Gusts whipped at his trousers and shirt, and the cloud was pushed away. Par-Salian directed its course and cleansed the air around them with a sweep of his hand. He was able to cut a swath through the noxious cloud, though he couldn’t push its effects away from everyone entirely. Only a handful of people were safe, including them.
The fresh air was a welcome blessing, but before Tythonnia could stand, four bolts of light suddenly appeared from the mist ahead of them and slammed into Par-Salian. The blow knocked him off his feet. He hit the street hard, the back of his head bouncing on the cobblestone ground. He groaned in pain, and a weakened Ladonna crawled over to help him.
Tythonnia squinted, trying to see where the bolts had come from. When she realized she couldn’t see their attacker, she decided to go on the defensive until they could rally. She fumbled for the bit of eyelash trapped in amber as she rose to her feet. Her hands moved and the magic responded with a spark that traveled up her spine and into her skull.
A moment after that, the whole world vanished.
Tythonnia stopped, sudden panic overwhelming her.
No sound came to her, nothing of the screams and cries of the people in the street around her. No sight came either; the world was dark as though the gods had blown out the candle of the sun. She could still smell the lingering sulfur and bile, the sweat and stale air. She could still feel the clothing on her back and the street beneath her.
She swayed, finding it difficult to maintain her balance. The cloud left her weak. Panicked, she swept her arms out in front of her and cried the names of her friends. But if they responded, she couldn’t hear it against the pressure of silence. Time turned momentum against her, the seconds slowly turning into minutes, turning into hours. She felt suspended in an inkwell, not even hearing her own voice, her own breathing.
The blow came out of nowhere, shocking the breath from her lungs and paralyzing her entire body. It struck her in the stomach, like a kick to her midsection. Tythonnia dropped to her knees, unable to inhale. She clutched her belly and tried to curl up into a ball. Another kick stomped down on her shoulder and drove her to the ground. She screamed in pain as the wound tore open again. And yet she heard nothing.
Again the blows came, vicious and without mercy. One attacker, one heavy foot, drove into her again and again, the attack made worse by the horrible, pressing quiet. She screamed even louder, if only to hear her own voice, and flailed to grab the angry foot, to stop the attack. The next kick blew past her hand, however, and struck her squarely in the jaw.
The rush of blood filled her ears. Blind, senseless, she reached out to stop the attacks. Her hands brushed against the ground and swam through the empty air. Nothing came and the nothing lingered. Was it mercy or cruelty that stopped the attack? Did her attacker take pity on her, or was he toying with her?
Bright light filled her vision and drove iron nails into her skull. She shielded her eyes and suddenly realized she could see again. Sound returned too, like liquid filling an urn. She blinked and swooned, the blow still ringing through her head. Her jaw felt wet, and her fingers came away glistening red. It took a moment to realize someone was helping her off the ground.
“… on,” the voice said, filtering through the cotton in her skull. “Can you walk?”
Tythonnia found herself staring at a handsome young man with slightly rounded features, a clean face, and green eyes. He was dressed well, with a crimson and silk doublet and flared, red pants.
“Who…?” Tythonnia managed.
“The man who just saved your life,” he said.
Tythonnia saw Par-Salian and Ladonna rising from the ground as well as the body of a large, cloaked man. She recognized the hunter from Virgil’s trial and the High Clerist’s Tower. The stench cloud had dissipated, and everyone was taking as wide a berth around them as they could.
“Is he-?” Tythonnia asked, motioning to the hunter.
“Dead? No,” the man said. “That would cause too many problems with the local constables. Follow me.”
“What?” Tythonnia asked. She was still confused and not a little dazed.
“Do you want sanctuary or not?” the man asked them. By then, Par-Salian and Ladonna were also exchanging glances as they approached. “Anyone who runs afoul of renegade hunters is safe with us.”
Ladonna took the initiative since both Par-Salian and Tythonnia seemed knocked clear of their wits. “Sanctuary, yes,” she said. “Get us out of here, please.”
The man nodded and ushered them through the crowd as best he could. Within minutes, they were outside Smiths’ Alley with the unforgiving daylight beating down upon them. Minutes after that, they’d located a coachman to take them away entirely.
The man introduced himself as Kinsley. He explained how the renegade hunter had incapacitated all three of them before he started kicking Tythonnia. Had Kinsley not intervened, the big man was surely going to beat all three of them to death.
The coachman arrived at Merchant’s Pier, at a harbor keelboat with a large deckhouse that dominated the vessel’s profile. The ship was one of many that catered to the larger galleys that were waiting to dock and couldn’t afford to keep their cargoes aboard for a minute longer. For the moment, it was wedded to a small pier, its lower deck empty and ready to receive wares. The captain, a dwarf of all things, asked no questions while Kinsley brought his three passengers on board and settled them belowdecks. He promised to return later.
Hurt and spent by their recent ordeal, the three companions quietly tended to each other’s injuries before exhaustion overtook them. They fell asleep atop their bedrolls, to the gentle rocking of the swell and the crooning of creaking lumber. By the time they awoke, it was night outside and their only light came from a dirty lantern. They ate a meal of cured meats and fruits, devouring their stock with barely a care before the deck above them creaked under the weight of footsteps.
Each of them prepared their spells, their reagents hidden in their hands and the arcane words ready to be spoken.
Kinsley walked down the stairs accompanied by a second man. The companion wore gray robes; he was a large man, wide at the shoulders, and his mouth and chin pinched with a black beard and mustache. The same colored hair hung in long wild locks from his head. In his hand he carried a plain gnarled staff, but Tythonnia realized Ladonna was studying the staff.
“I hope you’ve all rested,” Kinsley said, “because as of right now, you three are hunted fugitives wanted for starting a fire in Smiths’ Alley and for murder.”
“That wasn’t us,” Tythonnia said in protest.
“Perhaps,” Kinsley said. “But we protect our own. You can’t stay in Palanthas.”
“Who’s he?” Ladonna asked, nodding to the large man.
“My name is Raff,” the man said. “And I’m here to bring you to safety.”
“Safety?” Par-Salian said. “Where are you taking us?”
“To meet our leader,” Raff said, “Berthal.”
“That’s nice,” Ladonna said, bluffing. “And who in the Abyss is Berthal?”
“The man who’ll save us all,” Kinsley said. “Now enough chatter. It’s time to leave.”
CHAPTER 13
Red-robed wizards and acolytes bustled along the hallways, each one on some crucial errand. The desert sun of the Northern Wastes beat its heat into the rocks and stones that clothed Abrasama Keep. It was an unpleasantly hot and sticky day, but there was little complaint. Everyone was too preoccupied, for
