Sword Play

Chapter 7

If Sunbright and Greenwillow expected a heroes' welcome, they were soon disappointed. The citizenry might cheer them on and the guards applaud their gallant fight, but before they'd even gotten their breath back, they were bracketed by eight palace guards and marched through the streets to be taken before the city council.

"You'd think we were criminals!" groused Greenwillow. She mopped at her nose and, finding crusted blood, asked the captain of the guards if she might wash at a fountain. When the man refused, she shoved through the phalanx and stepped to a fountain anyway.

The guards, helmeted with steel and hung with yellow-and-blue tabards decorated with a painted sunfish, the city colors and emblem, fidgeted while idlers who'd trailed them watched.

"Hurry, if you please," the captain urged.

The pair ignored them as they drank quarts of water, scrubbed their faces, combed their hair, and knocked the worst of the grime off their clothing. Sunbright discovered the back of his calves were blistered and weeping from scorching, and there was a crease alongside his neck he couldn't account for. Greenwillow continued to grumble, but Sunbright said philosophically, "No matter what they do to us, it can't be worse than what those Netherese hunters planned."

The half-elf snorted and resettled her tackle. "You've a lot to learn about city politics, country boy."

The two were "escorted" toward the center of the yellow-stone city. Greenwillow stumped along grumpily, obviously rehearsing some blistering speech. Sunbright sauntered, tired but glad to be alive, eager to see the strange sights of this southern burg. The houses were three or four stories tall, square and sheer, with thick walls of yellow stone or painted plaster picked out with blue and red. The streets were straight and regular, flagged with lumpy cobblestones that were hard on the soles.

The city obviously backed on the river, and as they threaded the streets filled with end-of-the-day shoppers dragging one-wheeled ricks, porters toting loads on their backs, sedan chairs hoisted by twos or fours, workers in dusty aprons and dangling tools, and more, they began to see signs of the waterfront: baskets of goggle-eyed whiskery catfish and freshwater oysters, bowlegged sailors in striped shirts who sang as they strode along arm-in-arm, piles of shavings dumped from planed masts. A curious sort, Sunbright found it all fun and exciting, and his happiness seemed to pique Greenwillow further. When the barbarian exclaimed about a new sight, a shaggy beast with droopy jowls and a single high hump, the elf, who'd traveled widely in her long years, only snorted, "Camels!"

Their guard turned away from the combined palace and city hall, which had a circular island of green grass all to itself, to a duller building opposite. Past more guards they wended, then up clumping wooden steps to a big second-story hall that echoed to shouts and squabbles. Here the city council sat at a long table, facing benches that filled the rest of the room, while clerks with thick books and quills and inkwells scribbled at a table to one side.

Here were the flushed and frantic traders whom Dorlas had shooed toward the city just before midday-which seemed like years ago to the barbarian. Thoughts of the dead dwarf and his noble sacrifice banished his euphoria, and a grinding gloom lingered. Sitting on a bench, Sunbright was suddenly dead tired and starving and shaky-legged.

Not so the traders, who'd had a chance to rest and recharge their energy for their favorite and only sport: bickering. The lot of them gestured and shouted and harangued at the city council, who yelled for order and threatened to cast them into the street if they didn't quiet down. Their noise mattered no more than the others'. Seizing the opportunity, Sunbright lay back on the bench and dozed. Harvester made a lumpy mattress, but at least no one could steal it.

At one point, the barbarian dreamed he was falling from a great height. A giant sea gull had plucked him from a stony beach and hoisted him in the air to drop and shatter him like a clam. Flapping his arms wildly, Sunbright watched the ground rush up at him, braced his stomach and buttocks for the impact…

… and landed with a clatter and crash on the wooden floor of the council meeting room.

Instantly he was up, dragging Harvester from its sheath, but Greenwillow's voice ordered, "Cease. Leave off your pigsticker." She'd kicked over his bench to wake him, but wisely skipped back.

Sunbright rubbed his face. He must have been exhausted not to wake at someone's approach. The council room was dim, with only a few copper-backed candles lit at the clerks' table, where the scribbling continued. Otherwise the room was deserted. "Where is everybody?"

"Home. They'll continue the debate tomorrow, for what it's worth."

"What is it worth? What's the upshot?"

"That they're not continuing on to Tinnainen."

"What?" He rubbed his face harder, straightened his baldric. "But the Neth ordered it so!"

"They'll risk it. Don't let's stand here arguing. I'm so hungry I could kill the next fellow that passes and eat his liver."

Greenwillow passed into shadows and down the stairs without a noise. Sunbright in iron-ringed, hobnailed boots clumped along behind her. He said, "I didn't get to say anything."

"What could you tell them?"

"I could sing of Dorlas's bravery and sacrifice."

A delicate snort came from the dark. "Of that, they could care less. The lost horses were more valuable than the dwarf. Much more, for unless the dwarf's family returns, they won't have to muster his pay or offer blood money."

"What? That's not honorable!"

