Kitiara thrust the knife back in her boot and stood up.
“Sorry, I don’t have time to kill you today, Princess, but we’ll meet again—you and I.”
The sivak’s clawed feet scraped on the cobblestones. He skidded to a halt and stared at the knights, who, seeing the draconian, shouted and broke into a run.
A wrathful cleric at one end of the alley. Three Solamnic knights at the other.
“This way!” said the sivak, pointing up.
A balcony from a second-story window extended out over the street. Smoke was rolling off the roof, but fire had not yet engulfed the building. The sivak crouched down below the balcony, then gave a convulsive leap. His strong legs propelled him into the air. He had long, skinny arms, and he grasped hold of the balcony’s railing and pulled himself up and over. Leaning down, he extended a clawed hand to Kitiara. She grabbed hold of his wrist and he dragged her up.
The sivak climbed onto the balcony’s rail and balanced precariously. Another, shorter leap carried him to the roof. He dug his claws into the wooden shingles, hung a moment, kicking frantically, then managed to get a leg up. Lying on his belly, he hauled Kitiara after him.
Kit looked back down. One of the knights was bending over Laurana. The other two were staring up at the draconian and Kit, wondering if they should give pursuit. Kit didn’t think they would, and she was right. With hundreds of enemy soldiers roaming the streets, there was no sense wasting precious time chasing after two of them. The cleric—who might have done some damage to them even from a distance—had stopped to tend to Laurana.
The sivak shouted at her, and Kit began to run along the rooftop. From her vantage point, she saw the remaining draconians haring off down the street, not ready to risk their lives when there were easier pickings in other parts of the doomed city. Among them were the troops Kitiara had brought with her.
“Baaz!” The sivak shook his head.
He and Kit took their time, making their way from one rooftop to the next until they ran out of buildings. The sivak could have jumped off at any point, relying on his short, stubby wings to carry him safely to the ground. He stayed with Kit, however, until he found another balcony only a short distance from the roof. From there, Kit easily jumped down to the street.
Though Kit protested that she would be safe enough, the sivak remained by her side.
“I know my way around. I can show you how to get out of the city,” he said, and Kit, who had no idea where she was, accepted his help.
Fires still raged. They would burn until the buildings were consumed, for there was no one to put them out. The red dragons had departed with the coming of night, flying off to rest and gloat over the ease of their victory. Draconians, goblins and human soldiers loyal to the Dark Queen roamed the city, searching for amusement. No one was in command. Highlord Toede had stayed far away from the fighting. He would not come anywhere near Tarsis until he’d been assured there was no danger. If there were officers in the city, no commander would dare try to restrain his forces, who were drunk with liquor and blood, for fear they would turn on him. Not that there were many commanders who would do so. Most were as drunk as, or drunker than, their troops.
“Stupid idea—attacking Tarsis,” the sivak commented.
A drunken goblin lurched into their path. The sivak bashed him on the jaw and kicked the crumpled body off to one side.
“We can’t hold the city,” the sivak went on. “No supply lines. Two days our forces will be here. Maybe three. Then we’ll be forced to pull out.”
He glanced at Kitiara and said slyly, “Unless, of course, this attack was your idea, Highlord. Then I’ll say it was sheer genius.”
Kit shook her head. “No, this wasn’t my idea. It was hatched from the seething brain of your Highlord.”
The sivak looked momentarily confused.
“Toede,” said Kitiara. “Highlord of the Red Dragonarmy.” She gestured to the insignia the sivak wore on his harness. Then, looking at it more closely, Kit grinned.
The two had reached the city gate. The sivak came to a halt. He was looking back toward the city, probably with an idea of returning to claim his share of what riches remained.
“Except you’re not with the Red Dragonarmy, are you?” Kitiara said.
“Huh?” The sivak jerked his head back to face her. “Sure I am,” he said, pointing to the insignia.
“It’s upside down,” Kit said dryly.
“Oh,” returned the sivak, and he gave a sheepish grin and righted it. “That better?”
“If they catch you, they’ll hang you. That’s what they do to deserters.”
“I didn’t desert.” The sivak waved a claw. “My commander and I heard about the attack on Tarsis, thought there might be some profit in it. We decided we’d bring the boys by to take a look, see what we could pick up.”
“Who is your commander?”
“You know, in all the excitement, I seem to have forgotten his name,” said the sivak, scratching his head and grinning. “Don’t get me wrong, Highlord. We do our part for the Queen, but we figure she won’t begrudge us making a bit of profit on our own. We’re what you might call independent contractors. We make certain we get something more out of this war than maggot-ridden rations and latrine duty.”
He cocked an eye at her. “You gonna try to arrest me, Highlord?”
Kitiara laughed. “Not after what we’ve been through tonight. You have served me well. You can go back to your commander. I’ll be safe enough from here on. My camp is not far. Thanks for your help.”
She held out her hand. “I hope you don’t mind telling me your name?”
“Slith, my lord,” said the sivak. After some hesitation, he extended his clawed hand.
“Good to meet you, Slith. I am—”
“The Blue Lady. Everyone knows you, ma’am.” Slith spoke in admiring tones.
The two shook, hand and claw, then the sivak turned and headed back toward the rubble, blood, and ash that had once been Tarsis.
“Hey, Slith,” Kit called after him, “if you ever stop being an independent contractor, come work for me!”
The sivak laughed, turned and waved, but kept on going.
Kitiara started walking. The plains stretched ahead of her. The night was dark and silent here, far from the chaos inside the city. The snow crunching beneath her boots was black with soot and ash. Furtive shadows slipped through the night around her—survivors lucky enough to have escaped Tarsis.
Kit let them be.
3
Saving the kender. Escape from Tarsis
When he left the library, Brian did not expect to make it out of Tarsis alive. He expected to face a well-organized and determined foe, such as the forces of the Blue Lady they had faced at Castle Crownguard and Vingaard, and he resolved to die bravely and take as many draconians with him as possible. Instead, what he and the other knights found when they went into the streets was a drunken, leaderless mob, far more interested in plundering and looting, murdering and raping, than in conquest.
The red dragons posed the biggest threat, and while they were in the skies, breathing down fire upon the city and its hapless inhabitants, the knights were in danger. They sought shelter from the beasts as best they could, ducking into doorways or diving under rubble as the dragons roared overhead, spewing flame, occasionally snatching up some hapless person in their claws and devouring him in midair.
Friend and enemy were both in danger from the dragons, for the reds had no compunction about blistering goblin hide or watching draconians sizzle. At one point, Brian hid beneath a smoldering oak tree alongside a quaking goblin, neither of them daring to move as a red dragon swooped low, searching for more victims. When the dragon had gone, the goblin took a gulp of some liquid from a greasy leather water skin, and, after a moment’s hesitation, offered Brian a drink. Brian should have probably slain the creature, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The two had shared a moment of terror, and both had survived. Brian politely refused the drink and waved his hand, indicating the goblin could depart. The goblin shrugged, and after a wary glance, he gave Brian a nod, then took to his heels. Derek spent the next ten minutes lecturing Brian sternly on his foolish sentimentality.