"She will not fire at me," he said with quiet certainty. "You are wasting your breath."

"At least I have breath to waste," she replied.

It had never occurred to her that Wynn was anything other than a hostage, but there was apparently something more between these two. But as Magiere matched Chane's maneuvers, she saw the sage point the crossbow at the undead.

He rolled his arm over and up and swung downward, trying Rashed's old trick of brute strength to crash through Magiere's guard. The force was immense, and Magiere dropped halfway to one knee as she blocked. He wasn't playing anymore.

But she never had been.

Magiere deflected and slashed low at his legs. When he retreated, she spun backward through the water for distance. He charged immediately, swinging the sword down as she rose to her feet. This time she dodged and slashed again for his leg. He tried to step away, but the falchion's tip cut across his left knee. He grunted, and as he buckled from the burn of her blade, he slashed upward.

The long sword's point cut partway through Magiere's hauberk below the collar and sliced her left shoulder. She staggered back, regaining her feet as the pain flared.

Chane favored his wounded leg, and Magiere felt blood seeping into her shirt at the shoulder. She needed him off guard for a moment.

"Wynn, shoot him!" she called.

Chane tried to circle but was now limping. At the sight of her blood, his irises dilated, turning crystalline. She felt hunger grow in him, and something else as well.

Desire.

Chane took pleasure in killing, in feeding, in the last moments of his victim's lives.

Why hadn't Wynn fired?

He rushed forward and, at the last second, swung low with his sword.

When Magiere dipped her falchion to block, his free hand snapped out around her wrist. On momentum, he thrust her back against the wall.

Magiere let the hunger rash through her flesh. She thrust her fist into his jaw.

His head snapped back so hard that his body arched away from her, and he lost his grip on her sword arm. His eyes widened as he reeled, and his teeth were stained with his own black fluids.

Magiere swung her freed blade down at his head.

Chane blocked, and the steel clang echoed sharply. He pressed on her throat, forcing Magiere into the wall again.

Blades locked between them, Magiere slapped her free hand around his throat, and her fingers squeezed into cold flesh. Her back came away from the wall.

Chane slowly lost ground, and then set himself, pushing harder, trying to lever the long sword around her falchion toward her face.

In a quick spasm, his eyes and seeping mouth widened as he cried out and pulled away.

The sudden release threw Magiere off balance, and she stumbled. When she regained her footing, Chane was trying desperately to reach a smoking quarrel protruding from his lower back. He looked overwhelmed with shock more than pain as the smoke rose up from his body.

"Wynn…?" he whispered in confusion.

Magiere saw the young sage already reloading the last quarrel. In that moment of distraction, Chane slashed out wildly with his sword and sliced Magiere across the right thigh.

Her weight gave, and she splashed down to one knee. But Chane staggered as well, smoke still rising from the quarrel in his back. He moaned, clutching at the shaft.

Magiere braced with the falchion to get back up, but she couldn't keep weight on her wounded leg for too long. Chane was in no better shape. If she could get close enough for one swing…

"Aim for his head!" she yelled to Wynn.

But Wynn stood frozen in place. Tears ran down her cheeks.

The world slowed to a stop and all three stared at each other in silence.

If Wynn would simply fire, there would too much pain for Chane to defend or flee. If Wynn did not, Magiere's wounded leg might stop her from catching him.

Chane searched Wynn's face as if looking for something in it.

"If you take a step toward Magiere-or try to cast your magic," Wynn whispered, "I will shoot."

Chane took one stumbling step back, disbelief on his face.

"He's a killer-a monster," Magiere shouted to the sage. "Shoot him!"

Their positions were all wrong. If Magiere tried to close, she would simply be in Wynn's line of fire.

"Wynn?" she snarled. "Pull the lever, damn you."

But Wynn didn't move or take her eyes off of the undead.

Chane looked at her. The crystal of his irises faded to deep brown as a strange loss passed across his face. The tall undead turned and fled down the tunnel.

The dank air caught in Magiere's chest as she tried to stumble after her prey and nearly fell in the sewer water. She turned to Wynn.

"What have you done?"

"He may be a killer," Wynn whispered with effort as the crossbow sagged in her arms. "But I am not. Not like that. He spared me-and you."

"He didn't have a choice!" Magiere snapped back.

Wynn dropped the crossbow with a flinch, as if discarding something repugnant to the touch. She stepped down into the water and lifted Magiere's free arm over her shoulders.

"You made me believe we hunted savage beasts," the sage said accusingly.

"You stupid… girl," Magiere answered. What lunacy this woman had developed amid dusty books and isolation from the real world. "That's all they are."

"Then why did he let me live?"

"You were his tool."

"No," Wynn said firmly. "Now we must leave and see to your wounds."

Magiere drew a long breath, prepared to tell this idiot what she thought of her grand ethics, and the sound of footsteps resonated into the intersection.

"So much for your mercy," she said. "He's coming back to finish this."

She was about to shove Wynn away when she realized the footfalls were against stone and not splashing through the water. Slow and even, they came from up the wide flow way toward the city's center rather than down the tunnel into which Chane had fled.

Magiere's night vision was almost gone. Hunger had faded with the fury to call back her sight, leaving only frustration and fatigue. She barely made out the dark figure moving along the left-side stone walkway, and heard his voice echo to her.

"A moment, if you please."

Hollow and cultured-and familiar in a way that made Magiere tense.

A figure of medium height stepped into the far reach of the torchlight, wearing a black cloak over dark clothes that obscured him from view. With black-gloved hands, he pulled his cowl back, and even in the low torchlight, Magiere caught the streaks of white at his temples. Her leg gave again, and she leaned on Wynn.

"Welstiel?"

"Not quite what I expected," he said, ignoring her puzzlement as he glanced down the side tunnel Chane had taken. "But your skills are increasing. And I suppose this was still a worthwhile lesson. Never depend on anyone beside yourself, except perhaps for the half-blood or the majay-hi."

His voice. It was strangely familiar, urgently so, aside from when she'd last seen him in Miiska.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

Again he ignored her and looked at Wynn. "Leave."

Magiere felt Wynn's grip around her waist tighten. Weistiel lifted one black-gloved hand to point down the side tunnel.

His earlier words came back to Magiere-a moment, if you please.

She shoved Wynn in the direction Welstiel pointed and stumbled over to snatch the loaded crossbow, cradling it across her sword arm.

"Run now," Magiere ordered. "Find Leesil."

Wynn looked between Magiere and Welstiel in confused panic, then turned and slogged away into the tunnel.

Magiere leveled the crossbow directly at Welstiel.

Leesil watched in frustration and rage as Ratboy vanished.

Chap trotted down the slope to him, pushing his nose through the iron bars. At least he was all right. As much as Leesil should thank the elf for this, he was too angry.