Now a sigh, "Oh, my poor yak herder. You've so much to learn."

True, he agreed mentally, but he was tired of hearing her say it.

Exiting the door past sleepy guards, Greenwillow swung unerringly toward the palace and river. "Do you know where you're going?" asked Sunbright.

"Not in particular. But fare and goods are usually simpler and cheaper the closer you get to the docks." They could see at least, for this far south, the late evening sky was luminous orange. The yellow moon showed gray blotches like distant mountain ranges. Sunbright had never seen it look so big. Lovers slipped by, kissing and giggling, and families strolled, and children played tag in the shadows. Prostitutes with red lanterns whistled to sailors, and watchmen called all was well. Greenwillow steered for a street lit by more torches above the doors than most.

"I expected more," the barbarian mused. "I thought the traders might be grateful we got them home safely, most of them at least. That their families would celebrate that they'd returned after so long, and we might be invited to recount some of the stories of how we saved their lives."

Greenwillow spat. "They'll remember only the bad, that several of their fellows died despite our efforts. We'll be lucky to get paid, and will probably have to camp on someone's doorstep to get anything at all." She peered over a bunch of revelers blocking a door. The tavern sign above showed a mighty arm clutching an axe. The elf sniffed and moved on.

Sunbright's stomach had growled at the smell of mutton and ale that wafted out in steamy clouds. "What was wrong with that place?"

"I prefer bars frequented by farmers or sailors, if I've a choice, but not one with a mix of patrons. Bring together carters and soldiers and sailors and porters and the insults fly and there's a fight and someone stumbles against your table and spills your broth and you have to break their heads before they'll buy you a new bowl. Trouble. Ah!"

In a short side street they found a place that held only six small tables and a short bar crowded with men and women in black robes with red and blue and yellow stripes around the sleeves. Sunbright found them oddly familiar, and Greenwillow explained, "Lawyers and clerks. They fight with words. And look you, decent women serving, which means none will be grabbed by the arse. Sit."

Although they collected curious glances, no one accosted them. Serving girls fetched them bowls of water and clean rags to wash their hands, then stale bread and ale to assuage their hunger until stew could be served. The warriors broke the bread and dunked it in their mugs. Sunbright relaxed so much he unslung his baldric and propped Harvester against the table. The clerks edged farther down the bar, but the barbarian didn't notice as he wolfed down his food. "So tell me again…"

"The short story is," recited Greenwillow, "that they cocked up, as Dorlas would put it. The delegation went to ask the Neth to stop the empire-building of the One King in Tinnainen. Which was stupid, you'll recall. That's like asking a lion to come amidst your flock and kill wolves. Since the Neth don't give a rat's ass whether groundling Dalekeva lives or dies, they fobbed the job back at the delegates, told them to go see the One King and order him to cease his depredations. Might as well stick your head in a noose and kick the bucket.

"Having limped back here and informed the council, the delegates whined that their job was done, they'd been through more than enough, and someone else should journey on to Tinnainen to bell the cat-see the One King and tell him to forget his dreams of empire. Naturally the council bounced it back, ordered the delegates to rest and continue on, but they refused, and no other fools volunteered, because no one wants to be transformed into a newt.

"So no one's going on this fool's errand. Everyone in this city will just keep his head down and pray to his gods that the One King invades somewhere else or chokes on a chicken bone and that the Neth forget they ever issued the order in the first place. Which they probably will. So everyone wasted his time running to Delia for help. Instead, as Dorlas said, they should have cooperated and declared martial law and drafted every healthy man into a city militia and raised taxes to support them and purchased arms and practiced them and beefed up the city's defenses and burned outlying farms and gathered in the crops and so on.

"Instead, when the One King arrives outside these walls, if he's got more than a thousand able men, I reckon he'll own the city within a day. Not by ramming down the doors, by the way, but because the same delegates will negotiate a surrender that allows the invaders to pillage some and rape a little and kill a few underlings. Such is history, more often than not. Fabled cities that fought invaders to the bitter end usually end up as ruins, of which I've seen a few. Fortunately, I won't be here to see the city fall."

Sunbright sliced mutton with his knife and gulped a hunk that would choke a wolf. "Where will you be?"

"Somewhere on the other side of the One King's army."

"Why?"

The elf slowed in carving meat with her dagger. Sunbright liked the way her slim hands worked, capable and strong but delicate. Now she sighed again. "I must journey to the court of the One King. I carry a missive for him from the court of the High Elves of Cormanthyr, who are distant cousins. My own fool's errand."

"Hunh." Sunbright munched, talking with his mouth full. "What does the missive say?"

She pointed her slim dagger. Her eyes were gray-green by candlelight, like deep-hued animate jewels. "I'll tell you what I told the council. My missive directs the One King to cease his empire-building, or else."

The barbarian didn't ask, Or else what? Instead, he swallowed and pronounced, "I'll go with you."

