The Night Parade

Four

Lucius Cardoc escorted Myrmeen back to the inn, then told her that he would spend the night trying to discover the location of the two men Kracauer had mentioned.

“You need sleep, too,” she had protested. “And it may not be safe for you on your own.”

“I do my best work when I am alone,” he said, giving her no choice in the matter as he became invisible. She reached out to where he had been standing, but he already had moved away. With a sigh of defeat, she turned and went upstairs to join the others.

Ord had fallen into a deep sleep with Burke silently watching over the boy. Myrmeen told the group all that had occurred and relayed Lucius’s promise to return with information by morningsun.

“The best thing for us to do is wait,” Varina said. Myrmeen agreed. Reisz went back to the room he had planned to share with Ord. Myrmeen retired to her private chamber. She slept fitfully, waking every thirty minutes to an hour. The last time she wrested herself from her sleep, she awoke frightened and felt as if she were being pulled away on a tide that had overpowered her senses.

Slivers of her last nightmare remained as she got up and paced. She did not feel like going back to sleep and so she performed an exhausting series of exercises and practiced with her heavy sword, hoping to tire herself. Finally, when she had given up on a decent night’s sleep, Myrmeen sat before the small window, looking out at the city of her birth. A single image from her dream refused to fade:

She had seen a man standing on the muddy earth in the middle of a terrible storm, a dark man who raised his arms to the sky. Two ragged bolts of lightning shattered the night with their blinding intensity, their jagged paths cutting across the horizon from opposite directions. Suddenly they met where the man stood, each of his out-thrust hands receiving a single blast of lightning. He became transparent for a moment as the searing white light coursed through him, and Myrmeen could see that his anatomy was not that of a man, but of something considerably older and more threatening.

Was this Talos, god of the storms? She was not a worshiper of any particular god, but if she had been, Talos would have been her last choice. Storms terrified her.

Myrmeen felt an odd scratching sensation on her left arm and held the arm out to the soft blue-white illumination from the window. She was shocked to see three sets of black eyes open on her forearm.

Suddenly she was aware of a knocking at her door. Myrmeen yawned and felt a strange warmth on her arms. She looked up and saw sunlight pouring through the open window. The raw heat of the day caressed her. Examining her left arm several times, she found no trace of the curious eyes that had materialized within her flesh. She did not remember falling asleep after she shook herself from her nightmares and sat before the window, but the eyes must have been part of them. Worried that the line between her dreams and her waking reality was beginning to blur, Myrmeen became anxious to fill her mind with other thoughts. She checked her dress to ensure that her gown would not offend her visitor’s sensibilities and said, “Come!”

The door opened and Lucius Cardoc stepped inside. She was not surprised. From the tentative nature of the knock, she had guessed that it would be him.

“Myrmeen,” he said as he entered and lowered his gaze in a form of respectful greeting. The mage looked exactly as he had the night before. If he had missed out on a night’s sleep, the effects had not manifested.

She stepped away from the chair that she had been straddling and turned to face him. Her neck and back ached. She had fallen asleep in an awkward position, her head resting in the crook of her arms. Unconsciously, she raised her arms over her head and reached back to link her fingers behind her neck, stretching like a cat. Then she suddenly became aware of the sensuous image she was providing for the mage. Her thin shift had hardly been shocking, but it was not modest either. She was aware that the light from outside was serving to reveal her body’s perfect lines.

Cardoc did not seem embarrassed in the least, and she found that she liked his reaction. He came to her from behind, raised the back of her shift, and said, “Sit on the side of the bed.”

With a tentative smile, she did as he commanded. He delivered a powerful and soothing massage to the tense, knotted muscles in her back. His hands were stronger than she had anticipated. She resisted the urge to let him know exactly how pleasurable his touch was becoming as she bunched her hair in her hands and lifted it to give him clear access to her neck. He somehow knew exactly where to touch her and with how much pressure.

She appreciated that he said nothing of the scars lining her bare back.

“I have the information,” he said, a trace of amusement in his tone as he gently lowered her shift and backed away. “Would you like a few moments to dress? I could wait downstairs with the others.”

She almost asked him to stay, then thought better of it. Her heart was racing as she turned to see him exit the room.

