The Killing Song

CHAPTER 17

The door had apparently been carved into the wall of the sewer by some enterprising goblin. It was goblin height and goblin width and, once Ashi had forced it open with repeated kicks against the old wood, a tight squeeze for any of them to wriggle through. A heavy curtain, powdery with mold, dragged against Singe as he pushed himself through the doorway and into the cellar beyond. He cursed between his teeth and tore the rotten fabric away to allow the others an easier passage. The curtain and the cellar were both musty and foul, but they smelled like a temple compared to the wet stink of the sewers or the stench of the decaying bodies back in the arena.

“Have a good sniff when a battle’s over,” Robrand d’Deneith had told him more than once, “and remember that no matter how bad things smell, you’re still breathing.” Singe wrinkled his nose, brushed the thick dust from the curtain off his shirt, and raised one hand. The magical light that glowed from his ring-he’d cast the cantrip when the footing in the sewers had become too treacherous for them to depend solely on Natrac’s darkvision for guidance-shone on a room long abandoned to dampness and filth. The outline of a trapdoor showed among the low beams of the ceiling. There was no ladder, but it didn’t look like it would be difficult to haul themselves up through the trapdoor.

As Natrac squirmed through the small doorway, Singe bent down and helped the half-orc to his feet. “I wouldn’t have expected the blustering merchant I met in Yrlag to turn out to be a notorious ganglord from Sharn.”

“Former ganglord,” Natrac grunted. “That ended when Biish decided he wanted to start building the Longtooth into something to be reckoned with, Keeper take the bastard. This route through the sewers saved my life once before. We’re well across Malleon’s Gate now.” He looked around. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this room too. Kuv, I feel stupid for letting Biish get his hands on me. I should have told you about my past before this. I was putting all of us at risk.”

“What if you had told us everything?” Singe asked him. “We wouldn’t have let you come down to Malleon’s Gate alone. If Biish hadn’t gotten his hands on you, you wouldn’t have found out what he and Vennet were up to.”

“And,” added Dandra grimly as she drew herself through the door, “you would have been with us when Virikhad tried to lure us into Dah’mir’s claws. We would all be trapped.” She stood up, pressed her hands together, and bent her head over them in a gesture of thanks. “Bless your secrets, Natrac. Virikhad had the rest of us off balance trying to understand the killing song.”

The half-orc grimaced, his lip stretching tight against his tusks. “Where do you think Virikhad is now?”

Dandra shook her head. “He could be anywhere. It sounds like he knows Dah’mir’s plans. He’s probably moved on to another host so he can make sure Biish’s raid succeeds and Dah’mir captures the seventeen kalashtar he needs.”

“Seventeen kalashtar with psicrystals to wear seventeen bracers with binding stones,” said Singe. With what they had found in the arena and what Natrac had heard from his cell, it hadn’t taken much to guess what had been on the list of targets Vennet had given Biish. The month Dah’mir had been in Sharn had certainly been enough time to gather the information. If his herons had watched Fan Adar for them, the birds might have watched for kalashtar carrying psicrystals too. Or maybe Dah’mir and Vennet had spied on Fan Adar themselves. How the dragon had built the list didn’t matter-it was a curiosity, much as the half-elf Benti’s role in the raid was a curiosity. Singe had tried to reason out why Vennet and Dah’mir should need another bearer of the Mark of Storm and come up with nothing. For the moment, the important thing was that list and the danger to the kalashtar.

They still had a chance to disrupt Dah’mir’s plans. The kalashtar elders would also know who in Fan Adar possessed psicrystals, and Dah’mir’s potential victims could still be hidden or scattered.

If they could get back to Overlook in time to warn them.

There was still one thing that needed to be discussed before they left their cellar refuge, however. Singe turned around to face Ashi. The hunter had slipped through the goblin-sized door with lithe ease without saying anything. In fact, she’d barely spoken at all during their flight through the sewers. Now she crouched beside the door, a haunted look on her dragonmark patterned face, her mouth pressed closed so tightly the flesh was pale around the bone hoops that pierced her lower lip. Singe squatted down in front of her.

