"Sir!"

At Lúcan's shout of warning, Rodian ducked away as the shadowy thief struck out. Its black hand—or was it covered in cloth? — slammed against the wall.

A sharp crack of splitting brick filled the alley as Rodian twisted away. He heard the chitter of falling fragments beneath the ri Kben crnging in his ears. The black-robed mass swirled away.

As it fled down the alley, the whipping hem of its cloak passed beyond the light that had been behind it. And the alley brightened.

Rodian froze.

A glowing crystal lay on the alley floor, slightly bigger than the end of his thumb, but bright enough to hurt his eyes. When his sight adjusted, he grew chilled.

Three bodies lay in the alley.

The closest was the pudgy girl who'd taken Snowbird's reins on his first visit to the guild. She was curled on her side, and her limbs were twisted against her torso, as if she'd died in convulsions. Her wide eyes stared blankly from an ashen face disfigured by horror.

Just like before—just like Elias and Jeremy.

Beyond her sprawled a taller companion in midnight blue robes lying on his back. But his face was a crushed and bloodied mess. Past his head lay a heavy chunk of the brick wall. And the third and last down the alley was slender and frail.

A young man in gray robes curled up as if he'd tried to hide within himself as he died. He was pale and sallow, and his eyes were open, like the girl's.

"Maker, Toiler, and Dreamer," Rodian whispered.

All of them were lost.

Ghassan lit upon the rooftop as he heard the dark figure's hand crack against the brick wall. He caught only a glimpse of bodies beyond the black thief.

He saw the one in a midnight blue robe.

Ghassan had only an instant of cold regret at the sight of Dâgmund, and then the figure bolted away.

Ghassan leaped over the alley, thrusting with will as much as his legs. The spell still sunk within his mind helped carry him to the next rooftop. He scrambled along the shakes parallel to the alley, and when he reached the eaves overhanging the next street, he looked about.

There was no one below—and then he spotted it.

Like some giant ebony-draped spider, it clambered up the wall of a building fifty yards down the street. When it reached the roof, a street lantern upon a pole exposed its form against clay tiles.

It still held the folio clutched in one hand.

Ghassan cleared his sight once more, calling yet another pattern of glowing lines. These he sank into himself and reached out toward the distant figure with one hand.

He clenched his fingers closed in the air.

The thief spun upon the distant rooftop. Robe and cloak whipped in the night as its arm and hand holding the folio snapped out toward Ghassan's rooftop. The folio hung in the air, still locked in its grip, and it pulled back.

Ghassan's own arm straightened, and his feet slipped along the shakes. He ground in his heels and tried to pull his clenched hand inward.

The figure stumbled. It reached out and clutched the folio with both hands, continuing to pull. Ghassan did the same, both his hands tearing at the air.

A hissing carried from the distant rooftop.

The night air began to swirl around Ghassan. His robe whipped about him. He bent his knees, trying to sink lower, holding his hands clenched as if he physically gripped the folio so far beyond reach.

A sudden rush of wind struck him.

Breath was punched from his lungs, as if a wall of air slammed against his whole body. His feet slipped from the shakes as he fell and landed on his back.

Ghassan barely had enough awareness to flatten and keep from sliding off the edge. He rolled onto his knees, gasping for air, and stared across the city's rooftops in stunned silence.

The thief on the distant rooftop was gone.

Ghassan remained still, too stunned and shaken. Either thaumaturgy or conjuring could have shaped that wind. It was a mage, and a potent one for such quick and strong force.

The folio was gone. Three young sages lay dead. And all before Ghassan could subdue them himself and see those precious translated pages.

Running feet hammered down the alley.

Ghassan dropped low upon the roof. He had to reach guild grounds before word traveled of what happened here. He did not know how he would explain all this to High-Tower or Sykion, let alone that the city guards would tell a differing tale—one that would not include his presence.

He climbed quietly to the roof's peak and rose to his feet. He took one last look southwest for any sign of his adversary. But halfway through his turn, he stopped.

A shadow raced over the rooftops of the next city block, a dark cloak billowing in its flight.

This new figure came from the north, and no sound rose from its footfalls. When it reached the roof's end of a two-story building, it leaped across the street to the lower building across the way. Midflight, it clutched its flapping hood or cowl with one hand as the intersection's street lantern caught it with light.

No, not a cowl or a hood—but a hat with an extremely wide brim.

Ghassan watched the shadow race south, in the direction that the black-robed figure had vanished.

Someone else had been nearby, hunting the thief. But there was no time left to ponder—and he was too worn and drained. Ghassan stepped quietly along the roof's peak, heading for the next side street and any hidden way to flee.

Rodian leaped over the bodies, running along the alley. He shot out its far end and halted amid an empty street. Pools of wide-spaced lamplight stretched away in both directions. He turned about twice, listening for footfalls, but neither heard nor saw anyone.

Nothing on foot could've vanished so quickly.

"Captain!" Garrogh shouted from back down the alley. "One's still alive!"

Rodian backed up, still scanning the empty street, then spun and ran.

Garrogh knelt over the frail young man in a gray robe. Lúcan stood beyond with the other guardsmen, staring at the other bodies in silence. The younger guardsman finally blinked and crouched down.

He hesitated once as he reached for the brilliant crystal, perhaps fearful of being burned. Rodian knew better, for he'd seen such devices at the guild.

"Give it to me," he ordered.

Lúcan picked up the crystal, eyes widening at finding it held no heat. He handed it to Rodian.

"A faint heartbeat," Garrogh said, his ear pressed to the young sage's chest.

Rodian crouched down with the glowing crystal, and he recognized the boy's face. This one had been sitting with Wynn Hygeorht at breakfast the morning of the robbery. His face was as ashen as the girl's, but he was breathing shallowly.

"What about the girl?" Rodian asked.

Garrogh simply shook his head. "And the folio?"

Rodian didn't answer and put two fingers to the young sage's throat, feeling a faint pulse. "He needs a healer."

"No," Garrogh answered. "Take him to the guild. They'll know what to do more than some healer at a city ward. Remember my sister's cough? I took her to the sages."

Rodian almost barked a denial. The last thing he wanted was for the sages to hide away the only witness he had. He reached out and closed the young sage's blank eyes so they wouldn't dry out. A life to save mattered more than anything else.

"What's happened?" someone called.

Rodian raised his head and saw Master Calisus with his pony and cart at the alley's mouth.

"Stay there!" he ordered, and then looked to Garrogh. "I'll take this one to the guild. Make certain no one comes into the alley until it's thoroughly searched for any clues. Lúcan, you and the others find a way to take the other bodies back to the barracks."

The young guardsman didn't move or speak. His eyes shifted to the mangled face of the victim in the dark blue robe.