Thief of Lives

Chapter 17

Any preconceptions Magiere had of how the day would unfold crumbled at breakfast. Wynn was convinced that the day's search held great promise for finding the undeads' lair, and so Leesil insisted they be fully prepared.

By breakfast's end, several sages had finished boiling garlic. Leesil prepared short torches, wineskins of garlic water and oil, fresh tinder, and one large and one small quiver of quarrels soaked in garlic water. Domin Tilswith donated a light crossbow. Leesil strapped Vatz's larger one across his back, and then stunned Magiere by handing the smaller bow and quiver to the boy.

"We can't leave him," Leesil whispered to her. "He'll just follow on his own. This way, if things go awry, I can stuff him in a coach and send the driver off before he can get out."

Having Vatz in tow wasn't among Magiere's considerations, but she reluctantly conceded that Leesil was correct about the troublesome little whelp.

Leesil stowed his toolbox inside the back of his surcoat, strapped on his sheathed punching blade, and announced that he was ready. However, Wynn provided two more surprises.

Rummaging through what the city guard had left behind, she'd found a pair of soft leather boots for Leesil. The young sage then announced that she was coming along.

Before Magiere or Leesil could refuse, Wynn waded in with more vehemence than either of them thought her capable.

Several deed signatures were foreign names, and thereby a translator might be needed. Neither of them had spent as much time as she in paging through city documents and were far less likely to fathom any quandary that arose. Lastly, she was adamant that no other choice was acceptable. She wouldn't give them city records, for which she was responsible, unless they agreed.

Magiere stewed silently as the motley band stepped into the street. Glancing back at Wynn with her parchments, and Vatz waddling along with a crossbow conspicuously hoisted over his too-small shoulder, she turned on Leesil as if this were all his doing.

"Don't say it," he warned. "Just get us a coach before half the city sees us coming."

Leesil looked no better than their two tagalongs, with his torn surcoat, quiver, crossbow, stilettos, and punching blade. He looked like a vagabond making a poor attempt to sell himself as a mercenary by mere show of arms.

With the hope that Leesil's other blade was finished, their first stop was at the weaponsmith. As their hired coach rolled into the area, Magiere scanned the passing shops, watching for one in particular. With relief, she spotted what she sought. A bit of misdirection was now needed, for which the boy and sage would prove useful.

As all of them except Chap climbed from the coach, and Leesil headed directly into Balgavi's smithy, Magiere grabbed Wynn by the arm and handed her some silver pennies.

"When he's done, have Vatz take all of you to the nearest clothier and get Leesil a shirt. Durable and as dark colored as possible. I'll meet you back at the coach."

Wynn nodded hesitantly. "Where are you going?"

Magiere glanced toward Leesil. To her relief, he held his second blade up, inspecting it before the bear-sized smith.

"There's more he's going to need," she said quietly. "Whether he likes it or not."

She left a puzzled Wynn behind and headed up to the shop she'd spotted along their way.

Built of dark, weathered wood with a narrow doorway, it was a tiny place. The carved sign swinging gently above the door read Shartek's, and below the worn letters was the shape of a hauberk crossed with a pair of gloves. Magiere stepped inside.

The shop was thick with the smell of acrid oil and a hint of iron, and the scent of cured leather she could practically taste in the air. A little old man in leather apron sat at a table working stain into an uncut hide. He nodded to her and continued with his tasks.

Goods were lightly piled on crude tables, from gloves and vests to skullcaps and craftsmen's aprons. The shopkeeper's bench was strewn with tools, scraps of hide, thongs, and bits of metal. She soon found what she sought hanging from a peg on the back wall.

The leather hauberk had a diamond pattern of iron rings woven to the chest with leather laces. Battle damage could be mended by reweaving instead of sewing. Of clever design, it was lightly padded without being too thick for flexibility. However, the sleeves were near elbow length and the skirt dropped too low. She pulled it down and took it to the old man.

"This'll do," she said, "but I need changes, and they must be done now."

The old man nodded, and she proceeded to tell him what she required. When finished, the skirt was tapered front and back, and split at the sides to just below the waist. The sleeves' were similarly shortened. It was not as "covering" as it had been, but Magiere judged the changes would accommodate Leesil's ways.

"How much?" she asked the old man.

"A silver sovereign," he replied without pause.

Magiere's breath caught, but it was a fair price. She counted out four silver shills, each a fifth of a sovereign, and the remainder in silver pennies. What was left might see them through two or three days about the city. She headed back with the hauberk bundled under one arm and found the others already waiting at the coach.

Wynn smiled as she appraised Leesil, which gave Magiere a sudden surge of irritation. Leesil now wore a heavy linen shirt of chocolate brown that suited him quite well, and his hair was covered with a charcoal scarf. When he spotted her, he threw up his arms.

"Are you content now?" he asked in challenge.

"Not quite." She tossed the hauberk to him.