“You’re thinking of Moon, aren’t you?” he said.

The hunter’s eyes flicked up and focused on him. After a moment, she nodded and her lips parted. “I left him behind, Singe. I was supposed to watch over him and I left him behind. Vennet and Biish came over the wall and onto the terrace so suddenly all I could do was defend myself. I had to choose between protecting Moon and trying to warn you.”

Singe spread his hands, sending light and shadows dancing around the room. “I think you made the right choice. If you’d tried to carry Moon with you, you would have been fighting with a dead weight over your shoulder. If you’d tried to stay, either Vennet or Biish would probably have slipped past you and come after us.”

“But they came anyway. Now Moon is probably either dead or Dah’mir’s prisoner.” Ashi looked down at her sword, held across her hands-the bright honor blade of the Sentinel Marshals, a relic of the grandfather who had fallen prey to Dah’mir and the Bonetree clan. “I carry the Siberys Mark of Sentinel,” she said. “I should have stayed. I should have defended him.”

“No,” Singe said firmly. “You shouldn’t have. You couldn’t have. You need to be realistic, Ashi. Think-House Deneith doesn’t defend everyone. The lords of Deneith know it’s impossible.”

A harsh look crossed Ashi’s face. “The lords of Deneith sell their protection.”

Singe grimaced. “Not all of them. You still have a lot to learn about Deneith. For every heir of Deneith like Mithas, there’s someone good, someone who thinks of others before they think of themselves. Someone who does try to defend other people when they can.”

“Someone like Robrand used to be?”

That stung. Singe bit his tongue-and nodded reluctantly. “Like Robrand used to be.” He sighed. “Ashi, what I’m saying is that you can’t blame yourself for everyone that falls. It’s just not possible. You have to look at the greater good. If you’d tried to defend Moon, what would have happened to Dandra and I?”

“You could have defended yourselves.”

“All right then, what would have happened to you? And if you died, what would have happened to Dandra?”

Her only answer was to press her lips tight together again. Singe reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll learn, Ashi. Having that kind of responsibility isn’t easy. You don’t have to forget about Moon, but you have to face that there’s nothing you can do for him now. There are kalashtar up in Fan Adar who are going to be in a lot of trouble very soon. You can’t help them if you’re caught up on one person you couldn’t defend.” He squeezed her shoulder then stood up. “You have to let him go for now.”

Ashi looked up at him, her eyes intense. “This is the second time you’ve talked me into your point of view, Singe. The first time, you convinced me of Dah’mir’s evil and showed me I had the strength to turn my back on the Bonetree clan. I’m starting to think that it’s not your spells or your sword that make you dangerous.” She smiled wryly and stood. “Let’s make sure I didn’t leave Moon behind for nothing.”

She moved past him and went to stand under the trapdoor in the ceiling, stretching up her arms to test its strength. Dandra stepped in to Singe’s side. “You can make a persuasive argument when you want to.”

He shrugged. “My mother wanted me to be a wine trader. My professors at Wynarn University told me I could have become a lecturer.”

“I can’t see you as a wine trader or a lecturer.”

“Neither can I.” Singe smiled. “On the other hand, wine traders and lecturers don’t generally have to worry about dragons.”

The building into which the sewer door opened was very nearly a ruin. The few goblins that Singe spotted as they made their way out to the street stayed far back in the shadows, keeping wary eyes on the intruders from below. A few drew back even further as they saw the dragonmark on Ashi’s face. The hunter’s scarf was long gone and there didn’t seem to be much point in trying to conceal the mark now. She left it exposed, and if respect for or fear of the mark sped their passage even a little, thought Singe, so much the better.

He caught more than one of the goblins covering their noses. If the little creatures found the smell bad, the stink of the sewers that clung to them must have been truly foul. Before they passed out into the street, he cast a simple cantrip that stripped the filth and stench from their clothes. It was disconcerting to cast the magic-there was every chance they would be facing Biish’s gang as well as Dah’mir and Vennet very soon, and he wanted every possible spell at his disposal for the fight-but they didn’t need to attract any more attention than they had to on their way out of Malleon’s Gate. Any delay could cost them on the race back to Overlook.

