Барб Хенди - First and Last Sorcerer

Osha stayed low as he crept around to the chimney’s back, facing the roof’s inland edge. About to drop into the cutway and head for the chosen place to meet the others, he looked back one last time ... and stalled.

Across the mainway along the rooftop silhouettes, something moved beneath the moonlight, silently running deeper into the city’s northern reaches. In less than a breath, it leaped as if vaulting a narrow street or alley somewhere below. The noise of the guards down the mainway had faded, but even so, Osha never heard the shadow land on the next rooftop.

Nor did it slow in doing so.

He did not know who the shadow was, but he knew what it was by its ways and movement.

Anmaglâhk.

Somewhere in this city, it was still possible that Brot’ân’duivé sought his own pursuits. If he yet lived, there would have been no chance to seek him out—not that Osha wished to—while striving to free the others.

But Brot’ân’duivé would never be seen in the open like that running shadow.

And Osha remembered something the domin had said.

There had been two light-haired elves among those who had captured his long-lost friends. At the time Ghassan had mentioned this, Osha and Wynn had wondered ... but this was a large continent with its own population of elves.

Osha rose in panic upon the rooftop. Any remnants of doubt vanished.

After all that had been done to cut off Dänvârfij and her team, they had tracked Magiere and Léshil to this city. One of them was now in sight—likely male to judge by its height—and was not going in the direction Wynn’s group had traveled.

An anmaglâhk outnumbered would wait and follow or seek others to assist. If this messenger succeeded, more of Dänvârfij’s team would soon descend upon the others ... upon Wynn.

Osha dropped from the roof’s edge, landing so hard in the cutway that he had to tuck and roll. Rising with his legs and one shoulder aching, he bolted across the mainway, without even looking for guards, and scrambled up another building to rise and search the night.

And he saw the shadow even farther away.

There was no time for stealth as he raced over the top of the city. Everyone else was in danger, including helpless Leanâlhâm ... including Wynn.

As he ran, he reached over his shoulder and felt for an arrow without a thread ridge, one with only a steel tip. Gripping that, he hesitated for a half breath. A trained anmaglâhk could hear an arrow coming and evade it, especially in the quiet of the night. He pinched the thread-ridged arrow between his last two fingers and also grabbed a different one—without a ridge—between his first two fingers.

He now held one arrow with a Chein’âs white metal head and one of plain steel.

Osha halted, quickly drew back the steel-headed arrow, and fired.

He aimed slightly low and left to catch his target in the thigh and hobble it. If the arrow hit by chance, that would be enough to halt his target’s flight. As the arrow left the bow, he drew back the white-tipped arrow and fired again—the first to mask the sound of the second in flight.

In that instant, Leanâlhâm broke through Osha’s thoughts of Wynn.

He had left her to Léshil, Magiere, and Chap. He had believed they of all people could keep her safe from harm, even in the company of Brot’ân’duivé after the loyalists had been cut off. She had not been safe after all, but imprisoned in a foreign land. The greimasg’äh had escaped that same fate ... and left Leanâlhâm there.

One blink after Osha had fired the first arrow, the shadow lurched to the right.

This did not matter; that was where he had aimed the second arrow.

A bit of white glinted in the dark as moonlight caught on a thin line of metal ... like an anmaglâhk blade. Wynn was now somewhere below in the streets and unaware of pursuit.

Osha instinctively twitched his grip on the bow.

Beneath the leather wrap in his grip hid another gift of the Chein’âs: a white metal bow handle to match the head of the second arrow. Out in the dark, that arrow shifted in flight as his aim instinctively fixed dead center upon the shadow.

He never heard it strike.

The shadow’s silhouette suddenly twitched, convulsed, and toppled. He heard it fall to the roof and slide. Then came the distant sound of cloth tearing. In the silence that followed, Osha remained rigid in place, until he heard the body’s impact upon a street somewhere below.

Osha stood frozen and could not lower the bow. A flickering image of Wynn overlaid the one of a shadow convulsing in the dark. Both visions burned into his mind, and he grew sick, began shuddering, and fought to keep his feet.

His first kill—which he had never wanted—was one of his former caste.

* * *

...what are you ... why have you come ... who do you serve?

...no one left to trust ... no one will come for you ...

...all are locked away or fled ... you are alone ... forever ...

That whispering chorus echoed out of memories in Magiere’s head. She was barely aware of being dragged through night streets she didn’t recognize. Even the pain of her torn wrists, feeling as if they were still manacled, wasn’t enough to shut out those whispers.

“Magiere, please!”

That voice was louder than the others. It pierced her right ear, as if she had actually heard it.

“Help me ... try to move your feet ... and walk.”

It was so familiar, that voice. It taunted her, but she couldn’t place it. Air and strange smells—different from the cell’s stench—rushed across her face and filled her nostrils. Her arms and shoulders ached as if stretched to their limits by whatever chains now held her up.

...no one will come for you ...

Those words again scratched and skittered like bugs crawling in her skull. At their pain, she opened her eyes.

Magiere cringed as a passing light burned her irises. She shut her eyes in a hard blink. When she opened them again, strange buildings along a dark street rushed past her, except for another lantern drawing nearer ahead as she was ... dragged onward.

“This way,” someone half whispered from up ahead, and that voice was also familiar, like the one in her ear. “The shrine isn’t far. We’ll hide around the back to wait for the others.”

What was happening?

Magiere barely turned her head, and Leesil’s face appeared so close to hers. He was looking forward to wherever that other voice had come from. She became vaguely aware that both of her arms were over the top of two people who were dragging her along. She didn’t look the other way for the second of those two; she looked only at Leesil.

She had dreamed of him amid the whispers for so many ... how many days or nights? The skin over his face was tight, and he was panting.

“Leesil?” she breathed.

His face twisted instantly toward her, and she shook under his sudden stop.

“Wynn ... wait!” he called.

His voice hurt her ears after so long hearing nothing but whispers in her head. His bloodshot amber eyes filled with relief.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and again, “I’m so ... sorry ...”

Confusion tangled with hope. Was he truly here to save her? Had he just called to Wynn? No, Wynn was far away, and none of this was real. Anguish killed hope as Leesil blurred in her sight.

“No ... no, don’t cry,” he whispered. “Everything is all right ... everything. We just have to go a little farther.”

Her left arm jerked upward and then dropped at her side. Leesil stumbled as her whole weight shifted against him.

“Ghassan! What are you doing?”

At that other voice—again out in front—Magiere tried to turn her head.