Dalan and Tristam followed Seren, moving down the street in a close group. The guard patrol paid them no mind, continuing their slow path toward the jail. They rounded a corner onto a more sparsely populated street. A patrol of six mounted guardsmen trotted toward them from the other end of the street.
“Same as before,” Seren said. “Just try to walk past.”
They walked in a loosely knit group, casting only casual looks toward the soldiers. Tristam felt a sense of unease as the Cyrans drew closer.
When they were only forty feet away, he noticed the amethyst wand tucked under the leader’s belt.
“Get down!” Tristam shouted, drawing his own wand and unleashing a cone of brilliant white lightning at the soldiers just as they began to aim their crossbows.
The lightning scattered the soldiers, blasting them from their horses. The townspeople screamed and scattered. The leader scowled as the magical energy washed around him, crackling off an invisible shield. Lightning burned his horse from beneath him, forcing him to leap to the street. He let his disguise fade, resuming his original form as he rose. Dalan swore and ducked behind a stack of rain barrels. Seren drew her stolen crossbow, eyes wide with fear.
“No tricks, Xain?” Marth asked calmly. “No desperate escape? No friend to save you?”
“Seren, get away,” Tristam whispered. “Take Dalan and run.”
“He’ll kill you, Tristam,” she answered.
“Do it!” he snapped. “Get out of here!”
“Yes, Miss Morisse,” Marth said. “Please begone.” He swept his wand in a broad arc, unleashing a volley of roaring flame toward Seren. She rolled backward as the blast exploded at her feet, hurling her against the wall of a church.
Tristam swore and blasted his wand at Marth again. The changeling’s shield wavered but held. Marth’s laugh died as Tristam leapt through the brilliant distraction, drawing his sword and slashing downward. Marth ducked to one side, catching Tristam’s wrist from his awkward swing. He struck Tristam hard across the face, a flash of green light exploding from the butt of his wand. Tristam staggered backward, sword toppling from his hand.
Marth caught Tristam’s sword easily and advanced. He slashed the air, leaving a trail of red across the boy’s chest as Tristam dodged away. Tristam quickly drew a bottle from his coat and drank the contents, vanishing.
The changeling chuckled, peering around with a bemused expression. “Your skill has advanced since our last meeting,” Marth said. “It doesn’t matter if I cannot see you. You cannot touch me.” He whispered, and the air shimmered around him. Transparent, whirling blades surrounded Marth on all sides. “I need not strike you. I know where your weaknesses lie.” He aimed his wand toward the wall where Seren had fallen.
She was gone. He glanced around in irritation, only to see Dalan helping the injured girl limp away down the alley. He aimed his wand just as another cloud of smoke erupted, enveloping the alleyway and robbing Marth of his target. Images of Tristam Xain now stood on each side of Marth, both aiming their wands at the changeling.
“Arrogant,” Marth said. “You believe you can deceive me while you still carry my ring?” Without hesitation, Marth aimed at the one to his left, firing a blast of green flame. The illusion exploded in a cloud of sulfurous pink smoke, rolling over Marth and biting into his eyes.
Tristam ran as his illusion faded. He whispered a word of command and felt the infusions in boots activate, carrying him swiftly away. As he circled the end of the block, he found Dalan and Seren waiting for him.
“Seren, are you hurt?” he asked quickly.
“Just winded,” she said. “What about you?”
“Keep running,” he answered, pulling them along beside him.
“What happened to Marth?” Dalan asked.
“He found a rotten egg with a golden ring inside,” Tristam answered. He patted his hip. “I lost my sword.”
“We’ll find you an axe, lumberjack,” Seren said.
They ran through the gates of New Cyre. The bored guards looked up in confusion and returned to their dice game. Tristam drew a short tube from his coat and fired it into the air, leaving a trail of red smoke across the sky. Only seconds later a ring of blue flame rose from the southern cliffs and flew swiftly toward them. They kept running, keeping a sharp eye behind for any sign of pursuit. Tristam followed Seren and Dalan up the docking ladder. He watched the city until the bay hatches closed, his wand still clutched in one hand.
“What happened down there?” Ijaac asked. He glanced at them with a worried expression as he folded the ladder.
“Marth,” Tristam said.
“Captain Gerriman, get us out of here!” Dalan shouted. “Plot us a course due east.”
“Aye, Master d’Cannith,” the gnome replied. The airship banked and accelerated.
“That was quite the duel, Xain,” Dalan said, clapping Tristam on the shoulder. “I was impressed. I suspect the next time you meet with our Captain Marth that the outcome shall not be so-”
Dalan’s congratulations ended abruptly as Seren slapped Dalan across the face. She seized the guild master by the throat, pushing him against the wall and drawing her dagger.
“Well, that was unexpected,” Ijaac observed.
“Not really,” Tristam said in a tired voice.
“I hate crew drama,” Ijaac mumbled.
“This is an odd way to thank me for carrying you out of that alley, Miss Morisse,” Dalan said. He smiled through bloody lips and looked at the knife nervously.
“I warned you,” she hissed. “I told you what would happen if you hurt him again.” She pressed the knife against his stomach.
“Idiot girl, I have done everything to prevent Tristam from being harmed,” Dalan snapped, his voice now sharp and serious. “Now sheathe that blade before you do something all of us will regret.”
“Seren, please,” Tristam said. “Host knows I’ve wanted to kill Dalan a time or two but this isn’t the answer.”
“I’ll just go check if lunch is ready …” Ijaac said, quietly tiptoeing out of the hold.
Seren released Dalan and stepped back, sheathing her knife. “Talk,” she said. “Why did that assassin know your name?”
“Another shadow from my checkered past,” Dalan said. “Shaimin also knew Marth, and owes him a favor. This favor resulted in his current employment-the hunt of Tristam Xain. While you were away in the Frostfell, Shaimin came to me seeking an exchange of information.”
“What kind of information?” Tristam asked.
“The details are irrelevant,” Dalan said, glancing at Seren. “Suffice it to say that he is unhappy with his assignment. Shaimin may be a killer, but he is not part of Marth’s plans. Since I knew that you would not be returning from the Frostfell for some time, that left Shaimin with little to do. I hired him to come here and investigate in New Cyre.”
“You hired my assassin?” Tristam asked, shocked.
“Please, Tristam, don’t overreact,” Dalan said. “I didn’t hire Shaimin to kill anyone. The Thuranni are spies as well as killers. He was instructed to investigate something on my behalf, and to free me when Marth’s pawns attempted to capture me.”
“You knew Tristam’s killer would be here and you didn’t warn us?” Seren asked.
Dalan looked very tired. “I did, in fact, warn Tristam,” he said. “You replied that Seren was more than adequate protection. Need I remind you that you were correct?”
Tristam felt foolish and angry at once. “Why didn’t you tell me that Shaimin spoke to you?” he asked finally.
“Why didn’t you tell me everything you saw in the Frostfell?” Dalan asked. “I know that you have concealed something that weighs heavily upon you. I don’t care. I trust you to use your discoveries wisely.”
Tristam didn’t say anything. Seren looked at him, worried.
“That’s different,” Tristam said finally. “There were things in Zul’nadn that none of you would understand.”
“It is no different at all,” Dalan said. “You know that, Tristam. Do not pretend your secrets are more justified than mine.”