The delay that waited for them at the nearest lift, however, couldn’t have been avoided no matter how good they smelled. In fact, smelling really bad might have helped them more. Singe stopped on the edge of the festive crowd that plugged the street before the lift and cursed, remembering what they had seen on their ride down to Malleon’s Gate. “Thronehold! Bloody Thronehold! Everyone’s trying to get to the upper city to see the display!”

Mention of the celebration brought a cheer from the nearest celebrants and tankards and wineskins were raised in a drunken toast. Natrac leaned closer to Singe and shouted above the noise. “Biish probably chose tonight for the raid deliberately! The upperr city will be so chaotic that the Sharn Watch won’t be able to respond quickly to the raid.”

“Won’t that make it more difficult for him to find his targets in Fan Adar?” asked Ashi.

Dandra scowled. “No. Remember how few banners there were in Fan Adar? The kalashtar don’t pay much attention to Thronehold. Fan Adar will probably be the quietest neighborhood in the upper city tonight.” She looked at Singe. “I’d bet choosing the night of Thronehold for the raid was Dah’mir’s plan more than it was Biish’s.”

“I wouldn’t bet against you,” Singe said. He stared at the crowd. Goblins, hobgoblins, bugbears, some half-orcs, and even a few mangy-looking shifters were packed into the street almost ten ranks deep. It would take at least two runs of the lift to clear them, and more people were arriving all the time. Trying to force their way through the crowd would be bad idea-he saw a hobgoblin try to wade forward only to be met with outraged curses and a flurry of blows that sent him staggering back. There didn’t seem to be much point in trying another lift. He suspected that every lift in the district, probably every lift in Sharn, was jammed with crowds.

The crowds might slow Biish’s people too, but if Biish-or more likely Dah’mir as Dandra had suggested-had planned the raid around Thronehold, he’d likely have planned for the crowds as well. He spun around, eyes raking the streets, searching for inspiration. There had to be a way to get to the upper city quickly …

His gaze settled on a large skycoach as it passed overhead, draped with the colorful banners of Thronehold and stuffed full with goblin revelers. It was old, worn, and flew with all the grace of a wounded dragonhawk, but it was flying. Dandra looked up as well. She must have guessed what he was thinking because she smiled grimly. “There were other skycoaches earlier,” she said. “Smaller ones. Faster ones.”

“That’s what we need.” There were a few more skycoaches in the air, all heading toward the gaps that gave way to open sky. They had to find one on the ground-if there were any left. He turned to Natrac. “Where do you think we’d find a skycoach?”

The half-orc shook his head. “They don’t usually come to Malleon’s Gate. Anyone here tonight must be wringing the rind-”

“They’d still need a place to pick up passengers.” Singe grabbed Natrac and turned him around to face another wallowing vessel as it lifted clear of the buildings around them. “There! Where’s that one coming from?”

Natrac squinted. “Reaver’s Square.” He thrust out his tusks and started down a sidestreet at a trot, moving against the current of people heading for the lift. Singe stayed right behind him with Ashi and Dandra following.

Reaver’s Square was an unprepossessing expanse of stone utterly empty of buildings or any features at all. There were hardly even any people left in the square, as if the last of the large skycoaches had taken them all with it. Those people who were in the square seemed to be on their way to someplace else, likely a lift. That all of them rushed right past the last skycoach still hovering in the square, ignoring the piping calls in Goblin that Singe presumed were invitations to hire the coach, didn’t put any confidence into his heart. They didn’t have much choice, though. From across the square, the coach looked right enough, if some what smaller and distinctly less well maintained than the one he and Ashi had taken to Deathsgate. Even on closer approach there didn’t seem to be anything materially wrong with it.