An hour later, the Harpers were on the street. They had retrieved their mounts from the stable master, who had charged them an inflated fee, a common occurrence in Calimport, and rode through one of the designated routes set aside for intracity travel. They brought their supplies.

Reisz chose to ride beside Myrmeen, with Lucius taking point. A thought had weighed heavily on him for the last few weeks, since he had responded with the others to Myrmeen’s summons and listened to her story. During the long ride to Calimport and through the trials that followed, there had been no appropriate moment to bring up his observation. Now, he felt, was as good a time as any.

“Myrmeen, you said that your mother first told you of the Night Parade to explain what happened to your stillborn sister. Isn’t it possible that the monsters took her, too?”

She drew a deep breath, as if she had been stung by his words. “Anything is possible,” she said evenly, betraying the fact that the thought had occurred to her, too.

Lucius called for the company to halt, and he pointed at the sight that had arrested his attention. They were close to the shipping lanes, traveling between endless rows of buildings that had been converted into warehouses. Ahead they could see the bay’s sparkling, clear waters, along with nearly one hundred ships in the docks. Above one of the ships, like an angry black fist, rose a cloud of smoke. A small boat had been set on fire and was sinking into the waters.

The mage dismounted and led his sleek black horse to the others. Reisz took the animal’s reins as Lucius offered to go ahead and learn what had happened. Myrmeen and Burke agreed. As they waited for him to return, she thought of Kracauer, the baby merchant who had been slain by the strange weapon charged by a form of magic that had unnerved Cardoc. She considered the possibility that the assassin had been close enough to hear the names Kracauer had given them. Having mentally traced the trajectory of the second blade, the one, presumably, meant for her throat, Myrmeen knew that, without Lucius’s interference, the knife narrowly would have missed her.

The killing had been a warning.

Lucius came back and announced what Myrmeen had already guessed: The boat that had been sunk belonged to Ivan Nehlridge, the smuggler who frequently shuttled Kracauer’s stolen freight from the city. Witnesses had seen him engulfed in flames, screaming for his life, as the boat had gone down.

“Martyn Johannas is the only one left,” Lucius said. “What I learned about him was a bit more vague. That could work in our favor.”

“Perhaps,” Burke said as he ordered the company to follow the mage. They left the docks and cut across the dark heart of the city, the meaning of Cardoc’s words apparent: Their only possible advantage depended on the quality of the information received by the killers, who were attempting to seal off Myrmeen’s avenues of inquiry. If they had been given the same odd phrases as Cardoc to explain the whereabouts of Martyn Johannas, then the Harpers had a fair chance of getting to the man first.

The morning was a bitter memory by the time they arrived at the outskirts of the city’s financial district. Guardsmen ordered them away from the busy streets. The Harpers put up their mounts at the first stable they spotted, which had been filled nearly to capacity. Myrmeen was doleful at the idea of leaving the mounts in the oppressively hot stables. Fortunately, the stalls they rented were the responsibility of a young stable boy who seemed to genuinely love and respect the magnificent animals left to his care. She gave him an extra coin for his troubles.

Before they left, the boy took her to a private room, where she changed into an elegant gold-and-white dress from her travel bag. When she emerged from the room, her hair was piled up in a regal style and held in a beautiful headdress. She wore white gloves that covered her forearms and ended above her elbows. Her shoulderless gown plunged in the front, revealing the creamy tops of her breasts, which had been thrust upward by a wire corset that chafed against her skin. Her bearing and style of walk had changed, too.

The Harpers had decided that they would draw far less attention if they posed as servants and bodyguards to a finely dressed lady. For Myrmeen, her companions’ expressions at her emergence as a woman of wealth and privilege made it worth slipping out of her battle-worn leathers, mails, and thigh-high boots. Her only mistake in choosing this outfit had been her sandals, which revealed her calloused feet. Cardoc nodded at her approvingly, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment too long.

The group left the stable and walked for several blocks. They were surprised as they turned a corner and were suddenly swallowed up by a torrent of citizens. The people rushed blindly forward, heads down, their gazes carefully set to take in any obstacles at a glance without making eye contact with anyone. As Myrmeen had imagined, the passersby were dressed in the finest, most brightly colored gowns and business wear that the city’s markets had to offer. Many people had entourages similar to Myrmeen’s, and her group drew little attention, except for the occasional stare inspired by Myrmeen’s hypnotic beauty. They had not traveled far before Myrmeen realized that Lucius had vanished into the crowd.

