Leesil peered down through the grate. She was right, but the image of Chap circled in flame still burned in his mind. He put his hand on the dog's back and felt the tremble of fatigue beneath the rumbling vibration of his growl. He reached down to grab the grate.

Magiere put a hand on his shoulder.

"Not like this," she said. "We stick to the plan. Find the lair and go in during the day when we're all well prepared and at our best."

"He can't have gotten far," Leesil argued.

"We'll find them," she insisted. "It may take a bit of time, but we will. They can't get out of the city, at least I hope not, now that Chetnik has all the gates locked down after dark."

Breathing slowly, Leesil nodded, but Chap continued to growl, looking downward through the tight mesh of iron bars.

"And I know you can understand me," Magiere said to him. "So don't pretend otherwise."

Chap quieted but glowered at her.

At another time, when he'd been just a dog, Leesil might have found Chap's expression humorous. Now it gave him shivers. Movement in the street pulled his attention, and Leesil rose and turned in one movement, blade at the ready.

Vatz stepped up behind them, crossbow loaded and a determined look on his face.

"We going down?" he asked.

Magiere's jaw dropped. "I told you to stay inside with the sages!"

"I ain't hiding behind that bunch of gray skirts."

She was about to grab for the boy with a vicious glint in her eye, when Leesil pushed Vatz back down the street the way they'd all come.

"Let's get inside," he said. "We can talk about this later."

"What!" Vatz growled. "I thought you two were-"

"Move," Leesil ordered.

The boy reluctantly obeyed, with Magiere following him, and Leesil turned to call for Chap.

The dog was gone.

Fire in the night. A wail in the air.

Sgaile focused upon the glow ahead rising up between the night silhouettes of the rooftops. He barely caught the sound of running feet and indistinguishable voices. When he landed upon a shaked roof with twin chimneys, front and rear, he saw the flames across the way against the city wall. Scanning the barrier's top into the distance, he saw the far-off guards in white making their circuit around the wall's top. None appeared to have spotted the waning blaze. Perhaps it was tucked too close to the wall to be seen from such a distance.

What burned was little more than a lone abandoned shed, and it already collapsed upon itself, the fire dimming. Scattered sparks wafted upward and extinguished before they crested the wall's top. Firelight impaired his night sight, and the wail, footfalls, and voices had all faded. He crept closer to the roof's edge over the street and looked along the line of buildings.

Walking away to the far right was a small boy, crossbow hefted over his shoulder. Behind him was a tall female, back turned, with long black hair and loose-hanging shirt. He could not make out much of this person, except for the heavy-bladed sword in her hand. A flicker of white in the dark pulled his attention left and up the street.

Standing near a street grate was a figure with long white-blond hair, a ragged white sleeveless vest or shirt lashed sloppily around his waist. The only other feature Sgaile could make out was a strange blade gripped in his hand.

The figure turned slowly about, looking all around with seeming concentration, and Sgaile saw his face. He focused his vision.

It was man of tanned skin like his own, but the face was not quite right. The eyes were not as wide or large as his own, and the feathered brows not quite as arched and high. His chin was more the squarish end common to humans.

Half-blood.

Sgaile glanced quickly at the woman and boy farther down the street's gradual arc. His target stood still and in plain view, and he could not let such a chance pass by.

He slipped an arrow from the back of his belt and fitted it to the shortbow. Taking aim, he drew the string back.

Leesil looked up and down the street and between the nearest buildings, trying to spot where Chap had gone. He was about to call out when an odd tingle scurried across his back. Wariness overtook him, and he peered about the dark as if there were something else nearby that he couldn't see.

Had the undead come out through another grate and doubled back? He listened carefully as he peered into the shadows of the buildings.

One shadow moved, low to the ground, and he tensed.

Chap ambled out from between two silent shops, nose to the ground as he followed the line of buildings. Leesil relaxed in annoyance.

"Get over here," he called. "It's gone already."

Chap looked up and paused again to the scan the street. With reluctance, he hobbled toward Leesil.

Sgaile fixed his gaze upon the half-blood's chest just right of center and at the man's heart. He took a slow, deep breath and released half of it.

A gray flicker bobbed from a building to the left and along the cobblestones toward his target. Sgaile paused, releasing the rest of his inhale.

It was a dog or hound approaching the half-blood at a slow, limping gait. Sgaile settled again with another breath, in and halfway out. The dog circled the target as the two moved slowly down the street, and Sgaile pulled tighter on the bowstring.

The angle was no longer what he needed, and he raised his focus to the half-blood's temple.

The sheen of the dog's coat caught the glimmer of a street lantern.

Sgaile paused again, and this time his breath caught in his chest.

The hound limped along next to the half-blood, and Sgaile looked carefully at it.

The dog was blue-gray in color and taller than the forest wolves, its head narrower and muzzle longer than those wild beasts. Even from a distance, Sgaile caught the glitter of its crystal-blue eyes as it intently looked about. He lowered his bow, slowly releasing tension on the string, and sat in silence, watching the two figures recede down the street.

"Majay-hi" he whispered in disbelief.

Chapter 16

Toret sat alone in the parlor, waiting for Chane to return with a mortal for him to feed on. His ruptured eye socket had closed up. He'd shut out any pain from his chest wound but loss of fluid had drained him, and he felt empty in more ways than simple hunger. In each passing moment he found the illusion of "Toret" more and more a ridiculous joke, and the reality of "Ratboy" welled up inside him.

The previous night's fight played out in Toret's mind, again and again, as disquiet crept into his thoughts. He was stronger than the half-blood, yet for all Chane's sword training, the mongrel had still outclassed him.

Tibor walked into the parlor, his appearance severing Toret's thoughts.

"Pardon, master, but there's a man here to see you."

The sailor's throat wound had closed, but the flesh around the hole was still seared. His undead existence made his gaunt, hawklike features stand out. His skin looked weathered and tight but was losing its dark, ruddy tan in his undead state. His brown eyes seemed distant and sad.

"Sestmir was your friend for a long time?" Toret asked.

"My brother." Tibor paused. "I suppose he was my friend too."

A brother? Toret should have realized. The two looked so much alike.

"Who is at the door?" he asked. He wasn't in the proper condition to conduct any type of business.

"Fancy gentleman," Tibor answered.

Toret tensed slightly. "Dark hair with white patches at his temples?"

"Yes, master, that's the one."

The last person Toret wanted to see now was this stranger who kept appearing from nowhere with warnings about the dhampir.