Then he saw the source of the piping voice-and the source of the piping voice, a goblin standing on a bench in the stern of the coach, saw him. Dark eyes in an orange-red face lit up. “Masters and mistresses! You must be lost. Hire Rhazala’s skycoach, and you’ll be in the sky before the show starts!”

There wasn’t a chance, Singe was certain, that the coach belonged to her. At least not legally. If she sat down on the bench, he suspected that her short legs wouldn’t reach the floor. If she climbed out of the coach, he doubted that she would be able to climb back in. She looked like a child standing on the driver’s seat of a conventional carriage. In fact, he couldn’t be certain that she wasn’t a child. Her impish face and the oversized robes that swathed her small body gave the impression that if she was an adult, it was only by a matter of days. He glanced at Dandra.

She lifted her hands and shrugged. The canny little goblin-Rhazala, presumably-must have caught either their indecision or their desperation because her voice became wheedling. “No other coaches left,” she said. “Don’t want to wait for a lift, do you? So slow. So many stops on the way up. The Thronehold show will be over before you see it.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or maybe the show isn’t what matters to you. Wherever you’re going, I can get you there, quick quick.”

Singe grimaced. She might not have gotten the details right, but she had the basics of their situation pegged. He stepped up to the coach. “You can fly this thing, can’t you?” he asked.

Rhazala put on an offended look. “For years I’ve flown it! Won races! My regular passengers took tickets on a party yacht to watch the show or I wouldn’t be down here now-”

“It’s stolen,” he said bluntly. “You don’t have regular passengers. I don’t care. Just tell me if you can fly it.”

She dropped her protestations. “I flew it here, didn’t it?”

That, at least, had the ring of truth. “We need to go to Overlook, fast as you can. How much?”

Rhazala’s eyes darted among them. “A gold galifar apiece,” she said. His eyebrows rose. She shrugged. “Wait for a lift.”

“Twelve moons, you are a thief.”

He found the coins, though, and dropped them into her small hand. They vanished into her robe. “In in!” she cried. “Faster you’re aboard, faster you’re in Overlook!”

The coach rocked as first Singe, then Ashi and Natrac, climbed over the edge and sat. Only Dandra barely disturbed it, vaulting lightly over the side and settling down next to Singe. “I don’t feel good about this,” she said.

“You’d feel less good waiting, wouldn’t you?”

“Hold on!” said Rhazala. Singe heard her robes rustle-then the skycoach shot upward with an abruptness that took his breath away. His hands clamped onto the coach’s side as the vessel angled up and out of the square, nearly clipping the roof of one of the buildings lining it. In only moments, they were above Malleon’s Gate and still climbing, heading for a gap between the great towers.

And straight toward one of the lumbering, banner-draped skycoaches they had seen earlier. “Rhazala!” Singe shouted. The goblin’s reply was muffled and their coach didn’t change course. Singe twisted around.

In order to reach the rudder-like rod that steered the coach, Rhazala had to sit backward on the bench. The only way she could have seen where they were going was to turn and look over her shoulder. Unfortunately, the wind of their passage had blown the folds of her robe over her face. She couldn’t see anything, and her attempts to claw the fabric away were utterly unsuccessful. Singe freed one hand, reached back, and snatched the billowing robe clear of Rhazala’s face. The goblin’s dark eyes went wide as she saw what was ahead of them. She pulled on the steering rod, and their coach pitched up at an angle that brought a shout from Natrac, a laugh from Ashi, and frightened screams from the goblins crowding the other coach as they passed overhead.

A moment later they emerged into the canyon between the towers, already almost at the height of the middle city. The coach slowed and dropped back to a more normal pitch, assuming a slightly less frantic pace of ascent. Rhazala grinned at Singe. “Quick quick!” she said brightly.

Her orange skin, however, had paled to a kind of faded gold color, and her fingers were tight around the steering rod. Singe let go of the fabric of her robe and turned around to face the front of the coach and to look at the others. Ashi was flushed. Natrac was pale. Dandra was staring up at the sky overhead.

“Singe, look,” she said, and he turned his face to the sky as well.

