Magiere shoved him aside and scrambled to her feet, holding the knife out. The dockworker crumpled to the floor, gagging, and she turned quickly toward the cabin doorway.
Chap clenched the portly man's upper arm between his teeth, and raked at him with front paws. The man screamed hysterically for help, but no one came to his aid. His shirt was already shredded and stained with his own blood. Magiere kicked the hound's opponent in the head, and the man fell silent and limp. Chap instantly shifted on top of the dazed attacker, snarling and watching intently.
Magiere breathed hard for a moment. Where was the third attacker?
Had he panicked and run, seeing how quickly his partners went down? She stepped around Chap and his prisoner, and looked out the door toward the steep stairs to the right. Dim yellow light seeped down from the hatch leading to the deck. There was a flicker of shadow from her left.
Something heavy and hard collided with the back of Magiere's skull. Everything flashed white and then snapped to darkness, as if the lantern had flared and snuffed out. Her legs folded uncontrollably as she fell against the hallway's far wall. She knew she'd hit the floor only when the sensation of motion ceased, and her whole body went limp.
She tried hard to lift her face but managed only to roll over onto her back. Her right hand closed but was empty-the knife had fallen from her grip. Above her was a soft, dim oval materializing from shadow. The blurred shape slowly sharpened. An illuminated face appeared above her.
A young and slightly built man with dirty-blond hair and angry, determined eyes stood over her with an iron cudgel gripped in both hands. He'd let Chap maul his companion while he waited outside the door for her to emerge.
Magiere tried to gather strength, to think, to act, as he raised the cudgel again. Tine most she could manage was to lift one arm that wavered.
A shadow passed across the young man's face. Something had blocked the light filtering down through the hatch. He paused and looked up.
Slender legs in faded canvas breeches shot through the air above Magiere, and their feet covered in low leather boots struck her attacker in the face. His cudgel flipped out of his hands as he tumbled backward down the dark hallway out of Magiere's sight.
The booted feet swung up to the planked ceiling, followed by the legs, and behind them came a torso clad in a loose, worn-out shirt slightly too big for the wearer.
Leesil let go of the hatch's top edge and quickly tucked in midair above Magiere. She caught only a glimpse of his face surrounded by whirling white hair broken loose from his falling scarf as he flipped past her out of sight. She felt the impact through the floor as he landed in the hallway at her feet.
Magiere clawed at the passage-side wall to pull herself up on one elbow. Her head felt thick and too heavy to hold up.
Leesil half crouched, his back to her, with a stiletto in each hand. Magiere heard Chap's muffled snarls and barks from behind the cabin's closed door, likely pulled shut by her attacker to keep the dog out of his way.
Around Leesil's legs, Magiere made out the young dock-worker's shadowed figure getting up. The man slipped a hand behind his back, and when it came into view again, he held something long and dark. He rushed forward. Before the slender man closed, Leesil spun on his right foot in the narrow hallway.
His left leg folded up next to his body as he pivoted. As it cleared the close walls, his leg shot out and connected with the dockworker's jaw and cheekbone. Before the man's head had fully recoiled, Leesil followed instantly with the pommel of the left stiletto, striking precisely the same spot. The man spun and tumbled down the hallway wall. Leesil settled to both feet again, and staggered forward.
Staggered? Magiere pushed herself further up. Was Leesil injured?
"Be careful!" she managed to shout. "They're not thieves."
Leesil righted himself as the dockworker threw whatever he wielded, and the object clattered along the floor. The man turned and ran the other way down the hall into the dark. Leesil started after the fleeing figure but didn't get far, and Magiere's breath caught in her throat.
His feet tangled in the skittering object, and instead of stumbling, he toppled straight over and slammed into the floor.
"Leesil!" Magiere got out.
From somewhere up on deck she heard running feet, shouting, and a splash.
She climbed up the wall to her feet. The back of her skull ached, and her ears rang ceaselessly, but she was more concerned for Leesil. As she took two unsteady steps, he came toward her. His stilettos already tucked away, he carried the object that had undone him-another iron cudgel. He dropped it, grabbed a rung of the steps up to the deck, and stood swaying slightly.
Magiere reached out to him and stumbled closer, leaning against the ladder's steps. She ran her hands over his arms, shoulders, and chest, pushing the folds of the loose shirt around to check for rips or signs of blood.
"Hurt?" she managed to ask. "Did he hit you?"
Leesil's narrow, tanned face lifted, and he looked at her in some confusion.
"I'm all right… I'm… fine… that skinny toad ain't never gonna get near you… promise." He put his hand on her cheek a little too roughly, making her vision spin, and then leaned his face close to hers. "All right… you're all right now."
Magiere jerked her head away, which made the whole world jump before her eyes. His breath reeked, and she stared at Leesil's face in the dim light.
His eyes were bloodshot.
Assassins had attacked her, and he was drunk.
Chapter 4
Two nights after Chane escorted Sapphire around town to show off her new gown, he walked the dark streets outside of Bela's middle ring wall in a rare mood of contentment. Once per week, Toret gave him leave to do whatever he liked. He always chose the same destination: the new Belaskian branch of the Guild of Sagecraft. On such nights, he wore a casual white shirt, brown breeches, and a simple brown wool cloak-without his sword. This was his usual attire for such visits, as he preferred to be viewed as nothing more than an avid pastime scholar of minor noble birth. His only accoutrement, tucked beneath his shirt, was the small brass vial on a chain around his neck.
He strolled along the cobbled street toward the southern side of the city. A coach for hire would have expedited his journey, but he preferred to walk. His body did not tire, and he liked the older districts with their motley architecture marking the history and growth of the city. They held an aging charm that as yet had not slipped into decay.
It had taken half a decade for the city council to negotiate arrangements for these foreign scholars, these sages, to come to Bela from a great distance. As rumor had it, the council was pleased, for it meant a partial library of historical scrolls and documents would exist within the city, along with highly learned men and women who gathered and preserved such archives. Eventually, a full library would grow from this small start. This was the first such branch of the guild on this entire continent. In his regular visits with the sages, Chane had learned much about their origins.
Started nearly two centuries ago, the sages' founding branch was in a country called Malourne, west across the ocean and to the far coast of that distant continent. Then-homeland guild grounds were actually that kingdom's old keep and castle, given to the guild in bygone days when newer structures were built for their monarchs. Malourne was the oldest of kingdoms in what they called the Numan lands.
There was also a guild branch on the continent's southern half in the imperial city of Samau'a Gaulb-"Heart of the Heavens"-capital of both the country of il'Dha'ab Najuum and the Suman Empire as a whole. A third established branch was said to be in elven lands somewhere in the middle of the continent.