The buildings lining the financial district’s long, central street had been designed with the care and expense usually devoted to fine palaces or halls of study. Myrmeen had seen it all before. The merchants were so touched by petty rivalry that each had attempted to make his or her establishment more spectacular to gaze upon than all the others. Their childish infighting, something that would not have been allowed in Arabel, had led to impressive spurts of towering architecture; several buildings had bridges suspended twenty feet above the ground, linking them with covered walkways. Others had statues of fierce lions or creatures of myth built into their walls. A few of the designers had opted for simple but elegant spires and ornately decorated, concave walls.

Cardoc had been told to look for “the house of the griffon” and to “regard kindly the temple of the sun.” Myrmeen found the trading house situated between a building guarded by a pair of stone griffons and a church made of glass. She and her party went inside the establishment and proceeded to the currency exchange bureau, where they found a tall man with slicked-back hair tied in a ponytail. He busily marked entries on a scroll and did not look up until Myrmeen set her gloved hands on either side of his parchment and leaned forward to whisper, “Martyn Johannas?”

He looked up, stunned. “Yes,” he said.

Myrmeen smiled. She had seen the expression before. At that moment, she was certain that he would have agreed to anything she proposed. Her entourage kept its distance, allowing her to delicately take a seat before the man, her gown parting slightly to reveal her firm, lightly tanned legs, which she crossed to add to the effect.

“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask,” she said in a haughty, teasing voice.

“I don’t think that will change the answer,” he said as he scratched his neck, “but ask away.”

Myrmeen looked around, making a show of it. “Is there somewhere we can go that’s more private?”

Johannas angled his gaze toward her companions. “That depends on whether or not they come along.”

A throaty laugh escaped Myrmeen. She had softened him up enough, she decided. “I wish to trade some currency,” she said. “I seem to have a surplus of pearls from Amn.”

The man shook his head, his expression slowly becoming serious. “And how many Roldons do you have to exchange?”

“More than a thousand,” she said. “This trip, anyway. You see now why my personal assistants follow my every move.”

He breathed out heavily. “Yes. That is a healthy sum.” Glancing at some papers on his desk, he rattled off the rate of exchange as of that morning. “Naturally there will be a short period of waiting while the coins are authenticated—merely a formality, you understand.”

She shrugged. There was a slight rustle of cloth as she shifted in her chair. She had to get him away from the exchange in a manner that would make the accompaniment of her guards seem reasonable. Her only reason for playing the seductress was to unnerve him, and hopefully shake his otherwise stolid sense of judgment.

“Is there nothing that can be done to speed up the process?” she asked. “Perhaps we could go where you could authenticate the coins personally and hurry the exchange.”

The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Am I to assume that these coins are fresh from the vats and have not yet cooled?”

“That would a reasonable assumption,” she said, and gave the name of Lucius’s contact who had said that Johannas was experienced in such transactions. Stolen coinage from Amn would have engraved numbers that could be traced.

“You understand that I can only pay half the going rate? The coins will have to be melted and recast—”

“Of course,” she whispered, absently wetting her lips. “Now it’s my turn to say yes to whatever you desire.”

He rose from behind the desk. “Wait a few moments, then follow me into the alley at the rear of this building.”

She nodded and watched him leave. The man had been a thorough professional the moment he realized that he was about to make a personal profit. She turned to her fellows, who had been unobtrusively following his movements. Burke nodded, and she casually walked through the crowded establishment, the Harpers directly behind her.

Within moments they were in the alley. Johannas was already waiting. Two men stood beside him, each carrying a large black bag. Before Myrmeen could give her companions the command to take all three men, Burke, Reisz, and Varina had sprung at them, shoving them against the next building’s wall as they placed their blades at the men’s throats. The pair of bags dropped in unison. Notably absent was the clink of shifting coinage as the bags struck the ground.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Johannas said without emotion. “I have a reputation in this city. Steal from me and you will be hunted down for what you have taken. Kill me and prepare to die in return.”

“All I want is information,” Myrmeen said. “You can keep your money.”

“I see,” Johannas said as he glanced toward the blade held tightly at his throat. He shifted his gaze to Myrmeen as he raised a single eyebrow. “This is not necessary.”

