crossbows his way. The shadows whirling about the woman continued their sad litanies unabated, '. . cold … knife in my side. . face in the window. . lost. .'
The woman's hand seemed perfectly whole. She'd apparently found magical healing before returning to deal with him.
'Sathra! I can explain!' Gage backed toward the glimmering blade, his hands out in front of him as if to ward off an attack. His lone gauntlet continued sobbing.
'Oh, you will explain,' she chuckled. 'As soon as I strap you into something I've got downstairs. The fellow who sold it to me called it a Sembian Cradle. Very simple little chair-the cushion's replaced with a point. We strap you with a belt and hoist you onto the point, and pretty soon you'll be explaining more than you can imagine.'
Gage swallowed. Sathra's use of torture devices was legendary. He'd die before he'd allow himself to be taken to her famous 'Red Room.'
'It's not like that-I've come to warn you! I-'
One of Sathra's fingers idly pointed. A shadowy form dropped out of orbit around her and charged Gage.
Gage extended his raised hands to arms' length, and hoped.
The flickering shape, a silhouette of a bent, haggard man, reached an astral claw toward the thief. Soul- numbing cold brushed Gage, but the mouth on his gauntlet bit down.
Despite the immaterial nature of the gray-black creature trying to embrace Gage, his demon glove gripped it-at least, the horrible little mouth did. It somehow found toothy purchase on the insubstantial body. The shadow jerked, shuddered, and attempted to pull away, but failed. The mouth held on, began to chew and swallow. The silhouette bucked and scrabbled, frantically thrashing back and forth.
Gage, Sathra, and her men watched with various degrees of horror as the glove quickly ate the trapped shadow creature, leaving nothing behind but a final, whispery cry of pain. The thief was aghast, but tried not to reveal his shock on his face.
'So you see, Sathra,' said Gage, getting his voice under control, 'send me all the lightless souls you want. I can defeat them. And my demon glove enjoys sucking down living flesh twice as much as unmoored souls.'
The woman glared, her eyes narrowing as she considered. The confident, cruel expressions on her thugs' faces were gone. Mutters of uncertainty broke out behind Sathra. Good. But his display and bluff would only hold them, not defeat them. He knew his gauntlet had a hard limit on its daily wakefulness, and even then, it could eat only one man or shadow at a time. Gage had to use their moments of confusion to find a way out. He backed up another step until he stood next to Angul's open case.
'Angul! 'whispered Gage. 'I know you can hear me. Listen. Allow me to wield you, and I'll return you to Kiril! These before you are the enemy; they stole you, not me. Let me wield you against them, and we both can get home. Deal?'
Sathra finally said, 'Impressive trick. Binding a shadow to my own is expensive. But I've got more than one. Can you eat all of them at once? And deal with all my men while fending me off, too? Shall we find out?' Sathra had hit upon his earlier conclusion, damn her guess.
The thugs at her back didn't look happy at their mistress's proposed experiment, especially those in the first rank. But Sathra's instincts weren't wrong.
The thief ignored the crime lord, focusing instead on his only hope for salvation. 'Angul, be calm. . don't burn me, all right?' he whispered urgently to the blade. Would the sword take his deal? Gage reached out his left hand, ungloved and raw. Deal or no, he didn't want to antagonize Angul with another demon-gloved grasp. 'Stop that!' yelled Sathra.
She raised her arms toward the ceiling, then brought them down in a sinuous movement, mimicking an ocean wave. Her halo of flickering darkness tore away, becoming a wave of whispering shadow that crested toward Gage. Her men yelled and followed in the shadow's wake.
Gage snatched Angul and thrust its point toward the ceiling. Blue fire bloomed, bright as day, driving back darkness. Gage suddenly felt the strength moral certainty lends-felt it as if he'd always owned it. Tears broke from his eyes as all the failings of his life were laid bare, revealed in the sword's unrelenting light. Did he have Angul in his grip, or did the sword grip him?
