Thief of Lives

Chapter 19

Chane splashed along the dark sewer tunnel, carrying Wynn and following the ankle-deep flow toward the bay. At the city's low side, he could emerge into the poor district inside the third ring and disappear into the side streets. With luck, Toret would take his second death at the hands of the dhampir and the half-blood, and he would be finally free.

Wynn choked from either the stench or the pounding of his shoulder into her stomach as he slogged through the sea-water used to flush the city's bowels.

"Chane, please," she uttered. "Put me down."

He glanced behind but saw nothing except mortared stone walls, and so he carefully set her on her feet. She still clutched the glowing crystal in her hand.

"We must hurry," he urged her. "If Toret escapes and pursues us, he will kill you. Or order me to do so, and it is beyond my power to disobey his commands."

He gripped her wrist lightly, the long sword still in his other hand, and pulled her along. The quarrel wound in his chest still burned, as did the gashes on his leg from the hound's teeth. Wynn tried to pull away, and he tightened his grip, not allowing her to stop.

"What are you saying?" she asked, both frightened and confused. "Let go of me. I will only slow your escape."

He turned on her, as if by sheer will he could cow her into obedience, but then anger washed from him.

Her robe's hem was soaked, dragging at her with its weight, and in his grip, he could feel her shake. Chill water did not affect him, but she was alive and suffered from it. At the sight of her round, soft face, he knew the cold was only part of the cause.

Dried tear tracks marred her cheeks, and her small lips quivered with each short breath, expelling vapor into the dank air. Brown eyes stared back at him, but not as the visitor come to share intellectual curiosities, a hunger for knowledge, and a cup of mint tea in a quiet room, side by side.

She looked upon him with fear.

But Chane did not release his grip.

"The creature who attacked you on the stairs is my maker," he said flatly, "who made me his kin and slave, and I cannot refuse his commands. He can sense where his creation has gone-and track me. If he finds me, you will die, one way or another."

"So you… are a vampire?" Wynn asked softly. "You killed those people… did those things?"

"To survive," he answered. "Toret raised me to this state because he needed money and protection. I could offer both. I never asked for this, but I accept what I am, as does any other being."

"So it is not your fault?" she said.

Could she understand?

"A matter of perspective," he responded. "Something for the philosophers among your guild."

He looked back along the tunnel, feeling urgency take hold again, and resumed his flight. Wynn tried to keep up with him now.

"You could put me up the next grate," she suggested between panting breaths. "Please, Chane, let me go."

"Toret, or even Sapphire, may still try to catch up," he answered, "It is too dangerous yet."

"But you said if Toret finds you, you must obey him." When he did not answer her, she cried out, "If you are a killer, then why are you protecting me?"

Chane pulled her faster through the filthy water.

"Because your life is not wasted in mindless drudgery," he growled, as if the answer were all too obvious. "Most mortals are little more than cattle, and their loss affects nothing."

She jerked back, surprising him enough that he almost stopped.

"You saved me because I'm a sage?" she asked. "Because my head is full of knowledge you find useful?"

"Of course," he responded.

But this was a half-truth, and the rest was not appropriate for the time or place. When he looked back again, the tunnel was not empty. A light flickered in the distance.

"A torch," Wynn said. "Would Sapphire or Toret carry a torch?"

"No," he replied.

"Then it is either Magiere or Leesil, or both. Release me and flee."

Chane glanced at Wynn.

He could let her go, and that might slow the dhampir or the half-elf for a short while. But they would not turn back now, even if they found Wynn safe and unharmed. It had not occurred to him to use Wynn as a tool or a hostage, but such a ruse might soon be necessary.

Chane pulled Wynn after him until he reached an intersection where the tunnel connected with a wider passage. It looked to be one of the main flow routes down to the bay with elevated stone walkways along its sides. At one far corner was an iron ladder mounted into the stone that led up a vertical shaft. It likely led to a grate in one of the city's streets. Chane lifted Wynn onto the walkway to the left of where they had come out and stepped up beside her.

"Be silent," he said. "And put the crystal out of sight."

"Chane, do not do this," she urged.

He shot her a glare and held up the long sword between them. Wynn cowered back against the wall and tucked the crystal into her pocket. Chane settled in front of her near the corner, watching the far wall of the tunnel they'd come down for reflections of light that would tell him the pursuer drew near.