Leesil unfolded it. When it hung open in his hands, he gaped at her, eyes wide in fury.

"Not on your life!"

"Put it on," she said.

"I can't fight in this."

"Leesil, you put it on"-her voice grew louder as she pointed to the smith's workshop-"or I'll hire four of their biggest men to pin you down-and I'll put it on you myself!"

Wynn backed against the coach in frightful embarrassment. Vatz watched eagerly, likely hoping Leesil would refuse just to see what would happen.

"Fine and well," Leesil snapped.

He climbed into the coach, and Chap scuttled out of his way. Wynn gave the driver their first destination, and Magiere waved her and Vatz inside. When she climbed in, Leesil was trying to remove his shirt.

"Over the shirt, you half-wit," Magiere growled.

Leesil glared at her though the neck of the shirt halfway over his head, and Chap shifted away from him to the seat's far end. He jerked the shirt back down and fussed with the armor long enough to make his resentment apparent. Magiere offered no assistance, not about to give in to his little fit.

Once finished, Leesil tugged dramatically at the hauberk's collar and sullenly stared out the window. Instead of an overarmed vagabond, he now looked like a walking armory, but at least he was protected. Her gaze flickered to his right wrist, the open sleeve cuff not large enough to close across his stiletto hilt. The scars were just visible.

Yes, protected. But not from her-or himself.

Leesil sensed Magiere watching him. So she feared for his safety, but now that she'd taken it all into her own hands, why the worried glances? With her clashing moods and complications leaping upon them at each turn, he was getting fed up with everything-including her. Beneath the hauberk's leather, the shirt felt itchy, as if he'd slept all night upon an anthill.

Throughout the morning, the coach traveled most of the city's inner ring and the wealthier districts of the middle ring, only to have Chap jump out, sniff about once, twice, or not at all, and jump back into the coach. Past noon, Leesil's overtried patience was nearly depleted.

Suddenly, Chap sat up and sniffed, eagerly pushing his head out of the coach door window. Everyone looked up with anticipation, and Leesil leaned over the dog to look out as well.

They passed a small open market near a gatehouse, and several roving vendors had stopped their carts full of prepared foods at the busy crossing.

"Exactly what have you done to be hungry?" Leesil asked, about to pull the hound back inside the coach.

"A brief pause," Wynn suggested.

She leaned against the coach's sidewall, strained and tired. Riding around in the jostling coach appeared to have caught up with her.

"Yes," Magiere said. "I think so."

Leesil signaled the driver to stop. He'd barely stepped out, when Chap leaped clear and bounded down the street toward the makeshift market.

"Get back here!" Leesil shouted, but the dog disappeared into the crowd.

"We'll catch up to him," Magiere said. "It's not like he's going to buy any food on his own. Or he'll beg his way into a handout again."

The noontime street was crowded with people on their way to or doing business in the market. Nearly all paused at a cart to purchase a skewer of roasted beef or hot pastry.

Leesil idly wandered, ignoring them, until a sudden shout caught everyone's attention.

"Thief! Stop!"

The crowds were too thick to see what the fuss was about, so after briefly craning his neck, Leesil continued on his way. Little caught his attention among the peddlers and rickety rolling carts, and finding that he was not particularly hungry, he wove his way back toward the coach.

There was Chap, sitting on the cobblestones and desperately trying to tear a bite out of an oversize sausage.

Leesil closed in on the dog. "What did you do?"

Chap ignored him. There was no telling how long that sausage had been in some vendor's cart, but it proved as tough as rolled sailcloth. For all Chap's wrestling, he couldn't break off a mouthful. The others had already returned and sat inside the coach. Vatz chewed at a stick of grilled beef while Wynn nibbled a potato pasty. Magiere sat quietly with nothing in her hands.

"Not hungry either?" she asked him.

"Let's move on while they finish," Leesil suggested, shaking his head and turning to Chap. "Get in, you gluttonous little thief."

Chap whined in frustration, the sausage still whole between his jaws, and hopped into the coach. Leesil followed, signaling the driver to continue.

Squatting on the floor between the seats, Chap pinned one end of the sausage under a forepaw and began pulling on the other end. He shook his head, gnashing his teeth as he tried to grind a piece loose.

"Serves you right," Leesil grumbled at him. "Next time wait until I can buy something edible."

Vatz finished his own repast and grabbed the sausage's end from under the dog's paw. "You stupid mutt, you're never going to get a bite that way."

Leesil was caught unaware as the boy snatched a stiletto right out of his wrist sheath.

"Give me that," Magiere said, grabbing for the blade.

"I can handle this," Vatz growled back, evading her.

Chap backed between Leesil's legs, growling and refusing to release his would-be meal. Vatz laid hold of it with both hands, unable to cut off a piece with the stiletto. Leesil grabbed the dog to get the sausage out of his mouth while Magiere grappled with Vatz again for the stiletto. Wynn leaned away, protecting her potato pasty from getting smashed in the four-way flailing until it all ended quite suddenly.

