Erik de Bie - Downshadow

Araezra looked over Rath's shoulder.

"What say you?" The dwarf eased his grasp so she could just choke out words.

"Pick… it… up," Araezra said.

Rath looked back, and there stood Kalen Dren.

Kalen had trailed Fayne through the streets as best he could, but she was like a devil to follow. She would vanish around a corner and appear elsewhere, a dozen paces to one side or another. Eventually he lost her entirely.

Perhaps it was good riddance-to be free of whatever scheme she'd concocted for the revel-bur in truth, no small part of him wanted to see her again. To finish whar they'd started.

But duty came before beguiling lasses who showed up at his door unannounced, and so he made his way to the barracks. Araezra was hot in any of her usual haunts-her office, the commons, the training yard-and Kalen was a little relieved. He didn't feel like facing her, and if duty had called her away before he got the chance, then so be it. After Talanna had been hurt, he didn't feel like he could lie to Araezra anymore.

He reached the unlatched door of the Room of Records-just a little ajar, so he could see inside-and froze. Rath was inside, holding Araezra captive.

At first, neither of them noticed his appearance, so he kept to the shadows and stood, unmoving, in the doorway. He was not wearing Shadowbane's leathers and cloak, but the Guard uniform was black and he could use that to his advantage. He called upon the lessons he'd learned firsr in Luskan-how to stand still and silent-and thought hard.

Kalen's instinct was to strike, but he suppressed it. Rath held Araezra at such an angle that if Kalen stepped forward, the surprise could prove fatal for her. With his training as a thief, Kalen could kill the dwarf in one, fast blow, but he could not cross the room without one or the other noting him. The silver glow of Vindicator illumined the room enough for that.

Neither could he cry out for guards-as Araezra would surely die in the confusion. And if he went to get aid quietly, he would be abandoning his friend to death.

He had to do something, though. He had He had no sword. The scabbard at his belt was empty.

How had he forgotten that? He had dropped the blade when he brought Myrin back, and never retrieved it. He'd even walked past the barracks armory on his way, coughing and feigning weakness as always. He could reclaim Vindicator, but surely moving the light source would alert Rarh.

Think, he told himself. Think.

But nothing came. He was the weakling Kalen Dren who could barely hold a sword, much less fight with it. There was so little he could do. The dwarf had been too much for him at his prime as Shadowbane, armed and on even ground. If he attacked now, in any way, Rath would kill them both. If it were just himself, he might take Tymora's chance, but it was Rayse.

He felt helpless. He could not attack, could not flee, and if he revealed himself…

That was it.

Making sure to hunch as usual, Kalen stepped forward, out of the shadows, and coughed-softly, but distinctly.

Araezra's eyes danced with stars, but she clearly saw a figure step out of the shadows and into the silvery light: Kalen! His hand was not a dagger's length from Shadowbane's sword. "Pick… it… up," she said.

Rath looked, and a smile spread across his face, particularly at the stooped way Kalen stood, and his empty belt. He only smirked as Kalen stood over the silver blade.

"Touch that steel," Rath said, "and I snap your commander's neck."

"Valabrar," Kalen corrected, in his damnably precise manner.

What are you doing? Araezra thought at him.

"Speak thus, again," Rath said. "I do not understand."

"She is a valabrar. To explain"-Kalen gestured to the two gauntlets on his breastplate-"two, for vigilant. Araezra wears five for a valabrar. One would be a rrusty, three a shieldlar-"

"Silence," the dwarf said. "If you wish this Araezra to live, down any weapons you carry, shut the door, and do only as I say."

Kalen inclined his head, the way he did whenever an instruction was given. Not taking his eyes from Rath, he slid the door quietly shut. He spread his hands to show them empty.

"Kneel," Rath said. "There-where you will block the door."

Kalen did so without argument, sinking to his knees.

Araezra wanted to scream at him. Burn him, what was Kalen doing?

The dwarf smiled at Araezra, and she could smell the brandy on his breath. "What a finely trained mastiff you have," he murmured.

"Let him go," Araezra said. "Don't hurt him. I'll do whatever you want."

"Such as?" A bemused fire lit in the dwarf s eye, as though she had reminded him of a private jest. "What could you possibly offer me?"

"Me." The word tasted like wormwood in her mouth. "I'm beautiful, did you not say it?"

Rath smirked.

Then he hauled Araezra away from the wall and threw het to the floor near the desk as though she were an empty tunic. Her head knocked againsr the stout darkwood and her vision blurred. She reached to pull herself up, but the dwarf caught her hand-her sword hand- and twisted it. A crackle of bones sounded and her wrist exploded in pain. She uttered a screech that did not reach any volume, because he kicked her in the belly and blew any air from her body. The scream became a wet sob.

Kalen was saying something.

The dwarf looked at Kalen then. "I did not hear you, trained dog," he said.

"You should flee this place," Kalen observed in his indifferent manner. "You can accomplish nothing here."

The dwarf lunged across the distance between them and stood over Kalen, one hand grasping him by the brown-black hair that hung messily in his eyes. "Why, dog?" he asked. "Do you offer me a threat?"

Kalen's eyes did not leave Rath's, and he shook his head. "Only a fact," he said. "You are in the heart of our barracks, and a cry will call more Watchmen than you can defeat alone."

Araezra realized Kalen was distracting Rath. She flexed her wristbroken, but she'd trained left-handed as well. She could still wield a sword, albeit poorly. She looked to the silvery blade on the floor. But it was nearer Kalen than herself, and he could not fight, could he?

Would he? She wondered.

"You can slay both of us, but you cannot silence both of us at the same moment." Kalen continued. "Thus, if you kill either of us, the other can cry out and you will die."

The dwarf did not blink, but the look on his face told Araezra he had counted the guards he had bypassed. "Why not call for them now?" he asked.

"Our bargain," Kalen said. "You leave this place and do not harm either of us, and we will not cry out. No one need die."

Araezra gasped and coughed, as her breathing once again became normal. "Kalen…"

He ignored her and stared at Rath, who seemed to be considering.

Then the dwarfs fingers touched the edge of Kalen's jaw, caressing it softly and gently-like a lover, and like death. "Very well, dog," said Rath. "But I want to hear you beg."

Kalen cast his eyes down.

"Beg for mercy," Rarh said with a cruel smile.

When Kalen spoke, his voice hardly rose above a whisper. "Please," he said. "Please."

"Kalen…" Araezra couldn't believe it. The Kalen she loved did not beg.

Rath sniffed. "You call yourself a man, and yet you take the coward's path," he said. He looked at Araezra. "Your mastiff is not a hound, my lady, but a mongrel bitch."

Kalen's eyes, gleaming pale at Araezra, seemed very, very cold in that silvery light.

Araezra rubbed her bruised rhroat. "Choose, dwarf," she said. "I have a good scream in me yet, and weak as he is, I've no doubt Vigilant Dren can muster such a cry."

Rath looked from her ro Kalen and back. Then he snorted.

"Very well." He hauled Kalen up, and to his credit, the man barely coughed. "Know that your cowardice falls beneath the weakest pup, for even such a cur can fight when cornered."