So far, this dhampir had proved less than effective in his scheme to destroy Toret. He was through with schemes.

Toret dropped out of the cellar's passage and down into the sewer tunnel. He looked both ways through the dark but couldn't detect any sign of Sapphire. She had a good start, and he now had a decision to make.

He could head toward the poor districts of the outer ring or closer to the exits to the bay. But which way had Sapphire taken? He'd told her to head for the sea, but she could be… unpredictable.

As her maker, he could sense her presence for a limited distance. His powers had never developed like Teesha's or Rashed's, but he could almost "feel" where Sapphire was if he focused.

Toret closed his eyes, pictured Sapphire-and felt nothing.

Sapphire wouldn't head toward the poor side. She liked the rich districts after nightfall. He'd hoped she might try for somewhere with fewer people out and about. Perhaps the middle merchant district, where most shops would be closed for the night. He turned south along the tunnel.

Wading through mucky water slowed his progress, but with Sapphire's blue velvet gown soaked, it would slow her as well. He traveled more quickly than she would, and yet neither saw nor sensed her. Perhaps he'd chosen the wrong way? Was she foolish enough to head upslope to the inner ring?

When he turned about to reconsider, there was torchlight down the tunnel behind him.

Sapphire wasn't carrying a torch.

Had the hound led the half-blood to the cellar? That beast had tracked Rashed straight to the warehouse back in Miiska. It made sickening sense. He tensed, caught between fear and anger.

Leesil, with his cursed luck, was onto him.

Toret fled along the tunnel, searching for a place to lie in wait. If he was to escape this time, he had to make sure no one could track him again.

He would see that hound rot with the refuse beneath the city.

Chap jumped from Toret's cellar and landed with a splash in the center of the sewer.

"Which way?" Leesil asked.

The hound growled and headed southward against the flow of water. Leesil hopped down, the stench assaulting his nose. Beneath the smell of waste was the distinct odor of brine. He shifted the sack with Sapphire's head to the back of his belt, and quickly followed Chap.

Ratboy wouldn't leave this city-at least not in one piece.

The fine white hairs on Leesil's neck prickled with the strange sensation of being watched. He looked behind, holding the torch out. The light revealed only dank walls and slow-running water. He tried putting the torch behind himself, so his half-elven eyes could sift more easily through the shadows, but he saw nothing.

Chap waded onward, and Leesil followed again, each passing moment a sharp edge sliding across his nerves.

And still they moved on, approaching numerous intersecting tunnels. Each time, he called Chap back long enough to check them carefully. When the way was clear, he let Chap lead again, watching to see if the hound turned. But the dog continued straight south, even at the occasional wider flow ways leading down toward the bay.

After a while, Leesil wondered if Chap truly followed a trail. Magiere's topaz, hanging about his neck, glowed with only a dim aura. There was an undead down here, but they weren't gaining any ground. How could Chap track Ratboy through running water?

Ahead, the tunnel floor slanted sharply upward beyond a wide archway. As he came closer, he spotted a line of jagged points along the opening's top edge and a matching archway at the top of the slope. Raised stone walkways lined both sides of the rise, and Leesil could hear the continuous splash of running water from somewhere above. Chap passed through, working his way up, and a yellow shimmer reflected off the dank walls around Leesil. He looked down.

The topaz brightened right before his eyes.

"Chap, come back!" Leesil called.

A rattle of chains echoed down the rising passage, and the archway's spikes descended rapidly toward Leesil's head. He lurched back in reflex.

Leesil thought he glimpsed a flickering shape roll under the iron gate's edge just before it splashed into the water, and then a spray of salt water made him shield his face. Up-slope, Chap broke into battle cry, and the eerie wail echoed through the sewers.

Holding his torch high, Leesil peered through the gate up the passage. Past the upper archway, the floor leveled off out of sight in a large, round chamber. He couldn't see if there were other entrances or passages leading into it. Chap's snarl sounded from above, but the hound was beyond view over the slope's top lip.

A familiar voice echoed down to him.

"Too bad the gate missed you." Ratboy's high-pitched laugh rolled along the walls. "But now you get to watch me slaughter your beast, and you'll never track us again."

"Chap, come back to the gate!" Leesil shouted, but he already heard the splashing of feet in shallow water and knew Ratboy was closing.