The sausage snapped.

Chap lurched back against Leesil, muzzle flung up, and grease and ground meat spattered across Leesil chest. Magiere grabbed Vatz's wrist as the boy recoiled against her, and his half of the sausage was slung into the air.

It smacked against the coach's roof, slopped down on Chap's head, and spattered sausage guts all over Leesil's sleeves.

Everyone fell silent as Leesil stared down at himself in disbelief.

Wynn dropped her pasty out the window, apparently losing her appetite. Magiere merely wrinkled her nose in disgust before hailing the driver to stop the coach.

"You're supposed be a Fay?" Leesil hissed at the hound.

With a whine, Chap snapped his jaws once and the sausage stump vanished with a gulp.

Leesil held out his hand to Vatz.

The boy made a hurried attempt to wipe off the stiletto's handle on his pants and only managed to smear the blade with grease before handing it back hilt first. Leesil stepped out of the coach to brush himself off and scrape the remaining mess from the coach floor. Chap whined again.

"You disgusting pig," Magiere muttered. "Get up on that seat and stay there."

Chap gave Vatz a quick snarl before doing as ordered.

"What?" Vatz asked, looking at Magiere. "I was trying to help."

"Move," she answered with a swat across the top of his head, and pointed to the coach corner farthest from Chap.

Leesil shouted to the driver to move on. His new shirt was ruined, though he didn't know why that bothered him, as he hadn't wanted it in the first place. He rolled up the grease-covered sleeves, picking off sausage bits along the way.

Once again, he caught Magiere watching his every movement. Trying not to alert her to his awareness, he let his arm drop to his lap and her gaze followed again. He looked down, thinking perhaps he'd missed some smear on his arm, but it was clean right down to the scars.

Leesil traced the white line where he'd slashed his wrist open, and then the jagged arcs made by her teeth. Magiere shied away to stare out the window.

Cold awareness raced through Leesil.

The prey they sought, her uncertainty of their future, or even the anmaglahk, weren't the reason for her distance or fear for him.

The danger that Magiere feared most was herself.

Magiere watched the stone houses of the quiet, wealthy street pass by outside the coach.

"We only have one more," Wynn said. "Then we are done, if it is not the lair."

Leesil glanced out the window, then turned to Magiere. "Sun's going down. You want to leave it until morning?"

"No, we still have time," Wynn added. "We are near enough."

Leesil was correct, but as much as the sage's insistence surprised Magiere, she preferred to have it all over and done. The day was wasted and, by midafternoon, she'd given up hope of finding what they sought.

"All right, the last one," she agreed.

Wynn called out the final location to the driver, and they rolled on. The young sage stayed at the window, leaning out for fresh air. The smell of sausage still lingered inside the coach. Vatz grumbled a bit, but otherwise had remained quiet for the rest of the day. And so had Leesil, strangely enough.

When he'd touched the scars, her mouth and throat turned dry. Perhaps they still itched or ached.

Chap suddenly raised his head and sprang up on the seat to stare out at the passing houses. A low rumble began in his throat as the fur along his back rose. Vatz tried to climb out of his seat to get to Chap's window. Magiere pushed the boy back and crouched on the coach floor at the hound's side.

Leesil swung out the other coach door and spoke softly to the coachman. "Don't stop yet."

"We should be right in front of it, I believe," Wynn whispered.

Magiere watched Chap closely. The hound's eyes shifted back and forth as he sniffed the air, and then settled on one house.

It was a three-story, solid stone structure with arched windows and a wide front door, much like many along the street. Chap's rumble grew as his jaws opened and his jowls pulled back. Magiere closed her hands over his muzzle.

"Don't!" she ordered. "No noise. The sun is almost down, and we don't want to warn them. Understand?"

Chap rolled his eyes toward her and let out a muffled yip.

Magiere shivered and released him. She still wasn't accustomed to the idea that Chap understood her words and even responded intelligibly in his own fashion.

The coach continued another four or five houses down the street, then rolled to a quiet stop. As Magiere opened the door, Chap leaped out. He didn't run toward their destination but stood waiting, fur bristling.

Magiere glanced down, but the topaz amulet wasn't glowing. Perhaps she needed to be closer. As Leesil came around to join her, Wynn and Vatz stepped out as well. To Magiere's surprise, Wynn reached up and handed the coachman some coins.

"What are you doing?" Magiere asked.

"This is the correct house, is it not?" Wynn answered.

"Wait…" Leesil started.

Before Magiere could respond as well, Wynn waved the driver off. The coachman cracked the reins, and the horse stepped into a trot down the street.

Leesil put a hand over his face, and Wynn looked completely perplexed at his reaction.

"You and Vatz can't be here for this," he finally added. "We don't even know what we're dealing with."

