symbol that hung from his belt. 'And I'm a man. Your margin for error is bigger.' Grinning sheepishly, he hurriedly added, 'No offense, of course.'
Tonight was hardly the night to irritate the Lord of Stealth with his oft-criticized impertinence. Jak and Cale would need all the Trickster's wiles to come through this little affair unbloodied.
Nearing Drover's Square, he hurriedly rechecked his 'disguise.' He stood balanced precariously atop the coachman's seat, wearing a large gray overcoat that draped past his real feet to reach a pair of human-sized boots nailed into the floorboards. Cale had insisted on the disguise. Everything must look normal, he had said, or the Night Knives would sniff out the ambush. A halfling driving a nobleman's coach in Selgaunt was decidedly abnormal.
So I get to play dress-up, he thought, while Cale does the real work.
Satisfied that he looked at least passably human, he turned to the west and headed toward the square. The steady drumbeat of hooves on cobblestones echoed off the bricks. The snow-dusted streets stood empty. He steered the horses under the arch that spanned the western entrance to Drover's Square, slowed the team a bit, and guided the carriage into the killing field.
If Cale had meant to choose an ideal ambush point in order to minimize suspicion, he had chosen well. Drover's Square offered an unparalleled field of fire. There was a wide-open expanse of cobblestones bordered by tall buildings-perfect perches for snipers. The area was littered with unhitched wagons and piles of discarded crates-perfect for hiding ground forces. Moonlight trickling between the looming warehouses cast a crazy quilt of shadows. Jak felt utterly exposed. The Knives could be anywhere.
They won't take chances with bows, he assured himself. They want the boy alive, and they won't want a stray arrow to eliminate their prize.
Still, his heart raced. Mouthing a prayer to Brandobaris, he guided the carriage across the square.
A sudden sound jerked his head skyward. Cale's voice-shouting in Lurienal, the halflings' tongue-from a nearby rooftop. 'Get out of there, Jak! This isn't a Night Knives oper-'
Shouts from all around drowned out Cale's warning as armed men burst from the surrounding buildings and swarmed toward the carriage, blades and crossbows bare.
'Trickster's hairy toes,' Jak grumbled, then thought, There must be thirty or more!
They ran toward the carriage from all sides, screaming for him to halt. The horses bucked and snorted, skittish as the men began to close.
Thinking fast, Jak stripped off the oversized cloak and hurriedly murmured a prayer to the Lord of Stealth. On the instant, he vanished from sight. Invisible now, he leaped from the carriage and swatted the already nervous lead horse in the rump. 'Hyah!'
The team bolted and took the bouncing carriage with it. Two of the ambushers tried to halt the speeding carriage, and the panicked horses ran them down, crushing bones under a flurry of merciless hooves. The rest of the men sped after the bouncing coach, still shouting for a nonexistent driver to halt. Crossbows twanged, and bolts thudded into wood. Somehow, another of Cale's monumental shouts managed to rise above the din, again in Lurienal.
'Take cover, Jak!'
'Dark!' Jak breathed, and raced for the nearest warehouse.
Hurriedly, Cale affixed his grapnel to a carved rainspout and fed the rope down the side of the warehouse. 'Dark,' he murmured as he worked. 'Dark and empty.' This had turned bad fast. Jak would need help. He hoped the little man had heard his warning.
There must be thirty men down there, he thought. Who in the Nine Hells are they?
Shouting men scrambled around the square and tried to corral the panicked horses. Several of the ambushers had already been run down. Their crushed bodies littered the cobblestones, broken limbs cocked at grotesque angles. It would only be a matter of time before the rest either calmed the horses or shot the team down. Cale had to move now.
He selected the most tightly packed group of men within range, plucked a large crystal globe from his necklace, and hurled it through the air across the square. When the globe struck the cobblestones in the midst of the crowd, Drover's Square exploded in fire. The force of the blast blew bodies apart and threw the pieces into the air like dry leaves in a gale. Screams and the stink of burning flesh filled the air. Many of the men scattered, unsure of where their attacker lurked, while others still pursued the carriage. Cale spared the carnage only a glance before climbing over the edge and shinnying down the rope.