Chap was a born tracker and fighter, like the bear hounds of the Warlands, bred by petty lords and tyrants for hunting mountain bears. Those hounds would go to any length to track their prey and threw themselves headlong into battle if not controlled. Many died on their first hunt. Chap was even more willful than those mere beasts.

The gate was here for a reason, though Leesil couldn't fathom why. Deeper inside the sewers, it had been overlooked by the city guard when they sealed the outer spillways. He looked about for a way to open it but only spotted brackets on the walls to either side. Jamming his torch into one, he gripped the gate with both hands and strained to lift it. The barrier wouldn't budge.

Chap's snarl grew loud again amidst a flurry of splashes.

"Leave him," Leesil shouted. "Back away to me."

Even if Chap did as he commanded, Ratboy wouldn't abandon this chance to kill the hound.

A flicker of shadow across the upper archway made Leesil pause from straining at the gate. The chamber's darkness above was too severe even for his eyes. He snatched the torch and threw it through the gate onto the left walkway, as far up as he could. Framed in the upper archway was the capering figure of Ratboy maneuvering around Chap, the hound's silvery coat tinged to gold in the torchlight.

Ratboy dodged and swung down with a thick short sword, barely missing Chap's neck.

"Valhachkasej'a!" Leesil cursed, wishing he'd grabbed Vatz's crossbow before the boy had left.

Chap dashed inside Ratboy's guard. Spinning around behind, the hound snapped teeth along the back of Ratboy's knee. The undead cried out but turned with the dog and kicked out hard, catching Chap in the side. The hound tumbled back out of sight with a cascade of splashes.

Snarling, Ratboy faced into the chamber with sword raised.

Leesil drew his right blade and chopped down on the gate's crossbars. Steel clanged against iron, leaving only a minor gash.

Ratboy glanced toward him, sharp teeth bared in a sneer, and then turned back to Chap. Leesil struck the gate again and again, but Ratboy gave no more notice.

From beyond the upper archway's right side, a silvery flutter skimmed through the air.

Ratboy's head snapped sideways as he staggered. He righted himself and reached up with his free hand.

A stiletto of bright metal protruded from the base of his neck.

Leesil stopped his assault, lost in confusion. He'd have done that himself if he'd thought it would do any good.

"Stop," a smooth, lilting voice ordered.

The echo from the upper chamber made it impossible for Leesil to tell where the voice came from. A gray specter slid forward into view.

Standing to the upper archway's right was a gray-clad figure, cowl up and cloak corners tied around its waist. Coiled between the fingers of its left fist was a silvery wire glinting in the torchlight. It was like the garrote in Leesil's own toolbox, and recognition filled him.

This was the anmaglahk from the previous night.

The elf had followed him and must have been the shadow he'd glimpsed slipping under the gate before it closed. The stiletto had been nothing more than a ploy to gain Ratboy's attention.

"What's this?" Ratboy uttered, as he slid the stained blade from his neck. "A new playmate?"

"You are not my concern," the elf said calmly. "Leave the hound."

At those words, Ratboy appeared uncertain, but Leesil couldn't believe what he was hearing. He unsheathed his second blade.

"Kill him!" he yelled at the elf. "Fire or decapitation is the only way."

The elf gave him no notice. His cowled head turned toward the back of the chamber as he said, "Please, stand with me."

Chap came into view as he circled in to stand a pace or two back on the elf's side of the archway. The man looked to the hound, holding his hands open to his sides, and said something in Elvish that Leesil couldn't follow.

"He's an undead," Leesil spit in frustration. "Take his head, now."

The torch's crackle was the only sound for the span of two breaths.

Ratboy screamed out, dropping his sword and stiletto as he lunged at the elf. He collided into the elf, and both collapsed down in a spray of water.

Leesil expected Chap to fly into the battle, but the hound held his place, snarling in frustration as he watched the two flail. Ratboy's hand rose up, fingers hooked, and he slashed down at the elf's neck, fingernails shredding the side of the cowl. The elf's gray-clad leg whipped up and around the front of Ratboy's throat.

Leesil's view was obscured again by the splash of Ratboy toppling, and he saw little more than a whirl of wet bodies and water thrown into the air. When it ended, the elf was behind Ratboy, who sat or knelt with the garrote whipped around his neck.