Vatz's little face flushed. "I didn't sit in that damn coach all day for nothin‘. I'm here to earn my share of the coin."

Magiere's voice dropped to a deep menacing tone.

"When exactly did we agree to that?" She turned on Wynn without pause. "And you… you can barely keep your food down when facing a stale sausage!"

Wynn pursed her lips at the insult. "I am no true mage," she said as if it were a confession, "but all sages learn the simplest things in their general studies. Domin Tilswith has trained me in the principles of thaumaturgy. Though we do not know the kind of magic you faced, I may be able to help, perhaps, if such arises again from… Chane."

As she spoke the name, her oval face flushed slightly, but her back remained straight.

"You're no more than an idle dabbler," Magiere scoffed. "Whatever Chane is, he's far beyond what you could deal with."

"Oh, for the love of mutton," Leesil spit out. "This is madness."

"You two are staying outside," Magiere said. "And that's the end of it."

"That won't work," Leesil said. "We can't protect them if anything gets out of the house. And if we wait to get rid of these two, any undeads inside might sense we've been here already. By tomorrow morning the place would be empty… or worse, they'd be waiting for us."

Leesil was right, again, and Magiere found it intensely annoying. If only they'd come to this house first. Catching their prey in daylight was now hopeless, and they couldn't afford to wait.

"All right, we may yet have surprise on our side," she said with disgust, and then turned on the sage and the boy. "But you two do as you're told and keep silent."

She led the way slowly along the row of stone and timber houses, all the while watching for signs of movement or life. She stopped one dwelling away from the one they sought and dropped down on her haunches.

Built of heavy, mortared stone, it wasn't what she'd expected. At least not compared to the warehouse backrooms and underground chambers used by Miiska's undeads. Leesil slipped forward to crouch beside her.

It sat sedate and respectable amongst its neighbors in this quiet and well-to-do street, front door to the left atop three steps. There was one wide window with heavy shutters closed over it. The next two floors up each held two windows evenly spaced but similarly protected.

"We can't do this out in the open," Leesil said. "For that matter, we may have already attracted attention we're not aware of. Best look for a rear entrance."

He moved out ahead, peered along the building's front, and then scurried back to Magiere's side.

"There's an access way on the far side," he said.

Leesil reached behind himself and pulled out the thin box he'd slipped up into the back of his hauberk. He glanced at Vatz and Wynn, and then Magiere.

She waited, expecting him to say something, but he gripped the box under his arm and dashed along the front of the house. Magiere unsheathed her falchion and followed him.

The rear door wasn't as wide as the front. Leesil removed a thin silvery strut from inside his toolbox's lid as he inspected the door handle again for anything notable.

"No lock, so it's latched or bolted from the inside," he whispered to Magiere.

He pressed slowly and firmly against the door until he could slip the tiny strut through the crack at its frame. Closing his eyes, he slid the strut upward until it reached and raised a latch. He pulled the strut out and placed it into its slot in the box's lid.

"Too easy," Leesil whispered. "Everyone stay clear of the door."

Leesil tugged the crossbow's strap over his head and set the weapon upon the ground. He cocked and loaded it, signaling to Vatz to do the same. The boy plopped onto the ground and braced his feet against the bow, working its string into the catch.

Again, Leesil examined frame and door but found nothing. He leaned against the wall on the door's hinged side. Then he pushed the door open with his right hand and quickly pulled back.

Nothing happened.

"If anything, and I mean anything, comes at you or Wynn," Leesil instructed Vatz, "you fire first and both of you get out of the way. Don't get fancy. Aim for the center of its body or the first part you can sight. Pain from the garlic water might buy you a moment, but that's all. If one of these things gets hold of you, it'll snap you in half."

Vatz blinked, suddenly very still and quiet. He nodded, tight-lipped and determined. Chap rumbled softly, and Leesil grabbed his jaw.

"You keep your head and watch out for them." He pointed to Wynn and Vatz.

Chap offered an offended look and growled at the door.

Wynn suddenly dug in her robe pockets and pulled out a small crystal much like one from a cold lamp. She rubbed it furiously between her hands, and it began to glow.

"Keep that covered until I tell you otherwise," Leesil admonished.

Wynn nodded, closing the crystal tightly in both hands. The light muted to a dull orange glow between her fingers.

Leesil motioned to Magiere, and she slipped around to the door's far side, falchion in hand.

In close quarters, any target would be near enough that little aiming would be necessary. The crossbow was heavy, but Leesil could still point and squeeze the firing lever with one hand. He gripped it in his left and slipped his right punching blade out of its sheath.

There was no turning back now.

Magiere appeared composed, but he knew better. She was the dhampir and played the council with cavalier confidence and mystery for their benefit. But in reality, this was only the second time they'd hunted undeads. He slipped through the door ahead of her.

