With his back turned to her where he sat on the bench, reins in hand, she still saw his hood was half pulled down. Over his head was an old, green scarf that held back long, white-blond hair. She had seen that scarf once before.
The sight of Léshil flushed Én’nish with sudden heat.
The sage stepped to the wagon bed’s rear, patting her thigh, and the black majay-hì leaped up to join her. The greimasg’äh followed, and Én’nish heard the flick of reins. The wagon rolled away behind the waterfront, heading north through the city’s bay side.
Én’nish grew more confused and anxious with each heartbeat.
The wagon could only be heading for the city’s northern gate, but where were Magiere, Osha, the girl called Leanâlhâm, and the deviant majay-hì they called Chap? Most Aged Father wanted prisoners for questioning, but the primary need was to capture Magiere. Why would Brot’ân’duivé try to escape with only Léshil, the sage, and the younger majay-hì?
Én’nish locked eyes with Rhysís. They had to act now while Brot’ân’duivé remained in sight. All they need do was kill him from above, or at least incapacitate him. They would then gain Léshil and the sage as hostages.
She longed to kill Léshil, but she accepted that he would be a valuable bargaining tool. Most Aged Father’s given purpose came first, but there would come a time for revenge. She nodded to Rhysís.
Rhysís stood up, notching an arrow and drawing it back. In a blink, they would never again have to watch their own shadows for a traitor. Rhysís grew still, turning so slowly as he tracked his target. The bowstring released.
Én’nish’s gaze flicked to the street below.
The arrow struck Brot’ân’duivé dead center between his shoulder blades.
The greimasg’äh fell back, tumbling off the wagon’s rear to flop facedown on the cobblestones. The sage cried out, and Léshil heaved on the reins. But his own words were lost in the sharp hiss of another arrow from Rhysís’s bow.
The second arrow struck Brot’ân’duivé’s back directly above the first and over his heart.
Én’nish instantly drew her bone knife and set its hooked point into the roof’s edge. She swung over the edge, feeling for any purchase with her foot to quickly reach the street. She dropped, still too high up, hit the cobblestones, and rolled. When she was up again, she waited only long enough for Rhysís to follow.
She heard more shouting and saw the wagon turn a corner. Frantic, she drew a stiletto with her other hand and bolted up the street. In that instant, she lost focus on her purpose. Even Léshil slipped from her mind at the sight of the greimasg’äh lying still in the street.
Two arrows in his back were not enough for all those whom the traitor had killed. Neither she nor Rhysís or any of them would find relief until an anmaglâhk blade was thrust true through Brot’ân’duivé’s heart. Then they would leave him to rot in the stench of this human city of dead stone, far from living trees and the burial ground of their people. And when Léshil followed that traitor into death, Én’nish’s beloved Grôyt’ashia could finally find peace among the spirits of their ancestors.
Én’nish slowed to creep in upon Brot’ân’duivé’s body, her eyes fixed on the arrows protruding from his back. Suddenly it was not enough to make certain he was finished. She wanted to look into his face a last time, to see those scars that marred his flesh as much as treachery marred his spirit.
“What are you doing?” Rhysís whispered. “The others will elude us!”
Still, she reached down.
With her stiletto poised, she gripped the shoulder of Brot’ân’duivé’s cloak and tunic and jerked. Both arrows snapped as he flopped over, but another clatter drew her eye as the greimasg’äh’s cloak fell open.
There was a sword on Brot’ân’duivé’s hip, the sheath’s end having been cut off short and sewn shut with leather laces. She looked to his face and faltered in panic before she could strike.
The face in the hood was not Brot’ân’duivé.
It was human and too pallid for such a quick death. Long features were half obscured by tendrils of red-brown hair. The eyes in that face suddenly opened and narrowed on her.
Én’nish flinched as a hissing rasp escaped his mouth and she stared into irises like colorless glass.
“Chane’s hit!” Wynn screamed out as he’d fallen onto the street.
Almost immediately, the wagon tilted as it rounded the corner too fast.
Wynn tumbled against the side, and Shade lost her own footing. Wynn tried to sit up and look for Chane, but the back of her robe was grabbed from behind. Someone pulled her off her feet and barked “Down!” As her butt hit the wagon’s bed, the wagon lurched to a halt. She barely caught a glimpse of a flapping cloak as the driver vaulted from the bench and ran along the wagon’s bed.
Osha ripped the green scarf from his hair, and it fluttered down upon a wagon sidewall as he leaped out the wagon’s back.
He landed in the outer street, his bow and a black-feathered arrow in hand, and he simply dropped his quiver at his feet. Shade launched off the wagon, as well, stopping at the cutway’s corner as Osha notched his arrow. Wynn scrambled to follow them.
“Where he?” Osha shouted, drawing back the arrow.
Wynn was confused, wondering if they’d lost Chane, but then she knew Osha meant the captain, Rodian.
“We didn’t get far enough,” she answered as she reached the corner and joined Shade.
Back down the street, she spotted Chane trying to get a grip on the smaller anmaglâhk—who kicked out and rolled away across the cobblestones. As that one gained its feet, Wynn thought it might be a woman, but a second one, clearly a male, turned his bow up the street at the sound of voices.
Wynn heard the sharp hiss of a bowstring’s release, but the anmaglâhk hadn’t fired yet. Then ... a black-feathered arrow appeared to sprout below his left collarbone. He yelped, his aim wobbling, and his shot went high as he stumbled backward.
Shade was snarling but did not rush out—perhaps because Osha had already reached down for his quiver and another arrow.
The smaller anmaglâhk shrieked like an animal. She quickly backed toward her crumpling companion and threw a stiletto up the street before Osha had risen from his crouch. Instantly, there was another blade in her hand.
“Osha!” Wynn shouted. “Shade, go!”
Shade bolted out and down the street as Osha pushed off sideways from his crouch. The stiletto snagged in the side of his cloak before he hit the cobblestones. He never slowed and rolled to one knee, trying to draw the second arrow.
The wounded anmaglâhk dropped his bow, ripped out the arrow from his upper chest, and drew his blades as the small one flipped her second stiletto for another throw.
This was all happening too fast, and Wynn saw everything coming apart before her eyes.
“Down there!” came a distant shout from up the street. “You two—round through the next street and cut them off.”
Wynn sucked in air as she looked the other way beyond Osha.
Shyldfälches in red tabards and chain armor came running through the night. Ahead of them was Rodian on his white horse.
Én’nish was lost and stunned, even in fury, at the sight of the pale man inside Brot’ân’duivé’s cloak. Now he was on his feet, a shortsword in hand—and the remains of both arrows still stuck out of his back. She took a quick glance up the street toward the other disguised one ... that had not been Léshil.
Osha stared back at her along the shaft of an arrow drawn in his bow. He did not fire, even as the little sage ran to his side and a shout carried from farther up the street.
“Down there! You two—round through the next street and cut them off.”
Én’nish saw city guards running toward her, one on a white horse quickly outdistancing the others. In horror, she realized this was not just another decoy but a trap. She could not even risk taking her eyes off the pale man to look back at Rhysís, but they both needed to flee. Neither of them could be taken here.