The elf's hands jerked apart, and the wire closed instantly, cutting into Ratboy's throat.

"Don't let go," Leesil called out. "Finish it."

Even with just torchlight, Leesil saw the line around Rat-boy's throat darken as black fluids began to seep out.

Ratboy reached back and grabbed the sides of the elf's cloak. He jerked the elf over the top of himself. As the elf passed in front, Ratboy kicked out, sending the taller man slamming against the side of the archway. But the elf lost only one grip on the garrote handles, and as the wire lashed free of Ratboy's neck, it bit deeper.

Ratboy scuttled back, holding his throat. His gaze never strayed from the tall gray figure as he fumbled in the water to recover his sword.

"Go," the elf said again. "Go hunt humans. Leave the majay-hi."

Chap inched toward the wiry undead.

Still clutching his throat, Ratboy passed one last hateful glance toward Leesil, turned, and ran out of view.

"No!" Leesil screamed out and smashed his blades against the gate.

Hunger boiled up from Magiere's stomach.

Torch held high, she slowed at the intersection ahead and aimed her crossbow toward the arched opening. When the blade flashed out from her left, she quickly swiped it aside with the torch and sidestepped into the intersection.

Chane stood on a walkway with Wynn directly behind him. He pulled her around in front of himself with one hand clamped over her mouth. The sage was so small that her head barely reached his collarbone. Magiere felt her teeth begin to ache.

"Let her go," she ordered.

She tossed the torch to the far side walkway and drew her falchion. To her surprise, his voice was calm and polite.

"Is Toret dead?"

She didn't care about his questions or anything but seeing his head come off, and she took two steps toward him through the water.

"Take your hand off her. Unless you want to fight with one arm."

"I doubt you could accomplish that without severely wounding your friend."

For an answer, Magiere squeezed the crossbow's firing lever. The quarrel pierced Chane's exposed calf, already marred from Chap's teeth, and he cried out as smoke rose around the embedded shaft. Chane's grip faltered as he folded in pain, reaching for the quarrel, and Wynn lunged away along the wall.

Magiere threw the empty crossbow onto the walkway at the sage's feet. It would have been a perfect moment to press Chane, but until Wynn was better protected, Magiere couldn't afford to rush the tall undead. As Chane jerked the quarrel from his leg and stepped into the tunnel's running water, Magiere cut the quiver's strap with her falchion and tossed the quarrels after the crossbow.

"Load it," she ordered Wynn, stepping forward to put herself between the sage and the undead nobleman.

She could feel a shift in Chane's presence. Before, at the inn and in the house, she'd sensed hunger and evasion. She saw a hint of determination.

"Stop it! Both of you," Wynn called. "Chane, she is unique-do not harm her. Magiere, none of this is his fault. Toret took him without permission."

Pointless words, but as Magiere glared over to silence her, Wynn was fitting one of the last two quarrels into the crossbow.

"When I tell you," Magiere said, "shoot him."

It was unlikely Wynn had any skill with the weapon, but the words would play upon Chane well enough. The undead circled, looking for an opening.

"She will not fire at me," he said with quiet certainty. "You are wasting your breath."

"At least I have breath to waste," she replied.

It had never occurred to her that Wynn was anything other than a hostage, but there was apparently something more between these two. But as Magiere matched Chane's maneuvers, she saw the sage point the crossbow at the undead.

He rolled his arm over and up and swung downward, trying Rashed's old trick of brute strength to crash through Magiere's guard. The force was immense, and Magiere dropped halfway to one knee as she blocked. He wasn't playing anymore.

But she never had been.

Magiere deflected and slashed low at his legs. When he retreated, she spun backward through the water for distance. He charged immediately, swinging the sword down as she rose to her feet. This time she dodged and slashed again for his leg. He tried to step away, but the falchion's tip cut across his left knee. He grunted, and as he buckled from the burn of her blade, he slashed upward.

The long sword's point cut partway through Magiere's hauberk below the collar and sliced her left shoulder. She staggered back, regaining her feet as the pain flared.

Chane favored his wounded leg, and Magiere felt blood seeping into her shirt at the shoulder. She needed him off guard for a moment.

"Wynn, shoot him!" she called.

Chane tried to circle but was now limping. At the sight of her blood, his irises dilated, turning crystalline. She felt hunger grow in him, and something else as well.

