halfway between a scream and a sob.
'Put… it..-. on,' Kalen hissed at Myrin.
Rath grinned. And crushed his middle finger. One ar a time.
Against the slipping agony, Kalen shut his eyes. 'No pain- only me.'
He kept swaying, swinging back and forth as though he might hurl Myrin to safety-as though any building was near enough or high enough. He could not reach the palace wall from this angle, and his hand was slipping.
'Kalen!' Myrin cried. 'Just drop me! You can-'
'Put it on!' he shouted.
'Put what on?' Rath saw the ring and sneered. 'Humans. So romantic, even to the end.'
He crushed the third finger, almost sending Kalen down. Only by the Eye's grace…
Kalen coughed harshly. 'Have you got it?' he managed.
Fear clouded Myrin's face. She was swinging away from the tower. 'Yes, but-'
'Good.'
And he let go of her.
Myrin swung to the side before she started to fall, her eyes wide and her face startled. Her expression changed to shock, and then heartbreak. She drifted into the rain and vanished without a sound.
The dwarf frowned. 'I don't under-' Rath started to say, but Kalen, continuing his swing, hauled himself up and grasped the dwarf s ankle in his free hand. He planted both feet on the slippery tower wall.
'Fly,' Kalen dared him.
With a fierce kick, he wrenched Vindicator free. For one horrible, perfect instant, they were gliding, failing a little as if they had tripped. Vindicator was arcing, end over end, through the air beside them.
Then Kalen's guts rose up into his throat, and the two combatants were streaking down, wrestling in the air. The dwarf punched him soundly across the face and the world blurred. He held on.
They ricocheted off the palace roof-crashing hard, bones snapping-tumbling madly like dolls. Kalen tried to jump but the dwarf held on. Kalen rolled and wrestled and prayed and…
Hit.
THIRTY-EIGHT
For a long time, nothing existed but darkness. Darkness, and rain like knives. Then pain-sharp, stabbing agony that came from every broken limb and ounce of flesh. He had survived the fall-somehow, crashing against roofs and shattering almost every bone in his body.
Rath awoke on the cobbles of Castle Ward, in the shadow of the palace, and coughed up blood before he breathed. This magnified the pain a hundredfold. He couldn't feel his body. He was- Alone.
That couldn't be. Shadowbane had fallen with him. They must have hit something else-some building. Otherwise, Rath surely would have died.
But who had landed on the stone first? Who had borne the brunt of the fall?
Rath saw a silhouette emerge from the mist. No-he saw the sword first. Saw the silver flames rising from it, the fog boiling away. Shadowbane, he thought for a moment, but…
It was Myrin. She walked toward him, the sword held awkwardly in her frail hands. Blue runes covered her skin, but they were fading as she strode forward. Her magic was unraveling, leaving only mortal hatred in her eyes.
'Taking vengeance,' Rath said. He burbled. 'I slew him and you avenge him. Fitting.'
His sword lay on the cobbles, where ir had fallen from the window. The hilt, still sizzling from Myrin's fire spell, sent up steam as rain fell on it. It was only a hand's length from his grasp.
A black boot fell on the hilt. Rath looked up.
Shadowbane loomed over him-stooped, bent, but not broken. His damp cloak draped around him. His helm dripped black rain.
'Kalen,' Myrin whispered.
He reached toward her with his unbroken hand.
Myrin's face softened. 'Kalen, no.'
He curled his fingers, beckoning.
'Kalen, please. He's a monster, but he doesn't-you don't have to-'
Kalen said nothing-only held out his hand. Myrin looked at Rath once more, then put the hilt of Vindicator in Kalen's hand.
'Turn away,' Kalen said. Myrin shook her head. Turn.
'No!' Myrin backed away. 'I want to see what you are. What we are!'
Kalen looked only at Rath. He focused on the dwarf silently, ignoring Myrin's heaving breaths. Then she turned away and darred into the mist, vanishing into the night.
'For Cellica,' Shadowbane said, as though in explanation.
Rath smiled, tasting blood in his mouth.
Kalen wrapped both hands around the hilt gingerly, reversed Vindicator, and held it ready to plunge into the dwarf's throat. He paused, his eyes unreadable.
'What will ir be, knight?' Rath did his best to smile. 'Vengeance
… or mercy?'
Kalen coughed once and steadied himself.
'Justice.'
The sword screeched against the stone.
THIRTY-NINE
Iunatic swordsmen cause havoc in Downshadow!' the broadcrier was yelling ar the entrance to the Knight 'n Shadow. 'Same culprits suspected in damage to Timehands! Watch…'
He trailed off and gaped at a gray figure standing before himbare headed, bare handed, clad toe to chin in black leathers. Bandages wrapped his right hand and a sword was sheathed at his belt. In the dawn light, his brown-black hair was glossy and his chin dark with stubble. His eyes burned like light off snow.
'Boy,' he said to the broadcrier. He took a hand out of the scrip satchel at his waist-in it gleamed five gold dragons. 'Do you want these?'
The broadcrier had seen so much coin before, of course-this was, after all, the City of Splendors, where coin was king and blood was gold. But never had he owned that much wealth himself.
The boy nodded. The knight handed the coins over, and they quickly disappeared into the broadcrier s belt pouch. Then, his bandaged hand shaking, the knight unbuckled the black-sheathed sword from his hip and held it out as though presenting a gold scepter.
'Hold this for me.' The knight nodded to the tavern. 'When I collect it from you again, I shall give you twenty more dragons.' 'And-' The boy shivered. 'And if you do not?' The knight smiled. 'Then wear it well, and do not try to run from it as I did.'
The boy nodded and took the knight's sword in his hands. It pulsed with inner strength-neither good nor evil, only powerful. Waiting for a worthy hand.
Without another word, the knight strode past the boy.
Fayne waited for him, legs crossed on the table. She was in a good mood.
She didn't care about being private or unnoticed; she wore her mosr beautiful red-haired half-elf face and her most revealing black and red harness, which was more leather straps than fabric. A dozen men had come to her with propositions, but she'd casually ignored each of them until they'd gone away. She'd had to fend off one with a charm to make him run away in terror. After her display of magic, no one bothered her.
She was waiting for one man, and one man alone. She hadn't slept that night, and neither had he, she knew.