Full night had fallen. Stars speckled the darkness along with the half-turned faces of the orange moon Olarune and the silver-gray moon Eyre, giving the night a pale glow against which the towers of Sharn stood out in silhouette. Stars and moons were far from the only things in the sky, however. The night was filled with skycoaches lit by lanterns and airships lit by the fire or moonglow of their elemental rings. Some of the vessels flitted about, but many just floated in place as those aboard awaited the beginning of the Thronehold spectacle. As their coach rose higher and the heights of the city came into view, even more lights appeared. Every tower in Sharn, every bridge, every open courtyard shone with torches and lanterns.

“Rhazala, do you know when the spectacle is supposed to start?” Singe called over his shoulder.

“When the crescent of Aryth rises,” said the goblin. “Soon. Now close your mouth-I’m flying!” She turned the coach in a ragged arc and they began flying among the towers.

Dandra’s hand sought out his. “Do you think we’ll make it in time?”

“If we didn’t spend too long in the sewers, and if we’re right about Dah’mir using Thronehold as a cover for the raid,” Singe told her. “If I were him, I’d wait until the spectacle had actually started before I made my move.” He gave Dandra’s hand a squeeze. “We’ll make it. We’ll stop him.”

The coach jerked and swerved suddenly as Rhazala tried to slow down at the same time she steered around a tower. Singe had to let go of Dandra’s hand to brace himself. Even Ashi yelped this time. “Sorry!” Rhazala called.

“I hope you weren’t planning on going into the skycoach business permanently!” said Singe, glancing back at her.

“Only for tonight.” Rhazala’s face was intense and possibly a little bit frightened. “Not so sure about the rest of tonight. This is Overlook now. Where are you going?”

From the stress in her words, he guessed that she was hoping he’d tell her to set down at the first opportunity. He didn’t give her that satisfaction. “Fan Adar, the kalashtar neighborhood. Do you know it?”

Rhazala’s flat nose wrinkled. “From the ground, yes. From the air, no.”

“It’s there,” said Ashi from the front of the coach. Her voice was grim. “Straight ahead. Where all the herons are circling.”

Singe swung around again. Beneath the moonlight, a dozen black herons swooped through the sky ahead of them. Something had them excited-they moved like cats with wings stalking earthbound prey. A large hulk of a skycoach, just like the ones they’d seen in Malleon’s Gate, drifted nearby, apparently abandoned. “Twelve bloody moons,” Singe hissed. They’d been wrong. He’d been wrong. Dah’mir hadn’t waited. The raid had already begun.

“It was us,” Dandra said tightly. “He probably acted early because we got away in the arena.” She glanced back at Rhazala. “Take us down!”

The goblin sounded alarmed. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“You don’t want to know,” said Dandra. She reached over her shoulder and drew her spear from across her back. “Just take us down. We need to get off now!”

“No, wait.” Singe studied the herons. Was Dah’mir among them? He didn’t think so. The dragon would likely be in the thick of the action, not hanging above it like a common bird. “Take us closer.”

Rhazala let out a squeak, but Singe dropped two more gold galifars onto the floor of the coach under her bench. “Don’t ask questions. Just make a pass over the birds.” He looked at Dandra. “We need to see what’s happening down there before we go charging in. We’ll be more effective if we know what we’re doing.”

Dandra’s fingers tightened on her spear, but she nodded. Rhazala glanced at the gold, swallowed, and sent the skycoach gliding forward like a boat on a river. She pulled the steering rod, and they rose slightly, climbing above the herons. The birds seemed to pay them no attention, but then they were hardly the only skycoach in the air-just the only one with passengers more interested in what was below than what was above. Singe found himself holding his breath as he leaned over the edge of the coach and looked down.

Just as Dandra had said, Fan Adar was quiet compared to the other neighborhoods around. Revelers seemed to avoid the kalashtar district. Fan Adar was dark too. Strangely dark. The everbright lanterns that should have lit the streets had been suppressed. Singe had to strain to see through the shadows. Biish’s goblins, hobgoblins, and bugbears would have a strategic advantage in the darkness.

