there to hold the press of people back, except that as the horses of the delegation appeared, those in the crowd, full of whispers and murmurs a moment before, fell silent and withdrew. Not in fear, but respect. It left the members of the Legion uncomfortable, alone in the space between the citizens of Portstown and the delegation itself. Their hands fell to the hilts of their swords for reassurance, their eyes on the crowd, flicking from face to face.
When the delegation came into full view, Colin caught his breath.
These were not the Alvritshai he remembered from the plains. Aeren and his escort had been rough, deadly, exotic, but practical. He remembered their intensity, their curiosity, and their profound respect for the people in the wagon train.
These Alvritshai were also intense. But they radiated a stiff formality and an intangible aloofness. The rough practical clothing from the plains had been replaced with soft, colorful silks sewn with severe lines, emphasizing the Alvritshai’s angular features, their tense postures, heads held high, eyes gazing down from the elevated height of their mounts. The expressions on the guardsmen in front were close to sneers, mouths drawn down in distaste, and they kept their eyes forward, not deigning to look to either side. Colin thought of what the old man and woman had said about their eyes and wondered if the Alvritshai knew what the common people thought But then he saw the Alvritshai lords the guardsmen protected.
Colin let his held breath out with a sigh, felt his heart falter with relief.
It was Aeren. Older than on the plains, taller and hardened somehow, more mature, but not as old as Colin had expected, not as worn. He kept his eyes forward as well, not looking to either side, but his expression was set, registering neither distaste nor scorn. It was merely… regretful, as if he were enduring what must be endured. He was dressed in a deep blue tunic, slashed along the torso, with a vibrant red fabric beneath. He wore the same band of gold on his forearm Colin remembered from the plains, although it couldn’t be the same one. This one appeared larger and contained more writing.
Another lord rode next to him, dressed in a warm maroon with gold accents-buttons and braided cords. Behind the two lords rode personal guardsmen, and with a start Colin recognized Eraeth. The guardsman had aged more than Aeren, with new scars on his face. But if Aeren had been at the battle the storyteller had related at the Hangman’s Noose, then no doubt Eraeth had been there as well.
But it was Aeren who caught Colin’s attention, who held it. Because since he’d left the forest, he had found nothing familiar, aside from the church. That lack had settled into his bones, an ache that he hadn’t even recognized until he saw the Alvritshai lord.
He stepped forward, only half aware of what he’d done, not certain what he intended to do And out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of movement, motion where the crowd should have been still.
It happened fast. The four men Colin had noticed earlier broke through the edge of the crowd. He heard one of them bellow, “Traitorous bastards!” saw the flicker of knives, the deadlier glint of sunlight on a crossbow-a bolt, the slim shaft he’d seen being passed from hand to hand had been a crossbow bolt-and then the snick of the release, the bolt flying too fast for the eye to see.
Someone in the Alvritshai entourage roared, a sound of shock and pain and rage. The thick scent of blood punched through the stench of sea salt, sweat, and smoke from the city.
The crowd broke, screams rising, the Alvritshai Phalanx a flicker of fluid movement, no longer aloof, no longer pretentious, the Legion sent to protect them hesitating. Aeren and those in the Alvritshai party were lost from sight as the Alvritshai pulled the lords from their horses and surrounded them, but he could see the four men as they charged the Alvritshai line. They launched themselves into defending Alvritshai guardsmen as the Legion reacted, but slowly, almost leisurely. Another crossbow bolt sped into the fray, and an Alvritshai guardsman fell. The three men with knives clawed at the edges of the wall of bodies surrounding the lords, too close for the Alvritshai to draw their long, thin blades.
And then an Alvritshai guard pulled a dagger and stabbed it deep into the side of one of the attacking men. The man reared back, his scream setting the hairs on Colin’s arms on end. With a vicious twist, the Alvritshai withdrew the blade, blood flying, and as the body fell, the leader of the attacking group swore in frustration.