As expected, they entered a kitchen, everything neat, clean, and in place. Only a few items of cookware hung on the walls, and most looked old and untouched, having probably been left behind by a previous owner. An immaculate hearth free of ash or char was on the right with a line of rough cupboards to the left. In the room's center was a solid, thick-topped scullery table, yet there were no knives, cleavers, or preparation implements in its block or hanging from its side hooks. There were neither dishes nor food. No bread, no tea, not even a shriveled carrot.

The kitchen hadn't been used in a long while.

Leesil led them across to the far side doorway, Magiere close behind him. He stopped long enough to check the entry for anything suspicious and then pushed it open to scan the room for any movement or presence.

This was the dining chamber. Stone walls were hung with simple tapestries, and an oval cherrywood table and matching chairs filled the room. Two silver candelabra rested upon the table. The candles were all new, having never been lit. Pulled to the ceiling upon its chain was a chandelier, dripping with an array of cut crystals.

An earsplitting caw filled the dark room, and Leesil crouched low. He felt Magiere's hand clamp on his shoulder from behind as a tinkling sound pulled his attention upward.

A large raven hopped about the crystal chandelier, flexing its wings, and its black beady eyes stared at them. It cawed again, louder, and Chap growled.

"Ssh," Leesil warned the hound. He had to quiet the bird quickly.

A snap and twang came from behind Leesil, and the crystals in the chandelier jangled loudly. The raven dropped with a hollow thump in the middle of the table, impaled through the body with a quarrel.

Leesil looked back over his shoulder.

Vatz's crossbow was empty. The boy shrugged. "It was loud."

"Reload," Leesil whispered back, and rose from his crouch.

At the room's far end was an open archway, and he stepped around the table toward it.

Another low growl filled the room, but before Leesil turned to admonish Chap again, two glittering eyes came into view around the side of the entrance.

A gray wolf as tall as Chap stood in their path, a low rumble issuing from its throat.

Chap leaped to the tabletop beside Leesil, knocking both candelabra to the floor in a clatter. He answered the wolf with a snarl of his own, jowls back to expose flexing jaws.

Before Leesil could fire, Chap lunged off the table, and the wolf launched himself forward. They slammed together, knocking the end chair over, as the room filled with sounds of snarls and snapping teeth.

Leesil shifted back in panic. So much for the element of surprise.

Chane lay fully clothed upon his bed in the cellar's back room, listening for any sound. Though he heard nothing, his nerves were tightly alert.

Someone was in the house.

His consciousness slipped upward through the building until it touched avian thoughts somewhere upon the main floor.

At first the perspective was disorienting. His raven, Tihko, looked downward from a height, its vision partially obscured by tiny reflections of light in the dark dining chamber. Yes, Chane made out the table clearly now. Tihko was in the chandelier, crystals blocking parts of the room, but why were those crystals sparking softly with light? Twinkling reflections began to move.

Dim light spread from one side of the room where the half-elf stood.

It was the first time Chane had truly seen this man. Hair hidden beneath a dark scarf, he was of average height. Surprising, considering his mixed blood, as most elves were taller than humans. Now armored in a leather hauberk, he carried in one hand a loaded crossbow, and the other gripped a strange, wide-pointed blade extending from his fist, the outside edge arching back along his arm.

Beside the half-elf was the blue-gray hound, its shining eyes peering about the room. Directly behind them was the hunter. At the sight of her, Chane experienced a surge of hunger.

Back in the kitchen doorway was a young boy clutching a crossbow. A puzzling thing. Chane wondered why the hunter would bring a child into this. The light dimly illuminating the room came from the hands of a young woman in gray robes.

Chane stiffened on his bed, and in response Tihko thrashed his wings, making Chane's vision through the bird's eyes waver.

Wynn was in the house.

Her appearance rattled Chane enough that he nearly lost contact with the raven. He watched the half-elf carefully enter the room, knees slightly bent.

Tihko's loud caw filled Chane's head. The half-elf dropped low and looked up. Behind him, the boy raised the crossbow, and aimed at the raven-at Chane.

A shaft of pain pierced Chane through the chest and his vision went black.

Chane convulsed sharply into a ball, the pain stabbing through to his back. When he thrashed over the bedside, his tiny urn jangled on the floor stones. He pushed himself up to his knees, as the cellar back room snapped into focus.

Tihko was dead.

Sounds of snarling and crashing pounded down through the floor from above, and Chane's thoughts tangled. He could slip through the passage into the sewers and let Toret and Sapphire face the hunter and her minions. But what if Toret survived and realized he had run? As long as Toret lived, Chane was his slave. And then there was Wynn.

He cleared his mind, and reason presented the only possible course of action.

Chane pulled his long sword from its sheath and headed for the opening to the hidden passage at the base of the cellar stairs.

"Don't shoot," Leesil ordered Vatz. "You might hit Chap."

"I ain't stupid," the boy answered.