But there was no movement in the streets. Except for the wheeling herons, everything seemed peaceful. Singe felt an eerie tension crawl up his spine.

“Maybe we are in time,” whispered Natrac.

“They’re there,” Ashi answered him. Her voice had a raw edge Singe hadn’t heard in weeks-the edge of a barbarian of the Shadow Marches. “Can’t you feel it? This is the moment before the hunt begins.”

Rhazala squeaked out a curse. “Tell me what’s going on-”

She didn’t finish. From somewhere below, a scream of fright echoed into the night before breaking off. An instant later, the herons dropped, screeching, out of the sky to plummet down into the streets. More shouts rose-more screams. A deep howl that must have been a bugbear or maybe even an ogre was followed by shrieks. Light flashed onto the streets as doors and windows were thrown open, but the light only served to make the shadows seem deeper and the shapes that ran through the street stranger and more wild.

“Rond betch, you see?” shouted Ashi. The skycoach rocked as she turned from side to side. “They’re everywhere! They’re trying to panic the kalashtar.”

“That won’t help them for long,” Dandra said. “The kalashtar and the Adaran humans will rally at the Gathering Light and fight back.”

Natrac’s face flushed dark. “But that’s what they’re expecting! Biish said that kalashtar under attack always cluster together at a central location.”

The mention of the hobgoblin’s name made Rhazala flinch. “Biish?” she choked. “You’re going against Biish? Khaari orces’taat! Keep your gold!” The coach lurched to a halt and began to turn as she pulled at the steering rod.

Natrac twisted around with a roar that rocked Singe back on his seat. “Hold that rod steady! Kuv dagga, we’re going against Biish! This time the Biter has sunk his teeth into something too big for him. If they’re still telling stories about Natrac Graywall, you’d better start remembering them because you’ve got a front row seat for his return!”

Rhazala’s mouth fell open in shocked awe. “Natrac? You’re Natrac?” Her eyes flashed and her grip tightened on the steering road. “My coach is yours!”

For a moment, staring at Natrac was all Singe could do too. He’d seen the half-orc wear many faces, from blustering merchant to desperate fighter, but in the deep rage that colored Natrac’s features now he could see for the first time the man who might have earned a warrant-notice from the Sentinel Marshals of House Deneith. “Bloody moons, Natrac!” he managed.

Natrac thrust his tusks forward. “I’ve had enough of Biish. I may be afraid of Dah’mir, but Host and Six curse me if I’m going to take anything more from that shekot! If he’s going to force me to go back to what I was, I’m going all the way.”

“I’m glad you’re on our side then.” Singe blew out his breath and thought quickly, trying to assess the situation. “If Biish is expecting the kalashtar to rally at the Gathering Light, that’s probably where he’ll stage the main thrust of his attack. How many people does he have, Natrac?”

“Knowing Biish, more than enough to do the job. And Vennet told Biish he’d have assistance during the attack.”

“Dah’mir,” Dandra said between her teeth. “Light of il-Yannah, Dah’mir will dominate the kalashtar while Biish’s attack takes down the Adarans.”

Singe narrowed his eyes. “But he still needs Biish’s gang, or he’d have done all this himself. Biish is his vulnerability. Stop the raid and we can stop Dah’mir.”

“That’s not much easier,” said Natrac. “‘More than enough people to do the job’ is more than us. He’s going to have us outnumbered.”

“We’ve faced worse odds-and unless you have your old gang tucked away in your pocket, we don’t have a choice.” Singe glanced at Dandra. “Which way to the Gathering Light?”

Dandra turned and flung out an arm. “Rhazala, that way!”

“Moza!” The coach moved, curving smoothly in the direction Dandra had indicated-

— a curve that ended in a lurch as Rhazala squealed and yanked at the steering rod to avoid a small skycoach that came swooping down out of the sky and directly at them. Four figures squatted in the other coach and Singe caught the unmistakable gleam of moonlight on drawn steel.

“Biish!” Rhazala yelped.

“Bandits!” spat Natrac.

