close above them. They were prints of small boots, the Duchess’s size, and they led away in a zigzag fashion. Phin followed. Twice there were more and longer marks where the Duchess had probably stumbled against a wall in the dark and gone down, though she hadn’t stayed there.
The Sarge was now yelling for Phoarty as well as for the Duchess, but Phin made no response. The tracks led him into a long gallery at the rear of the building with the gray quasi-daylight coming in through tall slit windows. There were a lot of tracks in the thick dust here and as Phin looked at them he gasped, for most had not been made by boots. They were of small, naked feet with three splayed toes ending in claws, and a fourth digit extending backward from the heel.
“Sergeant, shut up!” Phin shouted, and the man did so though it took a moment for the echoes of his voice to fade in the stone rooms with their furnishings rotted away. Phin concentrated hard but all he could hear was his crackling torch and his own rapid breathing. He drew the dagger he had taken from the Dead Possum from his belt, though he did not hope to accomplish much with the thing. There had not been a lot of weapons training at Abverwar, mostly memorization of lists of dead kings.
There was a sound behind him and Phin spun. Light flickered from a doorway down the hall and Ty appeared, sword in one hand and torch in the other. Phin beckoned him forward, pointing at the tracks on the ground, and Ty crept into the gallery. The light of his torch shone on the ceiling above him, and Phin screamed.
Clinging to a beam above the legionnaire’s head was something out of a nightmare. It was about the size of a goblin and similar in the narrow torso, long spindly limbs, and bulbous head, but instead of rubbery skin it was covered with yellowed scales the color of old parchment. In place of hands and feet it had four sets of four- fingered claws. All Phin saw of its face was gleaming green eyes above a sort of bony white beak, out of which flicked a forked red tongue. It dropped off of the beam with the speed of a striking adder.
Phin’s shout and wide eyes had been enough warning for Ty to twist away and the thing’s claws only raked across his helmet, one foot snagging the dirty brown Legion plume and tearing it out of its mount. Ty hit the floor and rolled away while the thing remained suspended in the air, hanging upside-down by a narrow tail wrapped whip-like around the beam. It popped the Legion plume into its beak and swallowed with a sucking sound, then dropped off the beam and spun to land on all fours with a puff of dust. Its four claws scrabbled as it scuttled toward Phin.
Phin held his dagger and torch in front of him and backed away as fast as he could go. The thing made a squeaking cry as it followed, alternately rising to its hind legs or moving on all four. Its beak clacked open and shut with a sound like sharpening knives. Phin backed down another short hall, yelling for Ty to get the hell up and kill the thing. He passed into yet another room and heard a sharp intake of breath at his side.
It was the Duchess, who he had plain forgotten about, lurking beside the door with an old table leg raised above her head. Phin said “Don’t,” but she did.
She was not tall enough to swing for Phin’s head but did crack him in the left elbow. The soft old wood burst in a dirty cloud but Phin dropped his dagger, just as the creature sprang at him.
The thing seemed to lack even the rudimentary intelligence to avoid an open flame, and as Phin reeled from the woman’s assault he thrust the torch into the oncoming creature’s face. It squealed and raked two claws through Phin’s shirt without cutting him, but its impact spilled them both to the ground and this time Phin’s head did bang off the floor.
He lay stunned for a moment, torch rolling out of his numb hand to gutter in the dust. He could hear the thing rolling away and scrabbling upright, and see the Duchess staring at it wide-eyed with her mouth twisted in horror, still clutching what was left of her club. Then Ty was there, bounding over Phin and driving at the creature, hacking off one of its claws at the wrist even as another screeched across his breastplate. Phin met the Duchess’s eyes, then both scrambled for his dagger lying between them.
She got to it first but Phin grabbed her wrists by their cord bindings before she could use it, and they rolled together in a tangle, gagging on the dust their struggle raised. Ty and the creature were locked in combat and the Sarge and Rickard were both shouting in different parts of the building. Phin finally managed to get his longer legs under the melee and roll the woman to her back, forcing her arms over her head with a sharp cry.
“Stop it!” he hissed at her, eyes only inches from hers.
“Let go of me!” she yelled back in accented Codian.
“Woman, listen!” he said in a harsh whisper. “I am the only chance you have of getting away from these men and out of here. Do not fight me!”
She blinked at Phin in confusion, but did not wholly stop struggling. Across the room Ty barked an oath and the little creature hissed gleefully.
“Who are you?” the woman demanded.
“My name is Phinneas.” She made a final squirm, but Phin had her pretty well pinned. “Trust me,” he said. “I am on your side.”
She blinked up at him. “Do you even know what side that is?”
“Not really. But the other one has to be worse.”
“Phoarty, a little help!” Ty called. Phin looked over and saw that while the legionnaire was faring all right, he could not quite land a killing blow on the quick little beast. It scrabbled around him hissing and spitting, bleeding a slimy gel from several wounds but still darting in to swipe at Ty’s legs. Its severed claw lay in the dust, twitching.
“Do not do anything rash until we have a plan,” Phin whispered to the Duchess, then raised himself enough to wrench the dagger out of her bound hands. He rolled off of her with the faintest feeling of remorse not really appropriate to the situation, took up the dagger, and crept up on Ty’s opponent from behind.
Ty met Phin’s eyes and nodded him to the side. Both torches were now on the ground and Ty lunged forward for a stab that the creature avoided only by scampering sideways and putting a claw foot down on one of them. The creature screeched and hopped backwards directly at Phin, and before he had time to think about it Phin plunged the dagger in between its scaly shoulder blades. Hot gore splashed his hands and the creature fell to the ground, hissing and squeaking as all four limbs tried to reach the dagger jammed in to the hilt. Then Ty was on it, yelling and hacking at its head until it finally lay still.
Rickard burst into the room, eyes raking the place. He saw the Duchess by the wall and grabbed her by the bindings on her wrists, twisting them cruelly.
“Don’t ever run off in this place, you stupid wench!” Rickard shouted in her face. She fell forward to her knees and grimaced in pain, but made no sound. Her eyes remained locked on Phin’s.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Uriako Shikashe was the first to step through the mist-shrouded gatehouse and emerge into the round plaza just inside Vod’Adia. Nesha-tari was close behind him. The vendors looked at the grim samurai with his bared white blade and the beige-cloaked woman whose flashing blue eyes returned their looks smugly, and no one felt the need to tout their wares. These people looked like they knew what they were doing.
Amatesu came out next with a pack on her shoulder and carrying an unlit lantern. Tilda followed with an arrow nocked in her short bow. Brother Heggenauer and John Deskata appeared with mace and heavy short sword, both of them armored now as the ex-legionnaire had stripped the breastplate and greaves off of one of his fallen fellows. He also carried, once again, the tall tower shield of the Legions.
The six of them looked around surprised by the market-day atmosphere of the place, and weapons were finally slid back into sheaths or at least rested on shoulders. Nesha-tari crossed her arms and spoke, but no one translated. Everyone looked around.
“Where’s the other guy?” Deskata asked.
“His name is Zebulon,” Amatesu said. Quick introductions had been made once already.
“Whatever. Where is he?”
The samurai grunted and nodded his flaring kabuto helmet back at the gatehouse, where a raised crossbow was just easing out of the dense mist in the passageway. The weapon was followed by Zeb’s head, bushy hair poking out from beneath his Ayzant helmet. He looked around over the bow then lowered it and jogged over to the