Leesil dropped the crossbow on top of the dining table. He heard Magiere pick it up and follow behind him as he inched toward the whirling tangle of hound and wolf battling in the archway. Chap could handle a wolf, but the fight made enough noise to wake the dead, literally.

When the wolf twisted away from Chap's lunge, Leesil kicked out hard at it.

The wolf slammed against the archway's side and lost its footing. Leesil stepped in, swinging his blade downward across the animal's neck. At the last moment, the wolf righted itself, head turning toward Leesil's forward leg.

Chap darted in, jaws snapping closed over the wolf's snout, and he jerked, pulling its head away. Leesil's blade struck the animal's throat, sinking through fur and flesh, and nearly severing its head. The wolf dropped to the floor, motionless. With one last thrash and snarl, Chap released his grip. Magiere slipped past Leesil through the archway, and he saw the yellow glow of her topaz.

She groaned. "Anything in this house with ears is certainly awake now."

"Wait," he said. "Let me."

She stopped and let him lead. When Leesil looked back, he found Vatz pulling his quarrel out of the raven's body and Wynn, her brow furrowed in apprehension, staring at the wolf's corpse.

This was not going well at all.

Alone in the room he usually shared by day with Sapphire, Toret opened his eyes to a distant cawing. His sluggish thoughts cleared.

Chane's raven was loose in the house, and its racket echoed up from the main floor. Toret remembered his wolf.

He tried to do as Chane had taught him, tried to see through its eyes, but he caught only bizarre flashes of images passing through its mind. The view through its eyes was disorienting, misty, and kept shifting about.

Something black dropped from the ceiling, and he barely heard its thud upon the table through the wolf's ears. Then the blue-gray hound appeared on the table, glaring at him with crystal-blue eyes as it snarled.

To the table's side was a man in leather armor he couldn't see clearly. Then he made out the curved blade along the man's arm.

Leesil.

The hound lunged at Toret from the table. He flinched and lost contact with the wolf.

Toret panicked. The half-blood had found him. Was it still day-or night?

He forced himself to stay calm. If Leesil was here, then the hunter was with him, and Sapphire might still be dormant.

She'd been so angry with him as dawn came that he said nothing when she'd stayed in her own room. He rose quickly from the bed. His sword leaned in the room's west corner. Part of him wanted to leave it and return to Ratboy's ways of tooth and nail, but upon leaving the room, he picked up the blade.

Leesil stepped into the parlor, with the others close behind, and felt the mood inside the house instantly change.

Colors here meshed in a warmth that surprised him. A tan-and-russet Suman rug covered the floor, and thick brocade draperies enclosed the windows. Mauve velvet divans were placed around the room below paintings of open glades and forests hung upon the walls. As Wynn stepped into the parlor's archway, the light of her crystal further enlivened the room, and Leesil's gaze passed to the back wall. There was a life-size portrait of Sapphire in a rich red gown.

Wynn examined the portrait. "Someone lives in this space. Can you feel it?"

This room felt different. The inhabitants never went to the dining chamber or kitchen, but they spent time in here. Down the hallway were only the foyer and front door, and a stairway beginning there led up to the next level. Beneath it was another set of stairs leading below.

"Up or down?" Magiere asked.

She still held the crossbow atop her falchion, and her topaz appeared slightly brighter. Chap growled toward the front foyer, lowering his head.

"Up it is," Leesil said.

He sheathed his blade and held out his hand to Wynn. She handed him the crystal, and he began working his way down the hall, watching for anything unusual. The last time they'd invaded an undead's lair, he'd tripped a wire and been buried under a rigged cave-in.

When he reached the foyer, he turned to the stairs leading up. In place of the usual knob on the bottom of the staircase's oak railing was a softly glowing orb. It cast light like that of the sage's cold lamps, only dimmer, and appeared to serve no other purpose than illumination. Leesil turned his attention to the stairs themselves. Again, he found nothing, and that unnerved him.

"Is it safe?" Magiere asked.

"I can't find anything," he answered, and it sounded uncertain even to him, but they had to move on. "Step back into the foyer while I look farther up."

He stepped up the first stair, and a thought occurred to him.

What would undeads, who saw clearly in the dark, need with a light in the stairwell? He looked down at the orb as his foot touched the next step.

The orb's light flashed like lightning, and Leesil raised his hand too late.

Brilliant white stabbed through the backs of his eyes into his skull. He jerked away and his foot slipped. As he fell, his hands clamped over his eyes and he cried out, unable to stop himself.

His back collided with something that stopped his fall, and he felt arms wrap around him and lower him to the floor. Someone gripped his wrists and pulled his hands away.

"Leesil?" Magiere's voice asked sharply. "Are you all right?"

He felt the floor at his back and below his head, and he opened his eyes. Above him wasn't Magiere's pale face but only an oily blackness sparked with swirls of blurred, mute colors.

He was not all right. He was blind.