Desire.

Chane took pleasure in killing, in feeding, in the last moments of his victim's lives.

Why hadn't Wynn fired?

He rushed forward and, at the last second, swung low with his sword.

When Magiere dipped her falchion to block, his free hand snapped out around her wrist. On momentum, he thrust her back against the wall.

Magiere let the hunger rash through her flesh. She thrust her fist into his jaw.

His head snapped back so hard that his body arched away from her, and he lost his grip on her sword arm. His eyes widened as he reeled, and his teeth were stained with his own black fluids.

Magiere swung her freed blade down at his head.

Chane blocked, and the steel clang echoed sharply. He pressed on her throat, forcing Magiere into the wall again.

Blades locked between them, Magiere slapped her free hand around his throat, and her fingers squeezed into cold flesh. Her back came away from the wall.

Chane slowly lost ground, and then set himself, pushing harder, trying to lever the long sword around her falchion toward her face.

In a quick spasm, his eyes and seeping mouth widened as he cried out and pulled away.

The sudden release threw Magiere off balance, and she stumbled. When she regained her footing, Chane was trying desperately to reach a smoking quarrel protruding from his lower back. He looked overwhelmed with shock more than pain as the smoke rose up from his body.

"Wynn…?" he whispered in confusion.

Magiere saw the young sage already reloading the last quarrel. In that moment of distraction, Chane slashed out wildly with his sword and sliced Magiere across the right thigh.

Her weight gave, and she splashed down to one knee. But Chane staggered as well, smoke still rising from the quarrel in his back. He moaned, clutching at the shaft.

Magiere braced with the falchion to get back up, but she couldn't keep weight on her wounded leg for too long. Chane was in no better shape. If she could get close enough for one swing…

"Aim for his head!" she yelled to Wynn.

But Wynn stood frozen in place. Tears ran down her cheeks.

The world slowed to a stop and all three stared at each other in silence.

If Wynn would simply fire, there would too much pain for Chane to defend or flee. If Wynn did not, Magiere's wounded leg might stop her from catching him.

Chane searched Wynn's face as if looking for something in it.

"If you take a step toward Magiere-or try to cast your magic," Wynn whispered, "I will shoot."

Chane took one stumbling step back, disbelief on his face.

"He's a killer-a monster," Magiere shouted to the sage. "Shoot him!"

Their positions were all wrong. If Magiere tried to close, she would simply be in Wynn's line of fire.

"Wynn?" she snarled. "Pull the lever, damn you."

But Wynn didn't move or take her eyes off of the undead.

Chane looked at her. The crystal of his irises faded to deep brown as a strange loss passed across his face. The tall undead turned and fled down the tunnel.

The dank air caught in Magiere's chest as she tried to stumble after her prey and nearly fell in the sewer water. She turned to Wynn.

"What have you done?"

"He may be a killer," Wynn whispered with effort as the crossbow sagged in her arms. "But I am not. Not like that. He spared me-and you."

"He didn't have a choice!" Magiere snapped back.

Wynn dropped the crossbow with a flinch, as if discarding something repugnant to the touch. She stepped down into the water and lifted Magiere's free arm over her shoulders.

"You made me believe we hunted savage beasts," the sage said accusingly.

"You stupid… girl," Magiere answered. What lunacy this woman had developed amid dusty books and isolation from the real world. "That's all they are."

"Then why did he let me live?"

"You were his tool."

"No," Wynn said firmly. "Now we must leave and see to your wounds."

Magiere drew a long breath, prepared to tell this idiot what she thought of her grand ethics, and the sound of footsteps resonated into the intersection.

"So much for your mercy," she said. "He's coming back to finish this."

She was about to shove Wynn away when she realized the footfalls were against stone and not splashing through the water. Slow and even, they came from up the wide flow way toward the city's center rather than down the tunnel into which Chane had fled.

Magiere's night vision was almost gone. Hunger had faded with the fury to call back her sight, leaving only frustration and fatigue. She barely made out the dark figure moving along the left-side stone walkway, and heard his voice echo to her.

"A moment, if you please."

Hollow and cultured-and familiar in a way that made Magiere tense.