Halfway down he peered over his shoulder, chose another cluster of men, and hurled a second globe from the necklace. Again orange fire blossomed, and again men burned and died. The fireballs would attract the city watch, he knew, but he intended to be gone before they arrived. He would retrieve Jak and get the Hells out of here.
He descended into a chaotic furnace of thick smoke, screaming men, burning wagons, and rearing horses. No one had yet sighted him. He dropped the last ten feet to the ground, whirled, and whipped out his longsword.
He stood face to face with Drasek Riven.
'Riven? What in the Hells-'
The assassin lunged forward, both blades low. Cale leaped back like a cat but felt the points of Riven's sabers slice the cloth of his cloak. He clumsily parried one of the assassin's follow-up slashes but took a shallow cut across the forearm from Riven's other saber. A minor wound. Sneering, Riven backed off.
'What are you doing, Riven? You-' In that instant, everything crystallized. Riven had been the betrayer of the Knives, the betrayer of the Righteous Man. But why? Cale asked himself. Who's he working for?
'I've been waiting a long time for this, Cale,' Riven hissed. 'So I'm going to bleed you slow. One nick at a time.' He waved his sabers threateningly. His one eye glared with an evil glow.
Breathing hard, Cale backed up against the warehouse wall. He briefly considered trying to climb back up the rope, but quickly dismissed the idea. The assassin was too fast. Riven would cut him down the moment he turned his back. Cale knew he had to get out of there. Though skilled with a blade, he was no equal of Drasek Riven.
Where in the Hells is the Watch? he thought. They must have heard the explosions.
'What? Nothing to say?' The assassin sneered.
Behind Riven, Cale saw through the flames and smoke that the men near the carriage had finally grown impatient enough to shoot down the horses. They would have the carriage door open in moments. The rest, still unsure of the source of the fireballs, began to cautiously regroup. Riven continued to gloat.
'Cale the Clever with nothing to say? Scared silent, eh?' the assassin scoffed. 'I always knew you were a coward.' He stalked forward, but the shouts from the men checking the carriage turned him around and stopped him cold.
'It's empty!' they yelled from across the square. 'The carriage is empty!'
Riven whirled on Cale, his triumphant smile replaced with a hate-filled glare. 'W-where's the boy, Cale?' he sputtered. 'Where!'
Cale shot him a smug smile. 'I always knew you were an idiot, Riven.'
Roaring in rage, the assassin charged.
Riven's sabers cut a whistling swath through the smoke-filled air, his promise to kill Cale slowly apparently forgotten. Cale sidestepped a stab at his vitals and lashed out with an overhand slash. Riven deflected the blow wide with one saber, spun, and slashed backhand at Cale's throat. Cale dropped into a roll to avoid the killing stroke, instead taking a painful gash across his scalp, then leaped to his feet. When he stood, Riven shot him a hateful smile and stabbed him through the shoulder.
Desperately, Cale pulled free of the saber, swept Riven's other blade wide with his longsword, and landed a vicious kick square in the smaller assassin's chest. The impact blew the breath from Riven's lungs and drove him back three paces. With blood and sweat pouring into his eyes, Cale used the reprieve to gulp his healing potion. Skin knit painfully and abruptly back together. The wounds in his scalp and shoulder stopped bleeding instantly.
'You're… a… dead… man,' Riven managed between gasps.
Behind the assassin, Cale could see the other men moving across the square toward the combat. Wiping the remaining blood out of his face, he resolved not to go easily. He fingered a globe on his magical necklace and thought, We'll all go together, you sons of whores.
'Come on,' he said to Riven, and beckoned him forward with his long sword.
Riven's signature sneer returned with his breath. 'Cale, yo-ahhh!' The assassin's words turned into a howl of pain as the tip of Jak's shortsword burst from his gut in a shower of blood. The now visible halfling, standing behind