But steel wasn’t the only thing that moonlight flashed on. The figures in the other coach wore blue jackets, and the coach itself bore a familiar crest. “Blademarks!” shouted Singe. “Rhazala, get us down!”

“Don’t move your coach!” A voice as familiar as the Blademarks crest rolled above the sounds of chaos that came from Fan Adar-but the voice didn’t come from the coach ahead of them. Singe twisted around. A second coach carrying more blue-jacketed mercenaries had come into position behind them. Crouched in the front of the coach, a wand in his grasp, was Mithas d’Deneith. “Don’t move your coach, don’t move yourselves, don’t try to cast any spells-and don’t try to use any psionics, kalashtar. At the first sign that anything is amiss, we will bring you down!”

“One of the men in the other coach has a wand too!” said Dandra. Rhazala gave another little yelp of dismay and tried to shrink down.

Anger burst inside Singe, and he stood up. “Mithas, you bastard! What are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing, Singe. I’ve been waiting for you to come back. When I realized you were hanging around with kalashtar, I knew you wouldn’t be away from Overlook for long.” The sorcerer’s voice was thick with anger. As his coach drifted closer, Singe got a better look at his face and the faces of the three men who rode with him. Mithas’s face was still patched with the burst blood vessels inflicted by Moon’s-Virikhad’s-psionic attack in the fight below Nevchaned’s home. Singe was fairly certain he recognized the other mercenaries from the earlier fight as well. They looked just as angry as Mithas.

He ground his teeth together. “Have you seen what’s going on down below?”

“No one’s paying me to worry about goblins and kalashtar. There’s only one thing I want.” Mithas nodded at Ashi. “Hand over the marked woman, and I’ll let you go down and play with the cog-puppies and dreamers.”

From the corner of his eye, Singe saw both Ashi and Dandra stiffen. Even Rhazala poked her head up to glare at Mithas. The sorcerer raised with his wand threateningly. “I said don’t move!”

“You’re a worthless idiot,” Singe growled at him. “Dol Arrah’s honor, Robrand was right to kick you out of the Frostbrand. Let us go, Mithas. We need to get down to the street. What’s happening here is so much bigger than your greed that you couldn’t understand it if you tried!”

Mithas’s face darkened even more. Singe thought he saw a trickle of fresh blood break through the sorcerer’s skin. “You’re not in a position to talk back, Singe!” Mithas said. “I underestimated you before, and I think you underestimate how much I want that foundling and her mark. I don’t know where you found her, but when I bring her to the lords of Deneith the reward I’ll receive will be bigger than You can understand.” He leveled his wand at Singe’s chest … then let it drop to point at the hull of the skycoach under his feet. “I could shatter that coach with a wave of this wand. Surrender her to me, or you’ll be meeting the street fast and hard.”

Singe glared at him. “Do that and you’ll drop all of us.”

Mithas gave him a cold smile and raised his other hand. It, too, held a wand. “Levitation,” he said. “I can hold her up while the rest of you fall. Like it or not, she’s coming with me.”

“I have a name!”

Ashi stood abruptly, moving with a lethal grace that barely rocked the coach. She glanced at Singe for an instant and the wizard was startled to see that her face was pale and taut, then she turned to face Mithas.

“I am Ashi,” she said, “daughter of Ner, granddaughter of Kagan who bore this sword.” She drew her weapon with a swift motion that made Singe catch his breath and Mithas jerk both his wands toward her. “An honor blade of the Sentinel Marshals.” She stared past the sword at Mithas. “I am no one’s to surrender. I go with no one I do not choose to go with. Threaten my friends again, and my blade will find honor in taking your head off of your shoulders.”

Mithas seemed genuinely startled at Ashi’s blunt pronouncement, and Singe couldn’t keep his lips from curving into a smile. Who had the sorcerer underestimated now? Standing tall and proud, untouchable in her savage dignity, Ashi spun her sword around and slid it deftly back into her scabbard.

She met Mithas’s eyes boldly. “But I will go with you,” she said.