A figure of medium height stepped into the far reach of the torchlight, wearing a black cloak over dark clothes that obscured him from view. With black-gloved hands, he pulled his cowl back, and even in the low torchlight, Magiere caught the streaks of white at his temples. Her leg gave again, and she leaned on Wynn.

"Welstiel?"

"Not quite what I expected," he said, ignoring her puzzlement as he glanced down the side tunnel Chane had taken. "But your skills are increasing. And I suppose this was still a worthwhile lesson. Never depend on anyone beside yourself, except perhaps for the half-blood or the majay-hi."

His voice. It was strangely familiar, urgently so, aside from when she'd last seen him in Miiska.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Again he ignored her and looked at Wynn. "Leave."

Magiere felt Wynn's grip around her waist tighten. Weistiel lifted one black-gloved hand to point down the side tunnel.

His earlier words came back to Magiere-a moment, if you please.

She shoved Wynn in the direction Welstiel pointed and stumbled over to snatch the loaded crossbow, cradling it across her sword arm.

"Run now," Magiere ordered. "Find Leesil."

Wynn looked between Magiere and Welstiel in confused panic, then turned and slogged away into the tunnel.

Magiere leveled the crossbow directly at Welstiel.

Leesil watched in frustration and rage as Ratboy vanished.

Chap trotted down the slope to him, pushing his nose through the iron bars. At least he was all right. As much as Leesil should thank the elf for this, he was too angry.

"Open the damn gate!" he shouted.

The elf gazed at him from the top of the passage and turned aside out of view. Leesil heard rattling gears and chains, and the gate slowly lifted. When it was but halfway up, he ducked under and hurried up the walkway, picking up his torch along the way and gripping it along with the blade in his left hand. Chap followed close behind him.

The chamber was a large half circle, its flat side holding the archway entrance. Along this same wall, to either side, were narrow passageways. Ratboy had likely fled down the one to the left, and Leesil saw the elf standing on the right side, cranking a metal wheel. The man flipped a lever, locking the mechanism used to open the gate.

The walls reached up to four times the height of a man. High in the curved wall, a wide chute spilled a steady but light fall of water to the chamber floor. The smell of brine thickened here, and Leesil guessed this place was beneath the salt mill, where excess seawater was pumped in to flush the sewers.

"We're going after him," he said to the elf. "Are you coming?"

Chap began softly growling at the mouth of the left passageway, and the elf watched him with a puzzled expression that made Leesil briefly follow his gaze.

"You are alike," the elf said. "You care for only one thing-to kill the dead. Why?"

Leesil had no time for this. Ratboy was escaping yet again.

"Because they prey upon the living," he answered quickly. "No one else will… can hunt them, so we do."

"Humans," Sgaile said, as if spitting out something foul to the taste. "They feed on humans, are spawned from them. That creature serves his purpose in thinning the blight upon this world. These humans have even failed to remember their own folly that brought the world to the edge of death in their long-forgotten past."

"Then why didn't you kill me, a half-human?" Leesil asked in spite. "Why did you come after me at all?"

"An error of judgment was made-we do not kill our own," the elf said with difficulty, though his study of Chap made Leesil believe there was more to it.

"Slaughter, you mean," Leesil retorted. "That's what you do, just like these monsters." And he pointed down the passage Ratboy had taken.

"Is this why you abandoned your parents-to hunt the humans' dead?"

Leesil tensed. What did this elf know of his past?

"I left because my life was a horror, and I could no longer do as Darmouth forced me. I know they both were executed because of me."

"I care not what happened to your human sire," elf replied. "But Cuirin'nSn'a is a traitor to her people and their future. She will never again teach another our ways. And it matters little if you choose to waste yourself in such meaningless pursuit."

Chap snarled and lunged at the elf, and the man backed away two steps. But Leesil was only barely aware of this. For a moment he couldn't breathe.

Father had called mother Nein'a, and that was close to the name the elf had spoken.

Chap lunged again with a snap of teeth, backing the elf against the wall. The anmaglahk looked at Leesil as if he were something unpleasant that couldn't be discarded.

"I came to you for one reason," he said with reluctance, not letting Chap slip from his field of view. "To tell you that you must never step in our way, or our shared blood will not save you from the fate of a traitor."

Leesil waved Chap back, and the hound retreated several steps. The elf moved away from the wall, sidestepping toward the sloped passage.

"What is your name?" Leesil asked.

