In his surprise, he almost lost his form and snapped back across the ocean. As it was, he saw, looking out at the advancing night and the alien darkness on the boundaries of the city, he had little time.
“You must flee!” he blurted, still amazed that the girl was awake. He had been out of touch for too long. “The Protectorate await outside the city. They know you are here. There is no time. Do not pack, just warn the others and leave now.”
“Fool girl! Listen to me! They are coming!”
“Just do it…flee tonight…you must head north — it is the only way out of the city…” Drun could feel the pull as the last of the evening light fled.
Drun had time to marvel at her poise. So much presence for one so young, he thought at the same time as his frustration at her rejection. Stupid girl!
He had no more time to think. On the last rays of light, his body snapped back. He sensed, rather than felt, the tainted darkness seeking him as he was called back out of the night, but his soul travelled so swiftly it was just a hint of a bony hand before it touched your shoulder in a dream…
He had no time to feel the skeletal touch of the Protectorate’s wizard, just the memory of it, like a violation imagined rather than experienced.
He blinked, and felt the first drops of rain on his face. He sat up, but could only spare a frown at Renir’s concerned and amazed face.
“Surrounded by stupidity,” he grumbled. “It’s a wonder the world hasn’t ended already.”
“Welcome back,” said Renir. “Nice of you to put a rosy tint on things. I feel so much better now.”
Drun merely growled at him. He rose, shook his cloak out, and stalked off to get out of the rain.
Renir coughed and turned his face upward to the sky. Drun might be surrounded by stupidity. Renir was surrounded by grumpy old curmudgeons.
At least with just the rain for company things were simple for a change. Then the lightning streaked the sky, and lit Renir’s face. For once, he looked happy and at ease. He stared lazily out to sea. Cold and alone, rain ran in rivulets from his beard. He smiled, closed his eyes, and waited for the storm to break.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Night fell slowly, laying long shadows along Beheth’s confusing streets. As always, Tirielle followed a new route to the library in the hope that no assassin could lay in wait. The Protectorate patrols were now concentrated in the west of the city. She gave them no thought. Roth had done its deadly work well.
Typraille followed behind, making no pretence at concealment. The Sard hoped open protection would deter any attacker — Carth followed their back trail, Unthor strode along a parallel street, keeping them in sight only occasionally through refuse strewn alleyways and across hunched bridges. Tirielle would have preferred to have them all at her back, but it would have to be enough. They could not afford to leave the inn unprotected. She could not afford to leave the Seer alone. As much as she had grown to love the girl, she could not fool herself. The Seer could prove to be a great ally in days to come. She could not lose her. She would not.
Whatever her motivations for protecting the Seer, it was still possible that the assassin, whoever it might be, would wait for them at the Great Tree Inn. He could be hiding on the rooftops, or biding his time until he could send a bolt or arrow through their window come early morning. The Sard thought few assassins would be bold enough to strike in the daylight, but Tirielle knew better. Bitter experience had taught her to expect the unexpected when it came to dealing with those that dealt only in death. It was no game. There were no rules. The choices were simple; be killed, or kill.
If she knew from where the threat came she could have struck early and hard, removing the threat before it had a chance to sneak up on them. But assassins were impolite by nature — they kept you waiting.
Guessing, going over the angles in her mind, Tirielle had been forced to split the Sard. They were at their most effective when they fought together, but only against a vastly significant force. Against a lone man, one trained in the art of subtle murder, they could only protect her as well as she could protect herself.
She was watchful. She trusted the Sard with her life, but would not relax. Not this night. Not when she was hunted from the shadows. She put her trust in vigilance. Hers, and that of the Sard. Only in harmony would they succeed.
Heart pounding in her breast, ears attuned to the night, she walked carefully, as swiftly as she dared. Haste could mean a sign missed, a sound unheard over her own footfalls. She wished Roth could be with them, but it was simply more logical for it to guard the inn. If it were seen now (however unlikely that was) the Protectorate would come in force. All its work would be for nought, and the last thing they needed this night was additional interference. It was too great a risk.
Wishes were meaningless, but she wished, nonetheless. Roth was an accomplished assassin in its own right. It thought the way an assassin thinks — without rules. Anything might be a weapon. It might come as a friendly face, or a missile from the rooftops. Assassins rarely worked in groups, but that, too, was a possibility she could not dismiss.
Cats screeching from behind an alley wall startled her into drawing her daggers, but j’ark seemed unperturbed. He merely strolled on, shoulders rolling with his easy, self-assured gait. A long bladed knife hung from his belt, underneath the grey cloak he wore. The heat was prohibitive, but hard questions would be asked if a Protectorate patrol stopped them in the darkness. This night was too important to be delayed. Everything rested on their success, or gods forbid, their failure.
Time was as much their enemy as the faceless assassin. If they failed tonight, they would be without a guide, lost on the wrong continent. Tirielle would not allow that to happen. She had allies fighting the same fight, and she would not let them down. If someone relied on her, she would fight to the last to aid them. She would do so because she expected nothing less from her friends. The Sard had fought for her, and, although she had never met them, and knew nothing of the men across the ocean other than their fate, they were doing the same for her. Together, their battle might be small, but they fought for the greatest prize of all — the freedom of every human on Rythe.
Failure was not an option. Fail, and she might as well be dead. Already she had staked her life on her quest, and the lives of everyone who followed her.
How could she risk any less?
“It seems we have company,” said j’ark in subdued tones, startling her again. Her heart skipped a beat. “Don’t look up.”
She hid her face in her hair and stared at the ground. She did not think her lips could be read in the growing darkness, but there was still a little light lingering in the air.
“Where?”
“On the rooftop to our left. The house with the nested eves. I saw nothing but a silhouette.”
“Just one?”
j’ark nodded his head.
“No,” said Typraille, just behind them. He spoke quietly, and Tirielle had to strain to hear him. “There’s another to the right. I saw a strangely shaped huddle in the alleyway we just passed. I think they are just watching. He could have loosed an arrow before I noticed him, but he stayed where he was.”
“Let us hope you are right, but we should not count on it. Perhaps they work together, and wait to kill us all at once. Signal Carth. Tell him to take the man in the alleyway. We can do nothing about our rooftop watcher.”
Typraille nodded, although j’ark was not looking at him. Behind his back the willing warrior formed signs with his hand. Tirielle imagined he wished he could take the battle to the enemy. It was not Typraille’s way to stand