Toret peered out of his door. There was no one in the hall. He hoped Chane had been awakened by the noise below. He crept down the hall and slipped into Sapphire's room, closing the door quietly.

She was still dormant, lying atop her peach velvet comforter, and he paused at the sight of her creamy white face and dark-blond ringlets resting upon her cheeks. Adoration swelled inside him. Toret put his fingers over her soft mouth.

"My dear," he whispered. "You must get up."

Her sapphire-blue eyes opened in surprise. But when she saw him, they darkened in temper.

"If you've come to beg for love, you can get out!"

"Shush," he said, touching her mouth again. "Quiet, my sweet. The hunter is in the house."

The expression on her face shifted to shock and then cunning. Indeed, it gave him some relief. It meant she understood their situation.

"How could she find us?"

Toret shook his head. "You need to escape. Chane, Tibor, and I will take care of this."

"How can I get out if she's already here?"

"The passageway behind the stairs, remember?" he answered, waiting for her realization. "Go down to the cellar and into the tunnel we made that leads to the sewers. I've heard the exits to the sea are closed, but you can travel a safe distance in that direction and climb out a grate in the city streets. I will find you later."

She blinked at him as if he spoke a foreign language.

"Drag one of my gowns through a sewer? My feet? Through that filth and stench?"

A pained cry echoed up through the house.

"What was that?" she asked.

"With luck, one of our trespassers was caught in Chane's trap. Now you must get out of the house."

She wore only a silk nightgown, so he hurried to the closet and grabbed the nearest gown.

"You can't attract any undue attention in the city now. Put this on and leave quickly."

"I'm not wearing that. You bought that; I didn't. Midnight blue makes me look sallow."

"Then you won't care if it gets dragged through a sewer," he said, and tossed the gown on the bed.

He needed to make sure Chane was awake and couldn't waste any more time. He was on the verge of outright ordering her into the sewer when she smiled.

"Of course, you're right," she said. "I don't mean to be difficult. How will you find me later?"

"I'll find you. Now get dressed and go."

"I'll need some coin," she stated with a stubborn look.

Toret sighed deeply. "There's a purse on my wardrobe."

Magiere caught Leesil as he fell. Her eyes hurt, and everything she looked at was speckled with spots of light, but otherwise she could see.

"I'm blind," Leesil said in a wild tone. "Magiere, I'm blind."

Leesil had caught the globe's full flash in his face. Vatz seemed tense and on guard, rubbing his eyes, but he was unhurt, as was Wynn. Chap had been closer. He whined, shaking his head and pawing at his face, but from the way he looked about, responding to the movement of the others, he was able to see.

Magiere pulled Leesil up to sit and kept one arm at his back for support. She didn't know what to do and hated the uncertainty.

"Hold on," she whispered to him, and turned to the young sage. "Can you help him?"

Wynn picked up the crystal that Leesil had dropped and stood examining the globe more closely now.

"It's still intact," she whispered.

"What is?" Magiere asked.

"The globe. I do not know how it is triggered, but it could be almost any of the magics… conjury, thaumaturgy, maybe even alchemy by artificing."

"Is it safe now?" Magiere asked with more insistence.

"I do not know."

Vatz jerked the globe free from the railing with both hands, dropped it, and stomped on it. The globe shattered like a mere eggshell upon the floor.

"It's safe now," he said.

Wynn sighed and knelt down beside Leesil.

"Wynn, can you help him?" Magiere asked.

"Blindness from a flash is usually temporary and passes in little time," the sage answered. "Apprentices have suffered similar accidents during first works of magic."

"We don't have a little time," Leesil growled. "If you can do something… then do it!"

Wynn slipped her hand around Leesil's back and nodded to Magiere that she had him supported. Magiere stood up. She reversed the falchion in her grip so she could still hold it and aim the crossbow.

"Vatz, watch the hallway," she said. "Shoot anything that moves."

The boy settled himself in next to Wynn, crossbow aimed down the passage toward the kitchen door.

Wynn set the crystal on the floor and took a pouch of water from Leesil's belt. She shifted around and pulled him back to lean against her.

"We simply need to speed up your body's ability to heal around your eyes," she said. "I am not a healer, but perhaps I can stimulate the process. Lean your head back upon my shoulder. I am going to rinse your eyes first."

Leesil did as she instructed. Wynn carefully poured the water across his blinking eyes.

"Now be still and quiet," she said. "I must concentrate."

She placed her palms like a mask over his face. As she closed her own eyes, she began chanting softly.

Magiere waited, impatient and anxious, as she watched Leesil. She couldn't finish this without him, and even if she could, she wasn't about to have him remain in this lair if he was blind. If Wynn failed, they would flee immediately.

Wynn ceased chanting, and Magiere forget to watch the stairs. She wasn't certain what the sage was doing or how such magic worked, but there had been no light, sound, or other sensations. No sign that anything had happened at all from the sage's actions. Wynn lifted her hands from Leesil's face.