“Let him breathe, but stand ready to cut him if he tries to run or call for help,” Myrmeen commanded.

Burke eased off with his knife but kept his grip on the man’s velvet topcoat. Ord stood to the back of the group, beside the door, ready to deal with anyone who made the mistake of entering the alley from the trading house. He suddenly became acutely aware of the deepening shadows in the alley, though the sky above had not changed to a discernable extent. The alley ran the length of the trading house, which had been deeper than the glass temple or the house of the griffon. Buildings blocked the alley at either end, but there was a narrow passage that appeared to lead back to the street they had traveled or forward to the next street. The alley formed an H and they stood at its vulnerable apex. Burke wondered if Cardoc was with them as he watched the shadows lengthen and again looked up to see a bright, perfect sky.

A rustling from the shadows made Ord start. “Burke,” he called, “there’s something you should look at!”

Burke shook his head. He was not about to give Johannas the opportunity to escape. “Quiet, Ord.”

Myrmeen licked her lips, which had suddenly become quite dry, and said, “You handle the financial end of a lucrative business run by a man named Kracauer. He sold children for a living. You handled the money. Ivan Nehlridge took care of the freight, the human cargo. Now Kracauer and Nehlridge are dead. You’re going to tell me everything you know about the children that were sold to the Night Parade fourteen years ago, during the great storm. My daughter was one of those children. I want to find her. You will help me contact the Night Parade and together we will find my child. If you do not cooperate, there won’t be enough left of you to fit into those sacks your men brought with them.”

Johannas smiled. “Those sacks are already occupied. You should take a look.”

Myrmeen glanced down at the sacks and saw her own shadow lengthen. “Let me see that,” she said to Varina. The warrior gave the bag a quick kick, and the bag’s mouth came open, its contents spilling out. Myrmeen gasped as she saw a human head roll in her direction. Then she recognized the face as that of Martyn Johannas.

Burke looked away from the face of Johannas’s perfect double when he heard Myrmeen’s small cry of surprise. The doppelganger took advantage of the man’s distraction by shoving his own shoulders back and drawing a breath. His frilly shirt burst apart and a black, gore-drenched arm shot forward, snatching Burke’s hand. It twisted the hand savagely, causing the warrior to drop his blade. Another hand erupted from the man’s stomach and caught the falling weapon, then drove it at the warrior’s chest.

Varina had seen the incredible display. She shoved the man she guarded to one side as she lashed out with a kick that knocked the weapon from the gnarled second hand of the creature that held her husband.

Johannas, or whatever the monster’s true name was, threw Burke to the opposite wall without effort. It then began scratching at its neck once again. Myrmeen finally understood that it was not a human gesture at all. As it clawed at its skin, great gobs of pink flesh tore off, revealing a charred, blackened surface beneath.

“You should have taken our warning,” the thing said. “To appear during the day is abhorrent to our kind. But we were forced into it by your foolish tenacity, which you are now going to pay dearly for.” The doppelganger tore away the rest of its fleshlike covering and revealed a black, misshapen head. Only the perfect white teeth and glaring red eyes broke the monotony of its night-black flesh.

The shadows grew and deepened at either end of the alley, sealing it off. Myrmeen heard the chattering laughter of creatures that had plagued her dreams since she had been a child. She had come to Calimport in search of members of the Night Parade. Now, it appeared, she had found them.

Ord reached for the door, but it was covered in shadows and would not budge. The black-skinned creature looked at Myrmeen and laughed. It gestured with the additional two black arms that jutted from its stomach and chest, the palms open in a gesture of regret. “If they had told me you were so beautiful, I would have arranged to have you to myself for a time before I killed you.”

No one had to give the order to attack. Reisz was about to slice the throat of the man he held when another creature emerged from the shadows, a man whose body seemed to exude darkness. The shadow man hauled Reisz from its companion, throwing the fighter at Varina. The humans fell to the ground.

Myrmeen backed away as the black-fleshed monstrosity rushed toward her. She snatched Burke’s knife from the ground and cut away the flowing skirt of her dress. Hurling the fabric at the creature’s face, she sidestepped it easily and spun to kick it face first into the opposite wall.

