Chapter 13

Again, Leesil sat alone in his room unable to sleep. Perched on the bed's edge, he stared at the burning candle, watching wax drip into the baked clay holder.

Neither he nor Magiere could find a solid link between Sapphire, Lanjov's daughter, Lord Au'shiyn, and the young woman they'd examined that morning. Instinct told him if he found that link, the question of location might be answered. Completing their duty would simply be a matter of hunting down undeads. He knew how to do the latter, but the former still eluded them.

Chap's behavior became more troubling by the day. The dog was obstinate, as if nothing they did interested him at all. They'd covered most of the houses on Lanjov's list, and Chap snowed mild to no interest, often jumping back into the coach and refusing to get out again until they reached their next destination. Leesil didn't know what to make of this, but the search had proved fruitless. The last thing he wanted to do was investigate one more house, and that was Magiere's agenda for the coming day. There might be a limit to how long Chap would cooperate.

He sighed and arose, picking up his punching blade and lifting his bed against the wall.

Dressed only in loose breeches, he maneuvered around the small room in his bare feet. He almost never took off his stilettos, so he practiced with those strapped to his forearms as well. It would do no good to adjust to his new weapons, and then have to compensate midbattle for additional weight on his arms.

He spun around, kicking up swiftly behind a swipe of the blade. He repeated this several times and then shifted the weapon to his other hand, preparing to go again on his other side. The door to his room swung open.

"What in the seven hells are you doing in here?" Magiere asked, rubbing her eyes.

Leesil froze, legs slightly bent from a finished spin and his arm straight out with the new blade.

Magiere blinked, half-awake, but her eyes fully opened as her gaze slipped along his bare arm and the weapon.

"Sorry," Leesil said quickly, lowering the blade to his side. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Magiere didn't seem to hear him as she stepped into the room. She still wore her faded white shirt from the day. Except for her amulets, she wore nothing else that Leesil could see. Her bare feet seemed small for her height, and her legs were the same pale, near-white of her face and hands, from ankles across smooth, muscled calves to just above…

"Is that what the smith made?" she asked. "I was wondering when you'd get around to showing me."

Leesil faltered a moment before catching her question.

"A punching blade, of sorts," he answered. "With some changes of my own."

He lifted the weapon, holding up the wing that extended back along his forearm.

"Stand back and watch," he said, and Magiere returned to the doorway.

He spun again and kicked and then shot out throat-high with his bladed hand. A quick punch with his free hand followed, and he whipped around again. The blade scythed an arc through the air at neck level.

"Might not decapitate on the first strike," he said. "But it'll get the job the done. Wait till the twin is finished. Heads will fly."

Magiere stepped close again, studying the bright steel more closely. A soft smile on her face was barely visible beneath the shadow of her hair.

"Soon you won't even need me," she said.

"Nonsense, I'll always need you," he answered instantly.

A brief and embarrassed silence followed. Again, Magiere's gaze followed the blade along his arm, and this time continued up along his shoulder.

Leesil had a sudden urge to touch her face and caught himself halfway to reaching for her cheek. He pushed his white hair out of his eyes instead.

"I'll be quiet now. You should get some more sleep."

Magiere stepped back to the door.

"It's all right if you need to practice. I don't think anyone but me would hear, but you should get some sleep yourself."

She reached for the latch to pull the door closed.

"Good night," he said.

She looked at him a moment longer and then closed the door, saying, "Good night," in return.

Leesil set his blade on the table and jerked the bed back down with both hands. Dropping on it, he puffed the candle out and lay in the dark, eyes closed, trying to clear his thoughts. He lay quietly for a long time-how long, he didn't know-and listened to the click-tick against his window.

Late night to early morning in Miiska always brought a coastal breeze through the trees. Large firs and pines out back of the tavern were old and long limbed, occasionally fingering the tavern's rear walls and shutters. He'd listen to the settling sound reminding him that they'd made a place in the world away from the cold outside. Click-tick, they whispered.

He wasn't in Miiska.

And there were no trees in the back alley behind this inn.

Someone was trying to break into his room.

Toret hung down from the roof to the window's edge and opened his vision to its full extent. The crescent moon provided enough light for his undead eyes, but when he peered into the inn's small room, the bed to the left was pushed too near the window's wall for him to see it clearly.

Using hardened fingernails, he hooked and pulled the window's frame outward just enough to slip a blade into the crack. An early-evening visit by Chane to the Burdock had revealed that it boasted four private guest rooms and only the first two were occupied. Although still shaky from the previous night's events, Toret could wait no longer. The dhampir and her sly half-elf would be caught in their beds tonight and quickly killed.

The newest members of his "family" were Tibor and Sestmir, both of whom showed him a good deal more respect than Chane ever had. They treated him as they would a captain at sea, and this was a benefit he hadn't expected. Chane wasn't accustomed to orders or to looking after anyone but himself. Tibor and Sestmir expressed confusion and fear regarding their new existence, but once taught to feed and given their orders, they had adapted and even shown a dutiful attention to their master's welfare.

Tibor, tall and lanky with close-shaven brown hair and clear brown eyes, was skilled with the hook-tipped saber, and now waited while Toret worked the latch. Sestmir had gone with Chane to the next window down the inn's alley side.

"Don't forget about the dog," Toret whispered to Tibor. "It's fierce and unnatural. And its bite burns like fire and leaves scars."

The window latch gave and he paused, listening for any sound inside the room. Nothing.

"Let me enter first, master," Tibor whispered.

"No," Toret answered. "Whichever one is in here will die quickly in bed. But if a fight breaks, you watch for any chance to kill from behind. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

Toret swung the window open and slipped down lower along the wall. He pivoted his grip on the sill and let his feet settle quietly on the ledge. Slipping his long sword out, he stepped down into the room.

The bed's blankets were wrinkled but flat. The bed was empty.

From his right, he caught a glint in the dark arcing toward his head.

Toret lifted his long sword and felt the resounding clang of steel against steel as a foot slammed into his side and propelled him across the small room. He hit the wall near the door and pushed off, swinging the sword back to force his opponent away. Legs slightly bent, sword straight out, Toret faced his skulking attacker.

Out of the corner came a slender man wielding a strange blade along one arm, naked to the waist. His skin was golden brown, and white-blond hair hung to his shoulders.

Toret hesitated as recognition flowed into his mind.