These weren't his thoughts! He lived his life according to a code all his own. The enchanted blade sought to pervert his self-image. He wouldn't allow it! Gage wrestled with the feelings of remorse and repentance seeded by the blade. As he struggled, Sathra's shadow-surge foundered in Angul's sun-bright flame. Foundered, wavered, and began to evaporate like mist.
Sathra growled and with a gesture, dispersed the dark flock. She screamed, 'Kill the man and get the burning sword, gods damn you!'
The men in the front tank flinched at her curse but launched themselves toward Gage. Gage remained still, transfixed with unsought enlightenment.
Those in the rear rank leveled crossbows, already cocked. The volley of bolts broke Gage's deadlock. Angul ceased its brainwashing ambush to sweep the air of iron bolts, deflecting all but the one that plunged into Gage's thigh.
He tensed with expected pain, but none came.
Your pain does not serve me yet.
The thief gasped as his legs, as if of their own impetus, propelled him toward Laothkund's crime lord. The offending, evil, blasphemous female would be eradicated for the world to be cleansed-
Gage grimaced and scrabbled to bring order to the tumultuous flow of his thoughts. The damned blade was in his head, changing his perspective, his outlook, his very sense of self. The sword's violation was. . wasn't right. Even with his mind muddled, he was pretty sure Angul's mental violation wasn't the sort of thing normally ascribed to a good-aligned sword.
I am the arbiter of what is right, and that which is not.
Sathra retreated from his advance, gesticulating, creating a tracery of dark lines in the air. A spell was being birthed, she its dark midwife. Her men moved to buy her the time she required to finish its weave. He hacked with Angul, hacked again. One man sat suddenly, missing an arm. Another was felled like a tree. Another's head he stove in with the blunt side of the Blade Cerulean.
He parried a fourth's knife thrust, but the fifth clubbed his head. Light flared, then dimmed. No pain followed, no blood. Gage plunged the sword into the club wielder's chest. The man cried out in surprise, but Gage was already withdrawing Angul and swinging for the last fellow, who raised a sword.
The crossbowmen were swearing and fumbling to reload in mortal terror. They released another volley of bolts, more or less in unison. A few bolts tagged him, but he didn't pause to assess the damage.
Sathra's chanting took on a desperate note. Only one defender remained between her and Gage. Or more accurately, between her and Angul.
But that final defender parried two of Gage's thrusts with a maul of gray stone. The man's beard was snarled with small stone trinkets and charms. His head was shaved, and the tattoos scribed there marked him as a barbarian from the plains of Rashemen. Gage had heard tales of the tribesmen of that wild borderland. This was no ordinary thug.
'You're my meat,' cried the barbarian. 'I am Stolsin, the Grinder of Tribes!' As he spoke, he brought the maul down with force enough to render Gage's flesh to jelly. It would have ended there had not Angul jerked him clear.
Stolsin lifted his heavy maul into the air with no visible strain. The muscles twining his forearm were as thick and corded as tree roots. He screamed, 'I've destroyed walking dead on the outskirts of Thay!' He moved, catching even Angul off guard, and struck Gage's left shoulder. Pain flared before the burning sword could erase it.
'I've dared the cold drake's icy lair on the glacier of-'
Gage lunged and pushed the Blade Cerulean's point into the man's abdomen. The barbarian gasped and fell. Gage guessed Stolsin, Grinder of Tribes, wished he'd parried more and boasted less.
But the barbarian's braggadocio had bought time for his crimelord. Sathra ceased chanting and finger waving. The fruit of her spell took its final form: a black-scaled, obsidian-toothed, shadow-clawed thing. A demon of the inky void. Cold air blasted Gage and he took a step back despite Angul's grip on his mind.
'Meet Demoriel,' crowed Sathra, brandishing a fist still steaming with shadowstuff. She looked to the crossbowmen and said, 'Finish him. Help the demon!' She turned and dashed toward the exit.
Gage wanted to run, too. But like a dog distracted by the scent of fresh spoor, Angul focused all its attention