All I want is my daughter! We don’t have to fight! she wanted to scream, but she knew her words would not gain the warriors the respite they needed if they were to escape from this trap. Her own weapons were bundled in the parcels the warriors had left at the stables. She knew that each Harper wore a sword and carried at least one dagger. Reisz had kept a scimitar strapped to his back. Ord carried a pair of steel truncheons. Reisz, Ord, and Varina were on their feet, drawing their weapons. Burke was still down.

Varina had come best prepared for a deadly encounter. The leather gloves covering her hands flared at the forearms, covering the weapons she had carefully wired into place. By raising her fists and turning them in a quick motion, so that her palms faced her chest, she caused a set of blades to rip from her gloves and spring forward, clearing her hand by half a foot. The identical blades, which now appeared to be extensions of her arms, looked like straight pikes with curled blades attached beside them that reached ever farther, and a short dagger that extended away from her body. She had more surprises hidden in her boots and on the pads covering her thighs and upper arms.

Myrmeen, on the other hand, had her bare legs, worthless sandals, and cleavage. She had clearly not taken the inherent dangers of this quest seriously enough. Under her breath she swore that if she could just make it out of this alley alive, she would never make the same mistake again.

Varina and Reisz stood back-to-back, prepared to face the onslaught. Ord helped Burke to his feet and stood beside the man. Myrmeen moved close to them. The four-armed, black-skinned man-thing, its two companions, and the form whose body seemed to drink in light and reflect only shadows, closed around the Harpers. The creatures grinned to one another, forcing the humans back into a circle. Myrmeen did not understand why they hesitated to attack. Moments ago they had the humans separated and could have taken them one at a time. This way, they had allowed the party to merge into a position where they could use their strengths and support each other.

A moment later, she had her explanation.

“Zeal,” the creature who had posed as Johannas said, “we have them for you. Burn them!”

Myrmeen drew in a deep breath and looked up. At the edge of the opposing roof she saw one, perhaps two figures looking down at them. She thought of Kracauer’s distress when he saw the illusionary fireball in Cardoc’s hand and recalled the name he had used to address the mage. The man who had been called was going to rain fire upon them from above. She gritted her teeth and waited for the flames.

Nothing happened.

The doppelganger looked up in surprise. “Zeal?”

Myrmeen wasted no time and hurled the knife she had been carrying. It struck the black-skinned creature in the throat. The monster gurgled in surprise and clutched at the weapon with all four of its arms, which now got in the way of one another. Twitching, it fell back to the pavement, oillike blood dripping from its wound.

As the first one fell, the Harpers launched themselves at the other three creatures. Each still possessed the appearance of humanity. Even the shadow lord looked like a man, though a very dark and featureless one. The man closest to Varina was thick-chested, with a full black beard and impossibly blue eyes. Varina plunged her blades into his throat and realized that his handsome appearance was nothing more than a disguise. The man’s head had tilted as the blades approached, and the bones of his neck slid impossibly out of the way of the sharp edges, sliding to the opposite side of his neck, where they caused the flesh to ripple and change shape. The skin that had been pierced by the center staff stretched outward with the weapon’s tip, then sprang back into shape as it forced the blade out of his throat, leaving a wound the size of a gold piece that immediately sealed itself. The creature grinned and snarled. “My turn!” it shrieked.

Varina leapt back as the man advanced on her, his upper and lower jaws expanding to three times their normal size. The bones in his hand ripped from their fragile coverings of flesh and reformed into identical copies of the weapons that Varina had produced. His ribs burst from his chest, clean, with no blood, and stood straight and razor-sharp as he tried to gather her in a lethal embrace. Reisz crossed in front of her, swinging his scimitar at the creature’s malleable arm. The weapon sank deep into the monster’s flesh, then stopped dead as it struck bone that was as strong as tempered steel.

Beside Reisz, the second member of the Night Parade who had not yet abandoned his human skin, a tall man with a wild mane of yellow hair, grabbed hold of the warrior’s arm. Reisz screamed as the man’s flesh bubbled and cut through the heavy leather padding on his arms as if it were concentrated acid. He released the scimitar, which was quickly expelled by the first creature’s rubbery flesh, then tried to pull away from the second man’s burning grip.