"Sgailsheilleache a Oshagairea gan'Coilehkrotall," he replied, as if challenging Leesil to even try to repeat it. "Sgaile, if that is easier for you to speak, though it gains you nothing. I am not known to anyone you will ever meet."

He stepped partway down the slant before looking back.

"You were my task, but you are no threat to us. You are anmaglahk, but not yet a traitor. Go your way and do not interfere with ours."

Sgaile turned and disappeared into the sewers.

Chap's growl pulled Leesil's awareness back. The hound stood at the narrow passage down which Ratboy had fled. Leesil was about to follow but stopped and faced down the slope.

Sgaile's words rushed together in his mind and spread an anguish that nearly made him cry out. He ran down the slope, footfalls splashing in the open tunnel, but the elf was gone.

We do not kill our own… She will never again teach another our ways.

If the elves wouldn't kill their own but still punished a traitor…

Where was this Cuirin'nen'a-what had truly happened to his mother?

Toret ran, arms swinging wildly, barely clutching his short sword.

Elves-cursed elves everywhere.

He turned with the flow of water, heading toward the bay.

The quarrel wound in his head still seared, and the elf's wire had cut deeply into his throat. His damaged eye was not fully healed, and he needed to feed.

All of his lessons with Chane seemed useless. Master of his own family and house, he'd wanted to take Rashed's place. Such a role begged for skill at arms. But even with superior strength and speed, he couldn't match in two moons what took a swordsman years of practice. What a fool he'd been.

Chane, on the other hand, could fend for himself, yet the coward had left him with the dhampir and the half-blood. Toret simply wanted to find Sapphire and leave this place behind.

He ran hard. Sapphire must have escaped into the city near the bay, but he still couldn't sense her presence no matter where he turned. What if she'd managed somehow to find her way completely out of the city? That would explain his lack of connection.

Ahead, the tunnel roof curved downward, creating the illusion of meeting with the sewer floor. As he approached, he noted the passage dipped steeply downward. Water at his feet rushed faster. When he crested the slope, he looked toward the tunnel's end and saw the opening to the bay.

An iron gate was closed over the exit. He heard voices-many voices.

Toret crept a little farther along the tunnel wall and crouched to listen. City guards stood outside the sealed spillway to the bay. By voices, he counted at least seven or more men. Toret crept back up the slope to the level tunnel and began backtracking.

The other bay openings would be similarly guarded, so likely Sapphire had escaped into the city itself. If she'd followed the same path he had, there were any number of shafts she could have climbed up to the street. Most likely, she'd have traveled as far as possible through the tunnels and then used the last ladder shaft to slip out to hide in the city. She must be frightened out there all alone.

At the next intersection, he found the iron bars of a ladder leading up. Any way out would have to do. He reached for an iron rung, and a flicker of yellow light danced across the wall.

Toret flattened against the stone wall and glanced back down the tunnel.

The light came from a glowing stone on the half-blood's neck as he and the hound splashed into the intersection.

Leesil tossed his torch onto the closest tunnel walkway and stood before Toret with both blades out. The hound snarled, his fur wet and matted.

Toret no longer cared if the half-blood died or not. He was tired of all this and wanted nothing more than to find Sapphire and flee this city. In the kingdoms of the Suman Empire, he and his love could feed at will, safe in each other's company. All he need do was scramble up the rungs, and he would be into the streets before that half-blood could blink. If Toret was nothing else, he was quick.

Leesil's face was expressionless. "Wait."

The half-blood shifted both blades to one hand and pulled a dark blue velvet drawstring bag from behind his back. Puzzlement passed through Toret as Leesil clumsily pulled an object from the bag and held it up.

Sapphire's head hung from the half-blood's grip, with black fluids smeared from her gaping mouth across her pale cheeks.

Leesil steeled himself for Ratboy's screaming assault.

The small undead merely lowered his sword arm until the blade point dipped into the flowing water. He stared blankly with his one good eye and his head slowly turned from side to side in denial.

"You couldn't," he said weakly. "She was in the sewer ahead of me. It's a trick."

Leesil flung the head and shifted his second blade back to his free hand.

Sapphire's head struck Ratboy in the stomach, and he closed his arms around it, still clinging to his sword.

"Take a closer look," Leesil said.

