Gray smoke boiled from the tunnel, and he heard Chap choking inside of it.

"Get out, Chap," he shouted. "Back the way we came."

"No," Wynn said. "To the ladder and up to the street."

"He'll get away," Magiere said, choking. "You can't lose him."

But Leesil stared into the billowing gray cloud rolling toward them and couldn't tell if Welstiel was even in the tunnel anymore.

Wynn waded across to the ladder, urging them to follow, and Chap came lunging out of the smoke. Leesil sheathed his blades and guided Magiere to the ladder. She seemed able to climb well enough with one hand. Leesil reached down and lifted Chap and proceeded to climb as well.

The shaft was tall, and its narrow width helped steady him as he climbed the rungs with one hand, holding on to Chap with the other. Three times the sack of heads at his back caught on the wall, and he stopped to twist himself free of the snag. When he reached the top, Wynn and Magiere grabbed hold of the hound and pulled him through the open grate, and Leesil crawled out to lie panting on the street's cobblestones. He gulped in mouthfuls of fresh air.

Magiere stared down at the ground, expressionless. The sound of running feet and voices traveled up the street, and Leesil rolled to his knees, hands dropping to this blades. But it was only three of the guard rushing toward them.

"Chetnik's men," he said in relief. "I'll have them fetch a wagon so we can get you back to the guild."

Magiere neither looked up nor answered.

Chane limped through the shadows of the residential district near their home when he experienced an unexpected hollow sensation inside his mind. It was almost painful in its intensity, as if something had been ripped out of his head. Just as suddenly, it vanished.

His thoughts felt clear and crisp, more than he remembered in recent times. He paused for a moment, and even stepped out openly into the street to look about.

There was no one present. Even in his own thoughts, he was alone. He smiled and closed his eyes.

He had not had any conception of what freedom would feel like when it came. He had not known if he would feel anything at all, but the realization now settled upon him.

Toret was dead.

Chane's smile vanished.

He was injured and homeless and certainly unwelcome at the sages' guild. The dhampir and her people, as well as the sages, now knew his identity, and it would not be long before others would hear of it as well.

"Wynn," he whispered.

Chane wandered the dark streets. All that remained were belongings he could carry, if he reached the house. He could no longer stay in Bela.

Between the deep slash on his knee, the hole in his chest, and the burning wound in his back where Wynn had shot him, he could not face another conflict. His rat would still be in its cage on his desk. As he stood out back, near the servants' entrance, he reached into the animal's limited mind and listened. The house was quiet and still. Drawing his sword, he entered the open back door, and listened on his own.

Nothing. The house seemed to be empty.

He walked through the dining chamber, past Tihko's body on the table and around the wolf's corpse. When he came upon the parlor, there was Sapphire's headless, velvet-clad body lying in a pool of congealing black fluids. He turned back to the stairs and downward into the cellar.

He reeked of the sewers and so changed his clothing first, then quickly packed what belongings he could into a small chest and sack. He had hidden some money in a purse behind a drawer in his desk. On his desk sat a small cold lamp that Wynn had given to him. Taking the crystal out, he fingered it for a moment and slipped it into his cloak. He packed only his most necessary texts and materials, and remembered the day his mother had given him his first book on metaphysics. He wondered if it might still be in his room at home in their manor to north.

Tonight he said good-bye to the only existence he had known since the night Toret had raised him from death. He had never thought of returning to the family keep, but realized that as well was now left behind forever. Finally, he took the rat from its cage and slipped it into the cloak's pocket. With one hand, he grabbed both the sack and small chest, a strap about its girth, and left his room.

Out in the cellar again, he stared up the stairs as he heard booted feet walking slowly on the floor above.

Chane set his baggage down and drew his sword as he climbed the steps. Reaching the exit to the main floor, he slipped the rat out the door and directed it along the wall to the dining chamber.

Through the rodent's eyes, he expected to see city guards come to check on the hunter's story, or perhaps her half-blood returning for some reason. Instead, he saw that Toret's visitor with black hair and white temples stood examining the dead raven upon the table.

Chane tried to sense him through his familiar but felt nothing. It was as if the man were an illusion, not truly there. He watched the stranger idly poke the wolf's corpse with the toe of his boot and then walk down to the parlor. Chane followed, sending the rat along the hallway wall. The visitor stared only a moment at Sapphire's body.

The stranger inspected the whole house, stopping only briefly to note Tibor's body and severed head on the second floor. When it was apparent he was heading for the cellar, Chane slipped quietly into the hidden door at the bottom of the stairs and waited.

It took more time for the rat to catch up, but when it did, the man was in Chane's room. He glanced at the empty cage, paged through several texts, and then picked up Chane's sewer-soaked clothes from the floor. He frowned and dropped them.

When the stranger's inspection was finished, he went back up to the parlor and studied Sapphire's body. Chane had no idea what this man wanted, but there was purpose to his inspection. When the stranger headed for the front door, Chane set a simple task into the rat's thoughts with an image of the man.

Follow-watch.

Chane pulled out of the familiar's mind and waited until he was certain the stranger was well away from the house. Then he climbed to the main floor and slipped through the rear kitchen door.

Magiere sat numbly upon the sage's kitchen table, her armor removed and her ruined shirtsleeve cut away. Domin Tilswith carefully spread oily salve across her shoulder, arm, and leg. Neither the old man's comforting presence nor the salve did anything for the turmoil of her thoughts.

If this night's suffocating revelations settled in her mind all at once, she wouldn't be able to keep from screaming-or weeping.

Leesil hovered near, asking if he could do anything.

Wynn kept pushing him out of the way as she assisted the older sage. Chap sat at the floor before her, looking up intently. Every now and then, his tail twitched.

Apparently, Vatz was still at the guard barracks. Once he arrived with Magiere's message, Captain Chetnik had forced him to stay inside for his own safety. It seemed the captain had been more successful than she in getting the little whelp to obey.

Magiere gazed around the kitchen at the herbs and pots hanging everywhere, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the cold lamps hung about for good light. She looked at Leesil's pleasant, tan face, and knew she should be glad, at least in part. They'd taken two undeads and managed to survive. Leesil had the heads for proof.

But proof of what? Chesna's murderer had escaped, as had Chane, making Magiere little more than the charlatan who once bedazzled peasants out of their last coins.

While Wynn dressed her wounded leg, the young sage talked feverishly with the domin in their own language. All wounds finally tended, Tilswith smiled at Magiere.