Varina grabbed hold of Reisz’s body and yanked hard. The swarthy-skinned Harper clenched his jaws as he saw a long pink-and-red glob stretch away from his arm as it adhered to the blond-haired man’s hand. He could not feel the skin and muscle that tore away from his arm; the wound had been cauterized instantly by the man’s touch. Finally the bond between them snapped and Reisz looked down in shock at the smoldering black mass on his upper arm. Varina turned as she heard the shadow-man’s singsong voice from the other side of the group, where Myrmeen, weaponless, stood between Burke and Ord, whose swords were drawn and crossed before the woman they had sworn to protect.

Nevertheless, Burke’s anxious face was turned in his wife’s direction as she dragged Reisz away from the grotesque, bony monstrosity that chattered and giggled as it slowly advanced with its companion. The handsome man with the touch of death winked at her, then raised his fingers and wiggled them in her direction. She realized suddenly that her attack on the nightmare people and their retaliation had only taken a few seconds. Soon her back was inches from Myrmeen’s and there was nowhere left to go.

“Humans are such easy prey,” the lord of the shadows said as he bent low and picked up a large rock. The stone was instantly coated with an impenetrable layer of darkness, and he tossed the rock to Ord in a friendly, underhanded motion. “Catch!”

Myrmeen saw Ord’s hand go up instinctively, and she recalled the murder of Kracauer with the ebon-coated, lightning-shaped blades. Seconds before the stone would have fallen gently into Ord’s unprotected hand, Myrmeen grabbed the teenager and twisted him out of the way. The rock struck the wall behind them and sizzled as it made contact, a deep black cloud rising from where it hit.

The two creatures before Varina and Reisz backed up. The man with the corrosive touch said, “Take them, Roderik.”

The shadow lord smiled and sank into a crouch, his hand reaching toward the pavement. Myrmeen understood what would happen. He would touch the ground and his lethal shadows would snake across the distance separating him from the Harpers, engulfing them from their boots to their vulnerable flesh. The shadows would kill the humans upon contact. She had to stop him. Snatching one of the truncheons from the belt at Ord’s waist, Myrmeen ducked below the crossed swords that were meant to protect her and hurled the weapon at the man’s head. It struck him in the forehead with a sharp crack, causing him to bound to his feet, his arms pinwheeling in the air as he tried to regain his balance. Myrmeen gasped. The second he fell, his hand would touch the ground.

From the end of the alley came the sound of thunder. A blinding bluish red bolt of lightning snaked through the air and struck the shadow lord. The arcane fires hit him between his shoulder blades and emerged from where his heart had been an instant before. Then they crackled and dissipated. Through the hole that had been created in the shadow-creature’s chest, Myrmeen saw Lucius Cardoc’s sweaty, worried face. Buckling at the knees, the lord of shadows fell back. His hand struck the ground, but his power had vanished with his life.

Cardoc raised his hands again, his lips forming words that she could not hear at such a distance.

“Get down,” Myrmeen shouted, and the Harpers dropped to the hard pavement as a second stream of mystical energy snapped across the alley and struck the chattering creature with the skeleton made of shape-changing steel. The monster was lifted from its feet by the powerful energies. Its torso was ripped apart by the initial blast, its twisting bones fused in a spiderweb of intricate designs that quickly melted and cooled into a shapeless mass.

The blond man with the deadly touch backed away in fear, then broke into a dead run toward the opposite end of the alley, where the shadows quickly swallowed him whole.

Inside the swirling black cloud of shadows and smoke, the handsome, almost human creature ran a few more paces, then stopped suddenly as he heard the familiar sound of inhuman legs scampering down a wall and saw a fiery-haired man leap down to stand before him.

“Imperator Zeal,” the man said, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Callistraon, is it not?” the red-haired man said. His hair was tightly curled and his skin was hot, his body drenched in sweat. He wore a loose-fitting white frock with the sleeves rolled up, a simple yellow sash tied around his waist. His feet were bare, and the patch of tight, curly red hair that grew on his perfectly honed chest glistened with beads of moisture. He frowned in confusion. “You have a mission, do you not?”

“Imperator, they have a mage that killed two of the other Inextinguishables. They—”

Zeal pointed at the heavy curtain of shadows at the man’s back. “You are supposed to be back there, killing them, disposing of the humans. Am I wrong in this, or are you not one of those I assigned to the task?”

