At the break of dawn, Rashed dragged Ratboy's bloody, struggling form into the underground drawing room and threw him up against a wall.

Teesha's eyes rose from her needlework in near alarm. "What is going on?"

"Look at him!" Rashed spit.

Half-dried blood covered Ratboy's chin and upper torso. Although Rashed thought the youngest member of their trio to be an impatient upstart, he'd never considered him a complete fool-until now.

"This witless whelp left a dead girl lying in her own yard with her throat torn open!"

Teesha stood and smoothed her blue satin dress. Her chocolate curls bounced slightly as she approached Ratboy, who was sprawled against the base of the room's back wall. She looked him over, and her head tilted ever so slightly to the side as her small face took on a disappointed expression.

"Is this true?" she asked.

"While you're staring so hard, take a look at my back," the dusty urchin answered, finding his voice. "That blackish stuff isn't human blood. It's my own." He held his wrists out. "And these scars were open wounds not long ago. You ever see one of our kind get scars before?"

"Impossible," Rashed hissed, but his brow wrinkled when he leaned over for closer inspection. Jagged white slashes resembling teeth marks covered Ratboy's forearms. "How?"

"That hunter!" Ratboy screeched back at him in frustration. "She truly is a hunter. I've seen few of our own kind move so quickly, and her sword sliced my back as if I were living flesh."

"Nonsense," Rashed said in open disgust, stepping back. "The charlatan used her earnings to buy some warded blade, that's all. You obviously rushed in with your usual naive confidence and failed. You got cut for your own recklessness and ran away like a coward. And to make matters worse, you didn't bother thinking about us, did you? Instead of coming back here to face the slow process of healing, you consumed a young girl to death not twenty houses from your own and then left her body to panic the town."

Ratboy's jaw dropped as if Rashed's accusations were too outrageous for defense. "But I have scars!"

Rashed paused only a second, then turned away in disgust.

"You sent him," Teesha said gently, eyebrows raised with her eyes half closed, as if to spread the guilt properly. Her tiny red mouth set in a position of chastisement. "He isn't experienced enough to battle a hunter, charlatan or legitimate, and you know it. And none of us were certain how real or false she was. You should have seen to this matter."

If Ratboy had made such a statement, Rashed would have shaken him like a rag doll, but Teesha's words rang true. The tall leader glared down at Ratboy again, but did not continue his assault.

"When will she reach town?" he asked.

Still petulant, Ratboy answered, "Sometime today. She's traveling with a half-elf and… that dog." He turned to Teesha. "Edwan was right about the dog. His teeth burned me. I wasn't ready! If I'd known, I could have won. I would have broken that hound's neck in the first blink."

The wax rose candles flickered around them, and Teesha patted Ratboy's shoulder. "We need to go down to the caverns and sleep. Take off those rags and let me see your back. I'll find you another shirt."

Teesha's attention washed all the anger from Ratboy's face, and he allowed himself to be led away like a puppy.

Rashed frowned at their backs. Ratboy's injuries were his own fault, scars or not, and Teesha's motherly kindness only encouraged further carelessness. That little leech of an urchin should sleep all night in his own crusted blood.

But for now, such petty thoughts were minor concerns. Rashed had built this home out of nothing. His small family had reasonable wealth and safety, the likes of which normally came to only the older of the Noble Dead after years of planning and manipulation. While he slept this day, a hunter-charlatan or no-was coming to take it all away. She must be removed quickly and quietly. Teesha was right. He should have handled this affair himself.

Rashed began snuffing out the candles, one by one. Keeping the situation away from Miiska was no longer possible. Parko, his fallen brother, must have let something slip before he perished, otherwise why would this hunter come here? There was no question she came looking for the three of them. So he would wait, perhaps a night or two, and allow this hunter to become comfortable. And then he would deal with her personally.

Chapter Five

Magiere caught her first glimpse of Miiska late that morning and felt a twinge of uncertainty. She had literally banked everything on finding peace in this small port town, and dreams by a campfire were often a far cry from reality.

Leesil showed no similar apprehension "Finally," he said, and his step quickened until he moved out ahead of her. "Come on."

Like him, she had become fond of clean, salty air. Unlike him, she could not express such appreciation. His habit of speaking exactly what he thought often confused her, but now she hurried to follow, jerking on the donkey's bridle. She was glad of Leesil's open curiosity. He might make this easier.

Chap no longer rode in the cart, but trotted along beside Leesil, head high as if he knew exactly where he was going, a hound on his way home after the morning run. After so many years trying to perfectly fit their parts in the "hunter of the dead" game, Magiere was struck by just how peculiar looking a trio they were. She wondered what the townspeople would think of them.

"I wish we could have cleaned up first," she said.

"You look fine," Leesil answered, sounding ridiculous in his torn, oversize, untucked shirt and dirty breeches. He hadn't bothered to don a scarf or even to tie up his hair so that the tightened, smooth sides of his ponytail would cover the tips of his ears. Perhaps now that he was arriving at his new home, he didn't see the need to blend in anymore.

The distance to the town closed quickly, until Magiere felt as if she had stepped across an unseen boundary to enter its domain.

People bustled around the main street where it opened into a small marketplace at the near end of town. Smells of warm milk, horse manure and sweat and, most of all, fish assaulted her as she passed the first cluster of hawkers' shacks and tents. A candle maker measured out dye into a pot of melted wax. Nearby, a clothier emptied a cart and hung up multipatterned cloth that would give a harlequin fits. From beyond the buildings and toward the docks came a shrill whistle and the sound of a taskmaster's voice cracking dockworkers into motion to empty the belly of some barge just into port. And, of course, there were the fishmongers, each trying to out shout the other for their fresh, dried, cured, or smoked catch for sale. This was not an outback village of superstitious peasants but a thriving community.

"Not bad." Leesil smiled, watching a wagon rock by toward a small warehouse, its back filled with wooden wine barrels. "I could grow accustomed to this."

They passed a small tavern on the right where a stout woman swept last night's dirt and leavings out the door. By its look and place in the town, Magiere knew it wasn't the one she'd bought, but she had a moment's hesitation, wondering if she'd need to jerk Leesil back before he slipped through the open door.

Even in the mill of activity, heads turned toward them. Magiere kept her back straight and her pace even. Newcomers would be common in a port town. However, only one or two other people openly carried any weapon, and she now wished she'd stowed her falchion in the cart. Hopefully, there would be no need of it here.

The scent of fresh bread caught her attention, and her gaze wandered about until she spotted the aroma's origin.