Shadowbane

few tricks of my own, but again, you’re the warrior, not I.”

“You called it off.”

“A trick that may or may not work again,” Lilten said. “Would you trust to luck?”

Kalen shrugged. “At this point, what else is there?”

Lilten’s eyes sparkled at that. “What else indeed.”

The sun elf rose and traced his fingers idly across the table. He was deciding something.

“Well,” he said at length. “Come nightfall, we go to the main hive in the sewers.”

Kalen caught his arm. “A considerable coincidence,” he said, “that you appear only when needed. First you steer Myrin to the derelict, then you heal me, and now you would help us against this Scour. Quite fortunate.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Lilten looked down at the hand on his arm, then gave Kalen a broad smile. “I must say, it is indeed very suspicious, and yet, what choices have you?”

In a flash, Kalen drew his dagger and stabbed it into the table between Lilten’s thumb and forefinger.

“Interesting,” the elf said.

“Explain,” Kalen said. “You serve another purpose here. Tell me what it is.”

“Such a suspicious lad.” Lilten drew his hand away from the dagger and inspected his thumb-specifically, the tiny rent Kalen’s blade had left in the glove. He looked Kalen in the eye. “Trust me if you will; do not if you will not. But think of what will happen to your beloved Luskan on the morrow, when the demon hungers again.”

“It is not my city,” Kalen said.

“No? You fight quite hard to save it, King Shadowbane. Or rather”-Lilten glanced over Kalen’s shoulder, toward the stairs-“something in it?”

Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention-Sithe and Myrin descending slowly. When he looked back, Lilten was gone. That also reminded him of someone and this time he did remember. Speaking in riddles, far too beautiful for his-or her-own good? A name floated in his mind, but he dared not voice it.

“What happened to our guest?” Myrin asked.

“He was never staying.” Kalen regarded Sithe, who wore traveling clothes borrowed from Myrin. With her black skin and steady gaze, she looked far more threatening in that attire than Myrin ever could. The two of them exchanged a nod. “Flick,” Kalen called. “Zzar?”

“One bottle left,” the bartender called back. “Cost me forty pieces of gold.”

“Share it with us who are soon to die?”

“Well then.” She reached into a cupboard hidden beneath the bar and took out one of the Dead Rats’ greatest treasures: four glasses-genuine glasses, albeit cracked in two instances, and with one missing a substantial chip from the edge. “Can’t be toasting imminent death with pewter or clay.”

The four of them sat around the table in the middle of the vast, nearly empty common room, as Flick poured glasses of the thick amber liquid into their tankards. The scent of almonds rose as they each touched their glasses, expectant.

“We face certain death tonight,” Kalen said. “We’re to venture into the sewers and destroy that creature in its lair. All on the word of an elf who’s probably playing both sides.”

“Well,” Myrin said. “That definitely sounds like certain death-unless we win.”

“Unless.” Kalen raised his glass. “To almost certain death.”

They raised their glasses and threw back the zzar. Of the four of them, Sithe’s face drew tightest- apparently, heavy drink was not for her. Myrin did quite well.

“You are well?” Kalen asked the genasi.

Sithe drained the rest of her zzar. “Better.”

“Hic!” Myrin beamed. “That’s the best.”

Flick chuckled wetly and poured the last of the bottle into the four glasses. “What of the next queen of Luskan, eh?” she asked. “Eden of the Clearlight?”

Every face turned sour.

“Easy come, easy bleed,” Flick said. “In Luskan, you basically have two choices: live with the blaggard in power or kill him and hope you like the next blaggard better.”

Kalen touched his second glass of zzar, looking at the reflection of his fingers through the amber. “Anyone know how to kill a tide of ten thousand beasts?”

“Ten thousand cuts,” Sithe said.

“If we fought it before and couldn’t kill it,” Kalen said, “how do we kill it now?”

“Point.” Myrin stared at her second glass very seriously. “But we have to try.”

“Fleeing isn’t better?” Flick asked. “The Dead Rats is done, the other gangs of Luskan in disarray. What you got’s worth the fight?”

“Nothing,” Sithe said.

The genasi looked around the table, taking in first Myrin, then Kalen. Understanding flickered across Sithe’s dark visage.

“Something more,” she amended.

Kalen raised his glass to that. “Something more.”

More.

We fed well today, but we must have more.

The call brought us to food and that was good. We chafe under the control, but the eating was good. Murmur is silent-Murmur is weak when we are strong.

One of them stood against us. We know.

Shadow. Bane.

We hunger for him.

Darkness stirs. They are coming.

We wait in the holes and gaps of the broken earth.

We will have more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

7 FLAMERULE (DUSK)

Every city has a pit of misery that outstrips all else, and Luskan was no exception. The darkest, foulest, and most dangerous part of the ruined city lay below the streets, where the gangs refused to tread without the most desperate of causes.

These were the sewers.

Even in its glory days, Luskan had never had a proper sewer system. The erstwhile natives simply dumped their refuse in the streets and it filtered down through the holes in the cobblestones and into the underworld. Built atop the ancient city of Illusk, Luskan boasted extensive caverns and passages, each of them filled over the years with the detritus of thousands of uncaring citizens. Mangy rats, spiders as big as dogs, and rot-feasting beetles ruled the undercity, making it a perfect haven for Scour.

Holding aloft a guttering torch, Kalen made sure Myrin and Sithe were well. It smelled beyond foul, overlaid with a sort of toxic heat that made breathing difficult. Myrin wore stout boots and a veil to keep out the stench. Sithe was unflappable.

Below the stink that choked breath, beneath even conscious senses, they felt a deep, steady beat in the tunnels below-like a heart that beat its own, droning rhythm. They heard the patter and buzz of a thousand voices.

They exchanged nods and descended into the waiting, hungry darkness.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” a cheery voice rang out as they entered a wide, round chamber fifty feet or so below the surface.

Lilten leaned against the wall, untouched by the filth. His gold eyes glowed slightly in the stuffy darkness and