calm.
'You can do this. Just start cutting until you can see the steel head.'
She nodded and he released her. He clenched his jaws together. The first cut, when it came, didn't hurt as bad as he feared. The wound was already throbbing so terribly he hardly noticed. He tried to distract his mind while she worked. He thought about where they might be in the undercity, how they could find their way out, and where they should go if they did.
As he was considering how to get them both out of Othir, a wave of coolness fluttered over his injured foot. He glanced down to see Kit kneeling beside him, her brow furrowed as she ran her hands over his foot. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing when a sharp pain stabbed his side. His hands curled into fists as he struggled to hold himself still. Josey gnawed her bottom lip as she worked with the knife point. Rivulets of blood ran down his stomach and formed tiny pools on the floor beneath him.
'I see it!' she said. 'I see the head.'
Caim let out a slow breath. 'Do you see any barbs curving back to you?'
'No.'
'That's good. All right. You'll need to make small cuts on either side, just enough to pull it free. Now grip the shaft near the head and…'
Calm's vision dimmed as Josey tugged on the bolt. He pressed his forehead against the floor and focused on staying conscious, but his exhaustion and the blood loss conspired against him. He was fading. As he tried to describe how to dress the wound, the rising darkness swept over his head and carried him away on its inexorable tide.
Ral turned away from the window's roseate glass panes. The morning light, usually so soothing, gave him a headache.
'Tell me again.' He pressed a hand to his temple. 'How did they escape from you and a dozen of your best men?'
Occupying the entire upper floor of the Golden Wheel, Ral's suite was decorated in a style more fitting to a fine manor house than a gambling hall. He had chosen the furnishings himself, everything from the brass fixtures and window treatments to the expensive carpets. The walls of the main living area were painted in terra-cotta murals. His favorite faced him across the room, a vivid rendition of the hero Dantos descending into the underworld to rescue his dead bride. It was an image Ral found inspiring. Sometimes he thought of himself as a tragic figure like Dantos, doomed to fight impossible forces to get what he justly deserved.
Markus stood at attention before him. A white bandage peeked over the collar of his uniform. Ral was beginning to wish Calm's blade had cut a little deeper. The prefect was incompetent. Worse than that, Ral still needed the man for his connections in the Sacred Brotherhood. But that need would evaporate as soon as Caim and the earl's daughter were found. Then, Second Prefect Arriston would meet with an unfortunate accident. Ral smiled at the prospect.
'He came out of the night like a demon from hell,' Markus said in a raspy voice. One of his hands stole up to touch the bandage and dropped back to his side. 'I swear the man is a wizard. Half my men were down before we even knew he was there.'
'So much for the prowess of our city's vaunted defenders.' But the words lacked fire. Ral knew he had been sending lambs to the slaughter when he instructed Markus to organize a citywide manhunt. Still, Ral had expected better than this debacle.
'Find your backbone, Markus. Caim is just one man. Don't tell me the Brotherhood can't deal with a single lowborn thug. What will I tell the archpriest?'
'One of the Brothers got off a shot as they went into the water,' Markus said. 'I think it hit him.'
'You think?'
'It was damned dark out there.'
Ral clasped his hands together to help resist the urge to bury a stiletto in the prefect's eye socket.
'And what are you doing now to find the fugitives?'
Markus shrugged and grimaced as the gesture jostled his throat wound. 'I've got men dredging the bay, but its slow work. I need more manpower.'
'Then get more men!'
'I'll need more money for that.'
'I've already paid you more than your life is worth. Find the girl, Markus, or your men will be dredging the bay for you next.'
Markus left the suite. Ral listened to the click of his boots descend the stairs to the hall below. If Markus didn't find Caim soon, he would have to take steps to improve the situation. He didn't like his options. Vassili wasn't a forgiving man, and Ral had burned too many bridges over these past few months to remain in Othir if their scheme failed. As much as it galled him, he might have to leave the city. Ral hummed a mournful ballad as he contemplated the mural of Dantos.
The tickle of a cool breeze on the back of his neck was his only warning. He stood perfectly still, every nerve quivering. The window had been shut a minute ago. He flexed the muscles of his right forearm to loosen the throwing blade strapped under his sleeve. He shifted his weight to his right foot in preparation for a quick spin- and-throw, but stood very still as a sharp point pressed against his spine, right between his kidneys.
'Sit,' a voice whispered in his ear.
Ral took two slow steps and lowered himself into an antique, slatback chair. His unexpected visitor stepped to the center of the living area in plain view. The hood of a night-black robe concealed his features. For a moment Ral thought Caim had come for him, and an icy caress slid down his back. But the stranger was too tall and rather thin, though broad through the shoulders. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of the robe, lending him the semblance of a cloistered monk.
Ral palmed the throwing blade. It would be an easy toss from this close, and his sword leaned against the armoire if he missed. He started the motion when his gaze rose to the shadowed depths of the stranger's cowl. A weird sensation rolled over him as he tried to penetrate the darkness inside the hood, like looking up at the night sky, into a darkness that went on forever and forever. The icy feeling returned. He lowered the weapon. He had seen this man before, in the shadowed chambers of the palace. Vassili's pet sorcerer. A cold dread washed over him.
'You work for the archpriest.'
'I am Levictus.'
Ral shifted in the chair and forced his lips to form a small smile. Many men had trembled to see that smile just moments before their deaths.
'Tell your master I am doing everything I can. We'll find Caim and the girl. Don't wor-'
'I come on my own behalf. With an offer.'
What was this? Ral sat up.
'For many years,' the sorcerer continued, 'I have worked tirelessly in the archpriest's service, but in recent days I have come to discover that his aims no longer reflect my own.'
That was interesting. Yes, very interesting indeed. 'You mentioned an offer.'
'I seek a new partner, one whose goals are more closely aligned with my own.'
'So what brings you to me?'
The cowl dipped slightly. 'You are ambitious. You chafe under the yoke of servitude, just as I do. Separate we are formidable, but together… there would be nothing to stop us.'
'There's Vassili and the Church. And the Sacred Brotherhood. Even without a grand master, they aren't going to sit idle and let us take over.'
Levictus drew up straighter and the room suddenly felt too small for the both of them. Ral squeezed himself farther into the chair.
'The Church is not as unified as it appears,' the sorcerer said. 'The prelate's gaze is turned across the sea. The electors are divided by their lusts. As for the Brotherhood, you already possess the leverage you need.'
'Markus.'
Ral worked his tongue around his mouth to drum up some moisture. He didn't like feeling small. He hated it, in fact, worse than anything else he could think of. Yet there was something to this figure standing before him, an
