Erik de Bie - Downshadow

Yet he couldn't get past the shadow. It was too strong a guardian-a perfect mate to its mistress, this elf noble with her hidden scars. He pulled back to face it levelly, and held up his daggers to ward it back. The creature ceased its attack and stared at him, and he had the distinct sense that he was gazing at a guardian just as devoted as he.

He hefted a knife to throw. He thought it might pass through the shadow and strike Ilira, distracting her from Rath. He hated the dwarf, but he needed to stop this. «

Then Ilira groaned as the dwarf punched her solidly on the ear-at the same instant, the man-shaped shadow drew back as though struck.

The elf reeled away and Rath rose, his half-blackened face dripping blood. He touched it and winced. His bare hand came away bloody and sticky.

With anger that was the stuff of nightmares written on his face, the dwarf reached down with his unburned hand and pulled his sword free. The blade glittered with its perfect, keen edge.

Kalen had seen such blades on the Dragon Coast, among tradesmen from the east. Katanas, they were often called-light, efficient, and delicate.

Rath crouched to lunge at the shuddering woman. His grimace calmed a little as he focused himself into the blade. Then he leaped.

Kalen darted in front of him, daggers crossed, and caught the sword high.

The slender sword shrieked against his crossed steel, and Kalen thought for one terrible heartbeat that it would shear through them and into his chest. But the steel held, and Rath pressed only another instant-face wrought in agony and rage-before he pulled the sword back, dropped low, and kicked Kalen's legs out from under him. Kalen fell back, colliding heavily with Ilira and falling in a tangled heap. Flesh burned-Kalen's own-but he could not stand. He looked up, saw Rath's sword, and knew he could not block.

A crossbow bolt streaked toward Rath and he swept his blade up to slap it aside.

CeUica.'Kalen saw the halfling near the door, standing protectively over Fayne, who was coughing her way back to awareness. The shot had startled them all-broken the rhythm of the battle. Cellica glared at Rath banefully and reloaded her small crossbow.

Eyes wild with horror, the dwarf touched a trembling hand to his face and moaned. Not bothering to sheathe his sword, he leaped through the open window.

Kalen grasped Ilira to pull her away, but the bare flesh through her ruined gown burned his fingers. It felt distant, that burning, but still powerful-he felt the death inside her.

Ilira moaned and struggled. "No!" she cried. "You're letting him escape!"

Kalen tried to respond but she slammed a knee into his belly and he slumped to the floor, gasping.

Ilira glared at her shadow, and the crearure nodded. Ilira said nothing, only closed her fists tightly. As though in response, the creature melted into the floor and swirled around her feet, joining with her. She srood, panting and heaving, half naked in her torn gown. Blood-Lorien's and Rarh's both, Kalen realized-dripped from her hands.

She glared down at Kalen with a fury and a hate that only an elf-with untold ages stretching behind her and ahead-could know. He crawled backward on the floor, inching away from a lioness that could pounce at any instant. She knelt, meeting Kalen eye to eye, considering.

Two Watchmen burst through the door, swords drawn. "Hold!" they cried. "Down arms!"

The swords pointed first to him, as the man with steel, then at Ilira. Kalen thrust a warding hand toward Cellica, and she cradled Fayne against the wall, hiding her. He opened his hands, daggers hooked between palm and thumb. He rose slowly, trying not to provoke Ilira.

"Hold and talk truth!" cried one Watchman. "What happened here?" His gaze roved to the corpse of the priestess, then to Ilira, kneeling with bloody hands and wrists. "Merciful gods!"

The elf turned baleful eyes toward them and they winced.

"Hold!" the armored man said. "Down arms! Down… hands!"

Uncaring, Ilira rose and started toward the window, but Kalen moved to block her.

"Stay, Lady," Kalen said. "None of us are certain what happened here."

"Calm yourself," Cellica said with her suggestive voice. Turning against her will, Ilira raised her hands to her ears, her face contorred. "Stay calm, Lady-calm…"

With a roar, Ilira threw her hands out wide. "Enough!" She gave Kalen a sharp glare, and words died on his tongue as though her will had struck him a solid blow. Her eyes glowed gold-yellow from within the shadows that enwrapped her like mist. Darkness roiled in her-a cruel, terrible darkness.,» Her shadow did not follow her movements. While she stood calmly, it thrashed and clawed on the floor, as though in agony.

Then she laughed-half crazed, half terrified. The mocking cackle-perfect and terrible as the voice of a singer drowning in madness-chilled him to the bone. "You want to pierce me, is that it?" the elf asked, her words wry. She glared at the Watchmen and ran her bloody hands along her hips, pulling the silk gown up past her knees. Her gaze grew alluring and dangerous. "You and any of a thousand men-little boys with your swords."

Shadows lengthened-the Watchmen shivered. Kalen saw them looking at her writhing shadow, their faces white as cream.

"Lady." Kalen lowered his daggers. "Lady, no one will harm you."

Ilira shook her head dazedly, and some of her darkness fell away as though the shadows that surrounded her were tangible.

"I am Waterdeep Guard," Kalen said. "Calm yourself, and we shall-"

"Shut up!" she snapped, startling him. Angry tears burst forth to stream down her face. "Stay away from me. Away!"

Kalen raised his steel once more. "Lady Ilira, please-"

She loosed a strangled cry of rage and pain, then ran toward the window. Lunging forward, Kalen shouted at her to stop, but she ran straight into the wall-or would have, had not the shadows swallowed her. He staggered to a halt, startled and disbelieving. She had cast no spell-used no magic that he knew of.

"A shade," said one of the Watchmen. "Did you see her eyes? Lady Ilira's a shade!"

"Gods above," said the other. "No other explanation-hold!"

When Kalen moved, they perked up and leveled their war steel at him.

Kalen put his hands out wide-peaceful. He looked to Cellica and to Fayne, whom the halfling clutched near the wall. An ugly bruise was seeping across Fayne's face where the dwarf had struck her.

He realized Fayne was looking hard at where Ilira had vanished, and her eyes twinkled.

You and any of a thousand men…

Kalen shivered. If Kalen didn't get Fayne out soon…

The Watchmen were pointing steel at them.

He had no choice.

He raised his hands to the sides of his helm.

Boots sounded on the steps without, and Cellica saw Kalen shake himself from his stupor. She heard shouts from outside and a great clamor, but her eyes locked on Kalen.

"Hold!" said the Watchman, but Kalen ripped off his helm. Fayne inhaled sharply.

"Vigilant Dren!" They scrambled ro salute. "Care for this mess," he said. "I'm sure she won't be back, but 'ware Ilira's hands-they burn." He started to don his helm, then stopped. He added, "Her kiss, too."

"Sir!" a Watchman cried. "What passed here? Who killed-" Kalen shook his head, and Fayne realized that he didn't know. When he arrived, Lorien was already dying, and Ilira had been closest to her.

Fayne's heart raced. What did he think had happened? Kalen gestured to Fayne and Cellica. "These two are wirh me." One Watchman stiffened and nodded. "Sir," he said. The other was openly weeping over the slain priestess. "We'll ward this place, as you command."

Kalen returned their salute then pushed past them, out the door onto the balcony. He carried his helm. Fayne opened her mouth to speak, but Kalen's cold eyes froze her tongue. She snatched up her clothes, which lay next to the bathtub, now wet from all the commotion.