As if it were an order, the attackers broke off and fled, two heading toward the street one block away, the other bolting down the thoroughfare in the opposite direction.
Colin hesitated a moment-enough to see that the Legion hadn’t yet moved to follow, the men looking to their commander; enough to see that the Alvritshai were focused on protecting the lords And then Colin spun, dodged into the street at his back that ran parallel to the one the attackers had taken. Rage burned in his lungs, lay thick on his tongue. The Legion had expected the attack, had barely moved to halt it, and were now allowing the culprits to escape. They intended to let the men escape.
But Colin could still smell the blood. Possibly Aeren’s blood. He hadn’t seen Aeren fall, couldn’t tell who within the group had been struck, but it didn’t matter. He’d seen the expression on the Legion commander’s face, the same expression he’d seen on Walter’s face as the Proprietor’s son beat him senseless in the dirt streets of Portstown, the same expression he’d seen on Sartori’s face when the Proprietor blackmailed his father into accepting the lead role in the expedition east: a grim satisfaction and the knowledge that there would be no consequences.
Colin shoved forward through the fleeing people, pushing, aware that the crowd moved too slowly as he rounded the corner and cut left onto the cross street, rage driving him. He burst into the next intersection, turned to see the two fleeing men charging toward him, also moving slowly, too slowly, as if they were running through mud. Colin ground to a halt, felt a familiar pressure shove him from behind, and staggered as the world settled…
And realized everyone hadn’t been moving slowly. No. The entire world had slowed. He’d slowed it, reached out without thought and forced it to slow in order to get to the intersection ahead of the attackers.
The implications of what he’d done stunned him. But there was no time for thought. The two men were almost on him, shock registering on their faces a moment before Colin’s staff lashed out. He drove it hard into the leader’s groin, and the man folded over with a strangled grunt; then he pulled it back and pivoted the other end so it connected with the second man’s head.
They fell like sacks of potatoes, the leader groaning, curled into a tight ball. The other simply crumpled, unconscious, his knife striking the cobbles with a brittle clang.
Colin drew up straight, gasping, his heart thundering in his chest, blood pounding in his neck, rage tingling along his arms. He wiped sweat from his face, coughed as he tried to swallow and breathe at the same time, then leaned heavily on his staff. A few stragglers from the crowd streamed past on either side, giving Colin and the bodies a wide berth, but he ignored their sharp gestures and fierce whispers.
At the end of the street, where it intersected with the thoroughfare, members of the Alvritshai Phalanx suddenly appeared. They poured between the buildings, swords drawn, faces black with intent, the Legion a step behind.
They halted when they saw Colin standing over the bodies.
Someone stepped to the forefront of the Alvritshai-Eraeth-and said something in the Alvritshai language that Colin didn’t catch. He held his blade before him, his eyes locked on Colin’s, and for a moment-no more than a breath-Colin felt a thrill of fear as he considered the possibility that what the old man and woman had said was true about Alvritshai eyes.
But then he realized there was no recognition in Eraeth’s gaze, and the moment broke.
“What happened here?” the commander of the Legion barked, moving forward to stand a few paces ahead, but to one side, of Eraeth.
Colin tried to answer but couldn’t. He still hadn’t caught his breath.
The commander’s eyes flicked from Colin to the surrounding citizens, trapped against the side of the street, none of them daring to move. Not with both the Legion and the Phalanx present.
“He stopped them,” a woman finally said, nodding toward Colin. When the commander’s gaze fell on her, she hesitated, then straightened, her shoulders back, and took a small step forward. “He came from the cross street there-like a blur, so fast I barely saw him-but then he was there, and he struck them both before they even had a chance to raise their knives.”
A few of the surrounding people nodded, murmuring to one another. The commander glared until they fell silent. The woman stepped back, her head bent but with a defiant look in her eyes, and then the commander stepped up to the two men on the ground. He stared at them a long moment, then shoved the leader over onto his