From the wall where Zeal had descended came a rough sound, like leather brushing leather, followed by a piercing shriek that was not unlike the sound of two heavy blades scraping together. Zeal angled his head toward the sounds. “It’s the wife. She wants to get on with it.”

“Get on with what?” Callistraon asked in a small voice.

“Punishing you for your cowardice,” Zeal said as he raised his hand to reveal a fiery, yearning abyss within his palm that seemed to reach into the depths of some hellish dimension.

Moments before, at the middle of the alley, the Harpers had tried to regain their bearing. Cardoc stumbled forward. Myrmeen realized for the first time that he had been hurt. His flesh was crisscrossed with burns that appeared to have been lashed into his flesh with a whip. The channeling of the tremendous forces that he had called upon also had served to drain him.

Ord had crossed to where the black-skinned corpse had lain and had knelt beside the creature, curious about its inhuman nature. The monster’s blackened arms had retreated into its chest and a new covering of soft pink flesh was sewing itself over the creature’s leathery black skin. The dark man suddenly came to life, snatching Myrmeen’s blade from its throat with one hand while it grasped Ord’s wrist in the other. He dragged the boy into the ink-black shadows near the wall. They were smothered by the gathering darkness.

“Ord!” Burke screamed.

At that moment, a massive tongue of flames reached out from the mouth of the alley where the blond-haired man had vanished. A fireball rolled in their direction, instantly consuming the blond man, who stood in its path. The great sphere of flame unraveled long before it reached the Harpers, exploding against both walls of the alley, leaving a blackened, charred carpet on the pavement to mark its path.

The flames had burned away the darkness, and Myrmeen was able to see the red-haired man whose right hand sweltered with flames. She had seen him before, in a dream when she was only six years old, a dream that she had only been able to recall in flashes until now. Suddenly the dream was before her, its image burned into her mind. She would not forget it this time. To do so would be deadly, she realized. Twice already she had made the mistake of underestimating her enemy. She would not do so again.

Standing behind the man was a tall, lithe woman with creamy skin and long, shiny black hair. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, one arm around his ribs, the other over his right shoulder, she nuzzled at his neck. Then her hands reached into his shirt and caressed the rock-hard landscape of his chest. The woman whispered something in his ear. Whatever she was saying had caused the fire lord to hesitate and not simply turn his power against the humans.

Suddenly, from the shadows where Ord and the black-skinned man had vanished, the tall, lanky teenager appeared. He seemed dazed as he cried, “My face! He was trying to take my face!”

Another figure burst from the darkness, a young man who might have been Ord’s twin. This boy’s face was contorted in a mask of rage, and he launched himself at the wobbly-kneed teenager with undisguised hatred. The first Ord turned and drew his sword at the sight of the advancing doppelganger.

The entire party’s attention was drawn to Ord and his duplicate. Varina was the first to respond. Without hesitation she released a set of blades hidden on her right arm, then she drew her hand back and propelled the center spike toward the back of the teenager who had first emerged from the smoky mist. The sharp blade burst through the soft leathers of his back, piercing his heart from behind. An inhuman scream filled the alley as the true Ord snatched his sword away from the duplicate, who had fallen to his knees in agony. Ord cleaved the creature’s head in two, his sword sinking down to the monster’s collarbones. Blood as dark as ink sprayed from the creature as it fell in a heap, twitching and convulsing.

Ord backed away, trembling. “How did you know?”

“His face,” Varina said. “It was fresh and new. Your old scars had not appeared.”

Cardoc glanced down at the corpse, which had not stopped moving. The two sections of its head were merging, healing. “This one is still alive. We may get some answers from it.”

“By the gods,” Ord muttered, “what does it take to kill these things so they stay dead?”

The mage felt a sudden chill in the air, the same sensation he had experienced an instant before the red-haired man’s fires had erupted seconds earlier. He gestured quickly, casting a sphere of protection around the adventurers.

The red-haired man stood at the end of the alley, a separate spear of fire bursting from each of his hands and mouth. Each of the three ragged tongues of flame struck the walls and were deflected perfectly to incinerate the bodies of the monsters downed by the Harpers. The flames never approached the obsidian sphere hiding the adventurers.

Seconds later, it was over. The corpses were nothing but ash that was quickly dispersed by the heavy winds that followed the arcane fires. At the end of the alley, the deep shadows once again congealed around the spot where the red-haired man and dark-haired woman had stood. They were nowhere to be seen.

