The gate was here for a reason, though Leesil couldn't fathom why. Deeper inside the sewers, it had been overlooked by the city guard when they sealed the outer spillways. He looked about for a way to open it but only spotted brackets on the walls to either side. Jamming his torch into one, he gripped the gate with both hands and strained to lift it. The barrier wouldn't budge.

Chap's snarl grew loud again amidst a flurry of splashes.

"Leave him," Leesil shouted. "Back away to me."

Even if Chap did as he commanded, Ratboy wouldn't abandon this chance to kill the hound.

A flicker of shadow across the upper archway made Leesil pause from straining at the gate. The chamber's darkness above was too severe even for his eyes. He snatched the torch and threw it through the gate onto the left walkway, as far up as he could. Framed in the upper archway was the capering figure of Ratboy maneuvering around Chap, the hound's silvery coat tinged to gold in the torchlight.

Ratboy dodged and swung down with a thick short sword, barely missing Chap's neck.

"Valhachkasej'a!" Leesil cursed, wishing he'd grabbed Vatz's crossbow before the boy had left.

Chap dashed inside Ratboy's guard. Spinning around behind, the hound snapped teeth along the back of Ratboy's knee. The undead cried out but turned with the dog and kicked out hard, catching Chap in the side. The hound tumbled back out of sight with a cascade of splashes.

Snarling, Ratboy faced into the chamber with sword raised.

Leesil drew his right blade and chopped down on the gate's crossbars. Steel clanged against iron, leaving only a minor gash.

Ratboy glanced toward him, sharp teeth bared in a sneer, and then turned back to Chap. Leesil struck the gate again and again, but Ratboy gave no more notice.

From beyond the upper archway's right side, a silvery flutter skimmed through the air.

Ratboy's head snapped sideways as he staggered. He righted himself and reached up with his free hand.

A stiletto of bright metal protruded from the base of his neck.

Leesil stopped his assault, lost in confusion. He'd have done that himself if he'd thought it would do any good.

"Stop," a smooth, lilting voice ordered.

The echo from the upper chamber made it impossible for Leesil to tell where the voice came from. A gray specter slid forward into view.

Standing to the upper archway's right was a gray-clad figure, cowl up and cloak corners tied around its waist. Coiled between the fingers of its left fist was a silvery wire glinting in the torchlight. It was like the garrote in Leesil's own toolbox, and recognition filled him.

This was the anmaglahk from the previous night.

The elf had followed him and must have been the shadow he'd glimpsed slipping under the gate before it closed. The stiletto had been nothing more than a ploy to gain Ratboy's attention.

"What's this?" Ratboy uttered, as he slid the stained blade from his neck. "A new playmate?"

"You are not my concern," the elf said calmly. "Leave the hound."

At those words, Ratboy appeared uncertain, but Leesil couldn't believe what he was hearing. He unsheathed his second blade.

"Kill him!" he yelled at the elf. "Fire or decapitation is the only way."

The elf gave him no notice. His cowled head turned toward the back of the chamber as he said, "Please, stand with me."

Chap came into view as he circled in to stand a pace or two back on the elf's side of the archway. The man looked to the hound, holding his hands open to his sides, and said something in Elvish that Leesil couldn't follow.

"He's an undead," Leesil spit in frustration. "Take his head, now."

The torch's crackle was the only sound for the span of two breaths.

Ratboy screamed out, dropping his sword and stiletto as he lunged at the elf. He collided into the elf, and both collapsed down in a spray of water.

Leesil expected Chap to fly into the battle, but the hound held his place, snarling in frustration as he watched the two flail. Ratboy's hand rose up, fingers hooked, and he slashed down at the elf's neck, fingernails shredding the side of the cowl. The elf's gray-clad leg whipped up and around the front of Ratboy's throat.

Leesil's view was obscured again by the splash of Ratboy toppling, and he saw little more than a whirl of wet bodies and water thrown into the air. When it ended, the elf was behind Ratboy, who sat or knelt with the garrote whipped around his neck.

The elf's hands jerked apart, and the wire closed instantly, cutting into Ratboy's throat.

"Don't let go," Leesil called out. "Finish it."

Even with just torchlight, Leesil saw the line around Rat-boy's throat darken as black fluids began to seep out.

Ratboy reached back and grabbed the sides of the elf's cloak. He jerked the elf over the top of himself. As the elf passed in front, Ratboy kicked out, sending the taller man slamming against the side of the archway. But the elf lost only one grip on the garrote handles, and as the wire lashed free of Ratboy's neck, it bit deeper.

Ratboy scuttled back, holding his throat. His gaze never strayed from the tall gray figure as he fumbled in the water to recover his sword.

"Go," the elf said again. "Go hunt humans. Leave the majay-hi."

Chap inched toward the wiry undead.

Still clutching his throat, Ratboy passed one last hateful glance toward Leesil, turned, and ran out of view.

"No!" Leesil screamed out and smashed his blades against the gate.

Hunger boiled up from Magiere's stomach.

Torch held high, she slowed at the intersection ahead and aimed her crossbow toward the arched opening. When the blade flashed out from her left, she quickly swiped it aside with the torch and sidestepped into the intersection.

Chane stood on a walkway with Wynn directly behind him. He pulled her around in front of himself with one hand clamped over her mouth. The sage was so small that her head barely reached his collarbone. Magiere felt her teeth begin to ache.

"Let her go," she ordered.

She tossed the torch to the far side walkway and drew her falchion. To her surprise, his voice was calm and polite.

"Is Toret dead?"

She didn't care about his questions or anything but seeing his head come off, and she took two steps toward him through the water.

"Take your hand off her. Unless you want to fight with one arm."

"I doubt you could accomplish that without severely wounding your friend."

For an answer, Magiere squeezed the crossbow's firing lever. The quarrel pierced Chane's exposed calf, already marred from Chap's teeth, and he cried out as smoke rose around the embedded shaft. Chane's grip faltered as he folded in pain, reaching for the quarrel, and Wynn lunged away along the wall.

Magiere threw the empty crossbow onto the walkway at the sage's feet. It would have been a perfect moment to press Chane, but until Wynn was better protected, Magiere couldn't afford to rush the tall undead. As Chane jerked the quarrel from his leg and stepped into the tunnel's running water, Magiere cut the quiver's strap with her falchion and tossed the quarrels after the crossbow.

"Load it," she ordered Wynn, stepping forward to put herself between the sage and the undead nobleman.

She could feel a shift in Chane's presence. Before, at the inn and in the house, she'd sensed hunger and evasion. She saw a hint of determination.

"Stop it! Both of you," Wynn called. "Chane, she is unique-do not harm her. Magiere, none of this is his fault. Toret took him without permission."

Pointless words, but as Magiere glared over to silence her, Wynn was fitting one of the last two quarrels into the crossbow.

"When I tell you," Magiere said, "shoot him."

It was unlikely Wynn had any skill with the weapon, but the words would play upon Chane well enough. The undead circled, looking for an opening.