Ratboy looked upon Sapphire's blond curls matted with her own black fluids. For a moment, he didn't react, still denying what he held in his hands. His pale face suddenly twisted in a soundless, tearless sob.

"That's for Beth-rae," Leesil spit out. "You cut her throat with your nails back in Miiska. Remember? And Eliza. You left her dead in her own backyard for her brother, Brenden, to find."

Rage welled in Leesil again for all the lives Ratboy had destroyed.

"How does it feel," he whispered, "to lose?"

This time, Ratboy did cry out. The head slipped from his hands as he rushed forward, swinging wildly with his sword.

Leesil controlled his hatred as he sidestepped. All he needed was a clear shot at the monster's neck. Chap howled and closed in.

"Stay back!" Leesil ordered.

The hound snarled in frustration but retreated, circling behind Leesil.

Ratboy swung again-and again. Leesil blocked, the short sword glancing and sliding away along the curves of his blades.

This butchering whelp wasn't skilled, but he was strong and enraged, and Leesil feared becoming locked in a stalemate until he was too exhausted to continue. Undeads seemed to possess endless stamina. But as he circled, forcing Ratboy to keep changing positions, he saw the undead falter once.

Leesil heard Chap growling from behind, but the hound stayed clear. Ratboy struck hard. As Leesil blocked, he dropped to one knee in the water. He kicked out with his free leg to the inside of Ratboy's knee.

The joint gave a muffled crackle on impact, but Ratboy only stumbled and struck again. Leesil rose up inside the downward stroke, his blocking blade's edge up. When the blow connected, there was no clang of steel.

Ratboy's wrist struck the blade's edge, and Leesil slashed outward.

Hand and sword flew away in the water. The undead jerked up his arm to strike again and then gaped in disbelief at the stump of his wrist.

Leesil kicked out to Ratboy's other knee, letting his whole weight drop down and drive the blow home. A resounding crack followed as his boot collided with bone. His outstretched foot dropped through the water to the tunnel floor, and he shifted his weight to it. He slashed his second blade across, waist level, and Ratboy retreated two steps.

Ratboy's movements were halting and unstable, but he showed no sign of outright pain, only angry disbelief. The lower half of his tunic hung loose from the cut, and his sunken stomach was slick with his own black blood.

Leesil lifted his left blade at guard, the right low and ready. Ratboy lunged, and his one remaining hand lashed out.

It was so fast that Leesil couldn't block or duck in time. Thin, cold fingers closed on his throat as fingernails bit into his skin.

The grip faltered briefly, squeezed painfully tight, and then faltered again.

Gasping for air, Leesil realized what was happening. The small-boned bastard was bleeding out, weakening. Undeads were not inexhaustible after all.

Ratboy opened his mouth, head thrusting forward. Sharp teeth and fangs rushed at Leesil's face, and he jammed his right blade upward. Its point pierced the underside of Ratboy's jaw, snapping his mouth closed. Ratboy's head barely flinched, but it was enough, and Leesil sliced up with his left blade.

It cut halfway through the forearm of the hand about his throat, and the grip released.

The undead swung wildly with the stump of his right arm, and Leesil ducked aside, slipping to Ratboy's flank. He dropped his right blade and braced his free hand against his left forearm as he swung the remaining blade back.

Ratboy turned his head, open mouth dribbling dark fluids.

Leesil swung down with his full weight. Bone ground on steel as his weapon severed straight through Ratboy's neck.

The headless body splashed down.

Leesil fell to his knees with a second splash, panting.

Anger and dark delight washed from him in the bite of cold water. The tunnel became instantly quiet but for the soft sound of lapping liquid running against the walkways.

Finished-but Leesil felt his past failures only partially rectified.

Exhaustion took him, and he remained there for a long while with his head down, trying to regain his breath. What finally stirred him was Chap's warm and wet tongue upon his cheek.

Leesil crawled slowly to his feet and sheathed one blade, then felt through the water for the other until he found it. Both blades in place, he turned about, searching for the heads, and spotted Chap standing on the walkway next to the torch. Both heads rested before his front paws, as did the sack. Leesil gathered the trophies with a sense of release instead of triumph.

The moment he finished tying the sack to the back of his belt, Chap took off down the tunnel toward where they had first entered. Leesil followed without questioning the hound's decision.

They had to find Magiere.