They were almost to the door when it opened, and Sorak came in.
Edric stopped, cursing under his breath. Cricket saw Sorak’s gaze quickly sweep the room, and then focus on them. He drew his sword. In an instant, several bouncers moved toward him, but Cricket yelled out, “No!”
All eyes turned toward them. Edric jerked her arm up painfully behind her back and pressed the edge of the dagger under her chin. All conversation stopped. A moment later, so did the music. Everyone quickly moved back out of the way except the bouncers, who stood watching alertly, tensely, unsure what to do.
Sorak gave them a quick glance. “Stay out of it,” he said. “He’s mine.”
“Move aside. Nomad,” Edric said, urging Cricket forward. “Back off if you want the girl to live!”
“And if you kill her, then what?” Sorak asked, moving closer, staring at Edric intently.
“Then you will have another death on your conscience,” Edric said. “The priestess died because of you. You want this girl to die on your account as well?”
“The only one who’s going die here is you,” said Sorak, still coming toward them.
“Stop right there!” said Edric. “One more step, elfling, and I’ll cut her throat!”
“Go ahead,” said Sorak, advancing. “Try.”
Edric tried to press the blade in closer, to draw blood and show that he meant business, but he suddenly discovered his hand would not respond. He tried again, but his entire arm began to tremble as he strained against a strong, invisible force. It was as if his own muscles resisted him.
Sorak simply stood there, staring at him, concentrating, and suddenly Edric understood what was happening. The Nomad was using psionic force against him.
Fear shot through him as he realized he was powerless to resist. He grunted, straining against the force, and Cricket held her breath as she saw the dagger trembling before her, just below her chin. But slowly, steadily, it moved away.
Edric’s wrist cocked as he fought against the pull, and the dagger blade pointed back toward him. His arm shook, and slowly started to bring the point closer to his face.
With a cry, Edric released his grip on her arm, and as she lunged away, he grabbed his right wrist with his left hand in an attempt to keep the knife away. Then he stumbled, off balance, as the force abruptly went away. The bouncers started to move in, but Sorak turned his blade toward them.
“I said, stay back!” he cautioned. “I’ll kill the first man who tries to interfere.”
“We want no trouble here, friend,” one of the bouncers said. “Take your quarrel outside.”
“No,” said Sorak. “He dies here and now.”
Cricket cried out; Edric had snatched up a chair and hurled it at Sorak’s head. Sorak ducked aside, and the chair missed him. Several of the bouncers cut off the elf’s retreat. Edric glared about, panicked, but there was no escape.
Sorak glanced down at his sword. “No,” he said. “This would be too easy. And too quick.” He sheathed it.
Edric lunged.
Sorak drew the broken blade. It sparkled with a blue aura as he blocked the knife thrust, turning it aside and sidestepping in one smooth motion. He slashed Edric with a sharp, upward sweep of his arm. The elf cried out and brought a hand up to his ear, which was only a bleeding hole. It had been neatly severed, and blood poured down the side of his face.
He came in with a cry, slashing wildly.
Cricket watched with horrified fascination as Sorak danced aside, and the broken blade flicked in once more, opening a deep gash across Edric’s face. The Shadow screamed and staggered as the crowd surged back, giving the combatants plenty of room, but shouting their encouragement, all the same. Rather than trying to stop the fight, the bouncers worked to keep bystanders out of the way.
Edric lunged in again, and Sorak’s blade rang dully on his obsidian one as a piece of Edric’s knife flew off. Once more, Sorak followed his parry with a lightning slash, opening a deep cut in Edric’s shoulder. Edric backpedaled, staring with dismay at his obsidian dagger. The point had been knocked off.
Sorak reached down and pulled a steel dagger from his boot. “Here, try this,” he said, tossing it to him.
Edric caught it and threw aside his own ruined blade. He was breathing heavily and bleeding profusely from his wounds. His eyes had a wild look. He was overmatched, and there would be no possibility of yielding. The elfling meant to kill him, slowly cutting him to ribbons. A look of determined resignation came into his eyes.
“Finish it,” he said, gasping for breath. “Come on, finish it, you misbegotten half-breed bastard!” And he charged in.
Sorak attempted to sidestep the rush, but Edric anticipated the move and compensated, leaving himself wide open as he stabbed down hard with the dagger. With his free hand, Sorak grabbed Edric’s wrist and simultaneously drove the broken blade into his midsection. Edric gave out a hissing gasp, and his eyes opened very wide. He coughed, and a bloody froth appeared on his lips.
“I salute the Crown of Elves,” he said in a constricted voice, and spat blood into Sorak’s face.
Sorak pulled out the broken blade and stabbed it in once more, directly into Edric’s heart. The Shadow made a brief, gasping noise, then his eyes rolled up, and he died. Sorak shoved him back onto the floor, then wiped the bloody spittle from his face. As he turned and walked away, the crowd parted for him quickly.
Cricket watched him go, then ran up and bent over Edric’s body, retrieving Sorak’s knife from his dead fingers. She hesitated for a moment, then ran after him.
Ankhor stood on the veranda outside his private quarters, looking out over the town as the first faint light of dawn appeared on the horizon. In the distance, he could see flames rising near the market plaza as the fire brigade fought to extinguish the blaze.
The previous evening, Kieran had gone with the house guard to investigate a report of an armed brawl in the shopkeeper’s district. He had been instructed to send a guard back with news of what occurred. Kieran had come back himself to tell him what they’d found.
“The fight took place in the alley by the shop of Lorian the Bootmaker,” he had said. “Lorian himself saw nothing. He wisely stayed inside when he heard the commotion. The alleyway was littered with corpses. All elves, save one, and that one was the priestess, Ryana. Sorak’s lady.” The mercenary’s gaze was hard. “It was an ambush by the Shadows, that much was obvious, but they got far more than they had bargained for.”
“What of Sorak?” Ankhor asked.
“There was no sign of him.”
“Dead, you think?”
Kieran shook his head. “He was seen wandering the streets, wounded, clutching bloody weapons. His current whereabouts remain unknown.”
“A tragedy,” said Ankhor, silently cursing Edric for botching the job.
“Indeed,” said Kieran, keeping his face carefully neutral. “I wonder how the Shadows knew where he would be.”
Ankhor shook his head. “They must have followed him from the caravan plaza. The crowd was large; the raiders could have blended in easily. Sorak must be found. If he is hurt, he may have collapsed somewhere…”
“I have already instructed the guard to comb the streets for him,” said Kieran.
And it was then that they had noticed smoke rising from the rooftops near the merchant plaza. Kieran had departed quickly to investigate.
He sent back word that witnesses reported a mage battle in a tavern, that a number of charred bodies were pulled out of the blaze. One was a female mul. Another was also female, barely recognizable, and legless, but a blackened silver chaplet around her shaved head identified her as a templar of Nibenay, the Shadow King. Witnesses also reported seeing someone leaving the scene. From the descriptions, Kieran knew it was Sorak. His current whereabouts were unknown.