, he should have known the wizard who had conjured them would not be far behind. He put a boot on the dead wizard's chest and pulled the dagger free. Blood flowed forth, spreading its dark stain across the ground.
'So who sent you, sorcerer?' Caledan spat, but the dead man could not reply. Caledan was about to search the body for some clues as to the wizard's identity, but immediately the corpse began to steam and bubble. The wizard's body burst into flame, and in moments there was nothing left but ashes. Caledan muttered an oath, turning his attention to the Harper.
She was alive, but just barely. Her skin had a deathly pallor to it; her breathing was rapid and shallow. He could barely detect her pulse. He heard the clatter of hooves behind him and turned to see Mista trotting down the alley.
'I don't suppose I could just leave her,' he said hopefully.
The mare snorted in agitation, laying her ears back. He sighed. 'I didn't think so.'
He lifted the Harper as gently as he could onto the gray's back and climbed into the saddle. She needed a healer, and there was only one place in the city he knew where he could take her. He spurred the mare into a brisk walk. 'If I never have dealings with Harpers again, Mista,' he growled as he rode, 'it'll be much, much too soon.'
Caledan took a deep breath of relief when he saw the old three-story inn at the end of the small lane. He had half expected to find it gone, what with the rest of the changes that had transformed the city. However, the half- timbered, gable-roofed inn still stood at the very western edge of the Tor. Half of the building actually jutted precariously out over the precipice, hanging in thin air where it was supported by a mazework of stout oaken beams anchored deep in the sheer rock of the cliff-face. A brightly painted sign hung above the intricately carved door, depicting an emerald green dragon dozing peacefully on a mountain of golden treasure. Caledan smiled despite himself. It was good to lay eyes on the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon again.
He dismounted and carefully lifted the Harper from Mista's back. The gray mare flared her nostrils and shifted nervously from hoof to hoof. Caledan bent his ear to the Harper's chest, then grinned at the horse.
'Fear not, friend. She still lives.' Caledan carried the Harper to the stout, iron-banded door. He pushed through the doorway and into the inn.
His heart sank.
Everything was different inside. In his memories, the common room of the Dreaming Dragon was a warm place filled with firelight and the clinking of mugs, reverberating with garrulous voices, laughter, and song. This dim, sullen room was just the opposite.
The great fireplace was cold and dark, and only a few smoking oil lamps offered their wan illumination. The polished wooden bar that had once stood against one wall was now covered with dirty cloths. Lord Cutter's Rules were posted in plain view.
A handful of sour-faced cityfolk looked up from the bare tables, staring at Caledan with suspicious eyes. Grimly, he laid the limp form of the Harper down on a long bench and surveyed the scene. The longer he looked, the worse it seemed. This place had been his home once. Now it was almost as inviting as a dungeon, but not quite. 'Listen, stranger, we don't want any trouble here.' Caledan turned around and found himself looking down at a stout, curly-haired halfling. The halfling's nut-brown eyes glittered warily, and his broad face was drawn down in a scowl. He stood firm, raised to his full four feet, gripping a cudgel in one hand. 'This is a respectable establishment. At least as respectable as you can find these days. We post the city lord's rules for all to see. You'd best be off, ruffian. Work your mischief elsewhere.'
Caledan winced. Ruffian? He rubbed the dark stubble on his chin. He was going to have to do something about his appearance.
'Friend,' he said wearily, 'I have a lady here who's been gravely hurt. Once there was a healer who lived here, a woman who would never have turned away one in need. Has she vanished as well, like everything else of good in this city?'
The halfling's gaze took in the limp form of the Harper, and his wide-spaced brown eyes softened somewhat, though they remained resolute. 'Come back in the morning.'
'Gods, man, she may not have until morning!' Caledan bellowed in exasperation. He took an angry step forward. A half-dozen chairs scraped against the floor as an equal number of burly men stood, glaring at Caledan. He froze. It looked as if this was about to turn nasty. He crouched, ready to give his best before he was dragged down.
Suddenly a halfling woman clad in a gray homespun dress entered the inn's common room from the kitchen, a startled expression on her kindly face. 'Jolle, what is it?'
'Stay back, wife!' the halfling man told her, lifting his cudgel, but before he could swing it the halfing woman let out a cry and dashed forward, throwing herself at Caledan. Caledan nearly tumbled backward from the impact.