"Open your eyes," Wynn said. "Is it any better?"

Leesil pushed up to sit on his own. He blinked twice, squinting, and Magiere quickly crouched in front of him. At that he looked directly at her face, and she took deep, long breath.

"Yes…" he said uncertainly, then nodded. "It's a little clearer."

His voice was calmer now, but Magiere still heard the strain in it. Blindness was probably the worst thing Leesil could imagine. He was a fighter. He turned his head and squinted at Wynn.

"Thank you. I don't know how-"

"How well can you see?" Magiere interrupted.

Leesil climbed back to his feet, and she grabbed his arm to steady him.

"Better," he answered. "It's getting better quickly now. That's all I need."

She nodded, uncertain whether he was completely truthful. "Then we go up."

Chane emerged on the second floor, long sword in hand, and moved quickly to Tibor's room. It contained only thick curtains and a mattress on the floor. Tibor was deeply dormant, and Chane knelt next to him. He reached out and touched Tibor's shoulder.

"Wake now," he said, his tone urgent. "The hunter is in our house."

Tibor jumped slightly and opened his eyelids. He pulled back away from Chane with a startled expression before recognition dawned.

"The hunter?"

"Get your sword. We must protect the master."

At mention of Toret, Tibor grabbed the blade lying next to him upon the mattress.

"You lead," Chane said. "Head for the hidden passageway, and we'll slip upstairs."

Without question, Tibor headed for the bedroom door with Chane close behind. As Tibor stepped into the hallway, Chane raised his blade. On some hidden instinct, Tibor looked back.

Chane's blade cut a path through the darkness into Tibor's neck and cleanly through it.

The sailor's head tumbled off, striking the floor and rolling down the hall. The body crumpled with a heavy thud, black fluids seeping into the hallway rug.

Chane wiped his blade clean on the body and stepped over it, hurrying to the concealed entrance of the hidden second stairway. Inside the small space of cobwebbed stone, he took the narrow steps two at a time and emerged quietly in the third-floor hallway.

He saw Toret peer from Sapphire's room, and Chane tapped lightly on the wall. Toret looked up at the sound and saw him. The small undead pointed back toward a spot behind the railing at the top of the stairs. Chane nodded and motioned for Toret to head for the far end overhanging the stairwell.

Toret shook his head and pointed back into the room as he mouthed, Sapphire. He then pointed at the passage Chane had exited and downward.

Chane understood. Sapphire was still in the room, and Toret wanted her in the passage so she could escape. He motioned for Toret to send her down the hall. Then he heard voices from below in the house.

His small master pulled the struggling form of Sapphire from her room and pointed at Chane, but clearly Sapphire wasn't ready to leave. Could she possibly be any more vapid? With an angry expression, she scurried down the hall. To Chane's amazement, instead of coming straight to him, she ducked into Toret's room.

Chane looked at Toret in disbelief, and saw his little master clench his jaw with frustration. The hunter could come up the stairs at any moment. But before Chane took a step to go after Sapphire, she slipped back out of Toret's room with a purse in her hand.

She'd wanted money. She wore a midnight-blue gown and a gold pendant with a sapphire, and carried a large matching bag with a drawstring closure. She dropped the purse into the bag. As soon as she was close enough, Chane grabbed her arm and pushed her into the passageway so he could close it.

"I'm not climbing into some sewer!" she hissed, swatting at him.

Chane's anger flared but realization presented an opportunity. Perhaps Toret was not the only annoyance he could be rid of this night. He peered over his shoulder at Toret hiding above the stairwell at the hall's other end, then pitched his voice low to Sapphire, making sure his little master would not hear.

"Then just go to the exit for the second floor and wait," he instructed her. "Toret and I will take care of the hunter. When all is finished, I will come for you."

She mulled over his suggestion. "If I hear the fight move upstairs, couldn't I just slip out onto the main floor and out the front door?"

"No, wait behind the second floor's entrance and do not come out until I open it."

Chane pushed her inside and closed the passage entrance.

He would never come for her and, eventually, Sapphire's impatience would be too much. She would try to sneak through the house. With luck, she would also join Toret in a second death.

Chane opened his senses as wide as possible.

Soft growling and the barest footfall upon stairs sounded from far below. He crouched in the hallway behind the railing near the landing. Toret was at the far end of the railing over the stairwell, examining his sword for a long moment. To Chane's astonishment, he put the blade down. What did he plan to fight with?

Where's Tibor? Toret mouthed without sound.

Chane drew a line across his throat with one finger and pointed down the stairwell to the sound of approaching steps.

Toret looked blankly down over the railing's edge. He crouched, angry determination on his face. Chane settled low, waiting.

With a little luck, Toret would find himself very suddenly alone against the dhampir and the half-blood. Not the best plan, but it was all that Chane could arrange in the moment. Freedom was perhaps only moments away.