instincts, learning to control her strange gifts and knowledge, waiting, doing what she could, here and there. Until these two had appeared. She had met the two men and had not been surprised to hear they were of darkness. Now, she led them where her instincts led her, where strange dreams of past and future guided her. But though her voice was strong as her will, and her powers and instincts and eerie inner wisdom were those of a thousand longdead Druids, her mind sometimes shivered in fear like a young girl's-a girl who had seen all she ever knew and loved cut down in blood while she hid trembling in the hollow of an old oak tree.
Sam wandered about in the increasing twilight. He thought he glimpsed Kaylana striding past in the distance, but didn't do anything about it. Fair. was fair, they all had to earn their own money.
"What am I doing here, anyway?" he asked himself.
"I'm no hero. Let the world blow itself up. It's its own fault." But he knew. He, and he was sure Arcie felt the same, would much have preferred to hide, lay low somewhere until the problem had passed on. But when the whole world is in danger, where is there to hide? He believed Kaylana, with the inner sense that had saved his life many times before. Besides, she'd spoken of corrupting the world. Well, she was right, it needed it. He'd do it out of spite, dammit, that was a perfectly dark reason.
Spite and sheer evil nastiness, you big bad assassin, he said to himself. He skulked off among the shadows with an evil leer on his face, his golden hair somewhat spoiling the effect by shining in the torchlight every now and again.
Across town, Arcie was getting frustrated.
"Look, can ye bake me a cake with a file in it?" he asked, giving the portly man behind the roll-strewn counter his best If-you-know-what-I-mean look.
"A file, sir?" asked the baker, perplexed. Arcie tried again.
"This all looks so good, I could steal it, man," he offered, searching the man's face for some kind of acknowledgment that the baker was a fellow sneakthief. He encountered only bovine confusion.
"We've the best prices in town, sir ... "
Arcie looked around, saw there was only one other customer in the shop, who was about to leave. He glanced again at the baker, and said, "Look, I ... run the Bonny Bonnets Shoppe in Bistort." Most Thieves' Guilds knew of each other's existences and covers, simply because one needed to obtain a license to thieve in another Guild's territory anyway and it was impossible to keep out spies in the process.
"That's nice for you, sir. Now then, do you wish to buy anything or not? My shop closes soon." Arcie Stared at him.
"This really are a bakery?" he whispered. The man nodded, obviously thinking the short foreigner was quite mad. Arcie sighed. "Well enough. A dozen jelly doughnuts, please."
Arcie walked down the street, trailing powdered sugar.
The sounds of drunken singing reached his ears, and with a shrug he ducked into the shadows of an alleyway and waited. A group of three young merchants' sons staggered past, passing a skin of wine between them. Arcie paced them silently down the alley, now soft as a shadow at their side, now a silent padding behind them, now a drifting breeze on the other side, lastly a swirl of vague form that melted into the shadow of a building and was gone like a dream, leaving only a small sprinkling of white sugar behind.
The youths emerged at the other end of the alley and slowed in muddled surprise, their song of revelry drifting away. Not only was the wineskin gone, which was what
"had alerted them, but so were their belts, pouches, rings, necklaces, ornamental rapiers and lefthand Kwartan daggers, the eldest one's feathered cap, and the youngest one's brand-new silver spurs. They turned and peered down the alley, but it was empty.
Elsewhere, Kaylana sighed, and decided to take care of the unpleasant business of gathering money. She was of course not skilled in theft and had nothing to sell and no services
Sam wandered about in the increasing twilight. He thought he glimpsed Kaylana striding past in the distance, but didn't do anything about it. Fair. was fair, they all had to earn their own money.
"What am I doing here, anyway?" he asked himself.
"I'm no hero. Let the world blow itself up. It's its own fault." But he knew. He, and he was sure Arcie felt the same, would much have preferred to hide, lay low somewhere until the problem had passed on. But when the whole world is in danger, where is there to hide? He believed Kaylana, with the inner sense that had saved his life many times before. Besides, she'd spoken of corrupting the world. Well, she was right, it needed it. He'd do it out of spite, dammit, that was a perfectly dark reason.
Spite and sheer evil nastiness, you big bad assassin, he said to himself. He skulked off among the shadows with an evil leer on his face, his golden hair somewhat spoiling the effect by shining in the torchlight every now and again.
Across town, Arcie was getting frustrated.
"Look, can ye bake me a cake with a file in it?" he asked, giving the portly man behind the roll-strewn counter his best If-you-know-what-I-mean look.
"A file, sir?" asked the baker, perplexed. Arcie tried again.
"This all looks so good, I could steal it, man," he offered, searching the man's face for some kind of acknowledgment that the baker was a fellow sneakthief. He encountered only bovine confusion.
"We've the best prices in town, sir ... "
Arcie looked around, saw there was only one other customer in the shop, who was about to leave. He glanced again at the baker, and said, "Look, I ... run the Bonny Bonnets Shoppe in Bistort." Most Thieves' Guilds knew of each other's existences and covers, simply because one needed to obtain a license to thieve in another Guild's territory anyway and it was impossible to keep out spies in the process.
"That's nice for you, sir. Now then, do you wish to buy anything or not? My shop closes soon." Arcie Stared at him.
"This really are a bakery?" he whispered. The man nodded, obviously thinking the short foreigner was quite mad. Arcie sighed. "Well enough. A dozen jelly doughnuts, please."
Arcie walked down the street, trailing powdered sugar.
The sounds of drunken singing reached his ears, and with a shrug he ducked into the shadows of an alleyway and waited. A group of three young merchants' sons staggered past, passing a skin of wine between them. Arcie paced them silently down the alley, now soft as a shadow at their side, now a silent padding behind them, now a drifting breeze on the other side, lastly a swirl of vague form that melted into the shadow of a building and was gone like a dream, leaving only a small sprinkling of white sugar behind.
The youths emerged at the other end of the alley and slowed in muddled surprise, their song of revelry drifting away. Not only was the wineskin gone, which was what
"had alerted them, but so were their belts, pouches, rings, necklaces, ornamental rapiers and lefthand Kwartan daggers, the eldest one's feathered cap, and the youngest one's brand-new silver spurs. They turned and peered down the alley, but it was empty.
Elsewhere, Kaylana sighed, and decided to take care of the unpleasant business of gathering money. She was of course not skilled in theft and had nothing to sell and no services
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