Cardoc released the sphere of protection and surveyed the area for further threats. Burke finally spoke. “Where in the fiery hells of Cyric were you?”

“Ord closed the door in my face. I cannot walk though walls. I had to go around the long way. Those shadows” the mage shuddered—“were alive and tried to stop me.”

Myrmeen moved past the others, then ran toward the end of the alley. Cardoc and the Harpers followed. The man and woman were gone, and the shadows were quickly dissipating. All evidence of the Night Parade’s presence was vanishing before her, along with all hope of ever finding her daughter.

Ord pointed upward. “Look!”

The Harpers trained their gazes at the rooftops. “I see nothing,” Burke said. “What was it?”

Ord shook his head. “The leg of a spider, I’m certain. It scampered over the edge of that rooftop.”

“The spider would have to be the size of a man for you to be able to see it at this distance,” Reisz said.

“Yes,” Ord said as he took a few tentative steps forward, “I know.”

On the rooftop, Imperator Zeal glanced down at the humans, the fires within his breast continuing to rage.

“Tamara,” he said, his voice distant, the call of the fire surging within him like a drug. The beautiful, lean, muscled woman approached him, a dangerous smile upon her exotic features. She appeared in her mid-twenties, and her hair was a very dark brunette, almost black. Zeal turned and ran his hand through her gorgeous, shining hair, which was long and given to curls, then he stared into her fine, dark eyes flecked with crimson. Only the most delicate traces of lines could be seen beneath her eyes and around her mouth. Her complexion was soft and light. She had a small bust, generous hips, and long legs. There was an elegant flow to the lines of her body. She wore a black-and-red shift that would fall away quickly when she made the change. Sandals protected her feet and a waist sash carried her valuables.

“My love,” she whispered as she leaned close and kissed him, her tongue snaking into his mouth to taste the intense heat within him. She pulled away and caressed his face. “You know why I didn’t help the others.”

“Of course,” she said with a knowing laugh. “No man may command Imperator Zeal, save for Lord Sixx.”

“And yet a woman can bend me to her will,” he snapped. “He humiliates you and you take it. He treats you like a buffoon, a servant, and yet you give him nothing but love and loyalty. Perhaps he is justified in his treatment of you.

“He’s jealous of you,” Tamara said for perhaps the hundredth time. “He fears you. He does not understand that every time his words lash you in public, he merely strengthens the love of the people for you.”

“Even if that is true, his fears are not warranted,” Zeal responded. “I am not an ambitious man. What would I do with the power of the Night Parade at my command, if that is what you are urging me to take?”

Tamara gave no answer. Imperator Zeal suspected she had another motive for wanting him to depose Lord Sixx, as wealth and power had never especially interested her. In his heart he prayed that his beloved and trusted friend would not force him to choose between them.

She touched his lips with her finger. “I love you, husband. If you wish me to keep my opinions to myself, I will do so.”

Zeal shook his head. He knew that was a lie, and even if it were true, he valued her counsel and the audacious fire that burned within her. Glancing at the alley once more, he saw that the humans were leaving. The assassins that Zeal had sent against the humans had been his Inextinguishables, the elite of his enforcers. Many of his kind could be killed with a simple knife thrust; they were as vulnerable as any human. How would it look if he allowed the killers of the Night Parade’s finest to go free?

“We should kill them,” he said. “It would be a simple matter for us. Even the mage—”

“Let them live,” she urged. “The edicts of our kind tell us that we are to avoid direct confrontation whenever possible. This scene will draw attention.”

“They will not stop,” he said.

“They must. There is nowhere left for them to turn.”

Zeal’s hands bunched into fists. “They know we exist.”

“Who would believe them?” she said as she kissed his throat and licked a single bead of sweat that descended along the hard, glistening muscles of his neck. Below, the humans on the street were quickly out of view.

“You are certain they will stop?” he asked.

“Of course,” Tamara said as she turned the red-haired man to face her. “What choice do they have?”

With a passionate cry, she threw her arms around her husband, kissing him full on the mouth. He returned the kiss greedily, roughly caressing her hard, trim flesh. The call of the flames rose up within his body.

As they kissed, small piles of trash burst into flame on the rooftop.