"You will?" Greenwillow was so surprised she dropped a chunk of meat. It landed in her bowl and splashed gravy on her chest. "Why should you? It'll be dangerous enough for me, but I'm an appointed emissary of a high court. You're just a freebooter. You might end up a… target."

Sunbright shrugged. His life was dangerous and had always been so. Distant threats didn't worry him. "We've fought together as comrades-in-arms. I can hardly let you continue alone after we've shared blood."

The elven warrior sat, hands poised, a softening expression on her exotic face until she looked almost like any simple woman alone in the world and far from home. "Well… That's very generous of you."

Missing her change of voice, Sunbright waved a hand. "It's nothing. A point of honor. Besides, I must journey to the One King's court myself, to gain information for Chandler back in Augerbend."

"Oh. Oh, I see." Greenwillow ducked her head and sawed her meat.

Finally, with typical male denseness, Sunbright sensed the frost in her voice. But of course it was too late to mend it, so they finished their meal in silence.

By the time they left the Bursting Book, the sky was fully dark. There were stars but no moon. Sunbright traced constellations with his finger. "There. The Panther rises. The time is right." He marched back toward the center of town.

Despite her coolness, Greenwillow fell in beside him. "For what?"

"I need to retrieve Dorlas's body before the wolves get it. Though I'll admit I don't know how to treat his carcass, whether to bury or burn it."

"You needn't do everything yourself, you know." In the darkness, he could see the pale shine of her face, but couldn't read her emotions. And too, they both had to watch their footing on the sometimes slimy cobblestones. "A city this size will have a fighters' guild. Part of their function is to see freebooters buried, their goods returned to their families if possible. They'll probably ask other dwarves to handle the funeral."

Sunbright mulled that over. If he'd died today, who would have buried him properly, who would have sent his effects home to his tribe wandering the tundra? He'd be lucky if anyone prayed his name as flames turned his muscle to smoke.

At the great locked gates leading to the farmlands, the guards were dubious about opening the night door. It existed to admit after-hours travelers, who were forced to walk a tight, long corridor where they would be subject to a rain of stones and quarrels. They feared the lone Netherese hunter on the golden dragon machine might still lurk in the woods. A group of Neth huntsmen had flown in earlier and retrieved the dead hunter and metal mount.

Greenwillow said, "They'll be gone. They have their own twisted honor. Once the quarry reaches the city, the game is over."

The guards waffled, for it was known that the city wanted to retrieve the gallant dwarf's body for a hero's funeral-once the coast was clear and the sun well up in the sky.

"We'll go now and save you the trip," Sunbright told them, and that clinched the argument.

By starlight and the ghostly glow of the dusty road, the two crept forth. Sunbright trod silently awhile, wary of ambush, but the elf, who had cat's eyes, told him there was no one about. So they talked.

Greenwillow asked, "What did you call that constellation you steered by?"

The barbarian pointed. "The Panther. There's her head, and there's her tail."

"My people call it the Bell."

"Ah." Having quarreled earlier, albeit silently, they were now overly formal. "I suppose it matters not, as long as we can see it. I doubt the stars care what mortals name them."

A sniff sounded, but the elf added, "That's poetic for a barbarian."

"Who better to know poetry?" Sunbright returned. "I know lowlanders call us savages because we don't read. We carry our tribe's lore in our heads. Give me enough liquor, and I could recite stories and sing songs the night long, and never repeat one. And I'm no storyteller, just a warrior. Our storytellers could talk you deaf with weeks of lore and song!"

Greenwillow said nothing, only marched along the road they'd run during the day. His boasting was pointless, in a way, for even in her short years, thrice those of any human, she'd learned thousands of stories and songs and forgotten more of them than a mere man or woman could know. But Sunbright paid himself a compliment by valuing his people's history and glory. Neither his head nor his heart were empty, she had to admit.

A grumbling snarl sounded ahead. Sunbright hissed, "Scat!" and two fat shapes waddled away. A short, dark outline in the road marked the dead dwarf, and the two were glad they couldn't see his face after raccoons had worried it.

The barbarian gave a short epitaph like a prayer. "Come, friend. Your work is done and the day gone. Let us hie you home, where many will sing your praises." Neither spoke as Sunbright hoisted the stocky body to his shoulder. It was surprisingly light from having lost so much blood. "Get his war-hammer. We don't want…"

"I've got it."

They turned back toward the gates. To distract them from what he carried, Sunbright mused, "I wonder how the farm folk and harvesters knew to flee inside the walls. How could they know the Neth would come hunting?"

"Probably some other Neth sent the city elders a warning. I'd like to think that not all Netherese approve of hunting humans. But with their penchant for intrigue, it could merely have been a spoilsport scaring off a rival's game."

The young man stumped along with his burden, shifting it to the other shoulder. "How do you know so much about the Hunt?"

The silence was long. "The hunting rules the Neth abide by were adopted from my cousins, the High Elves of Cormanthyr, who have hunted humans for centuries." She added in defense, "As usual, the human mages have perverted the original purpose, which is lost in ancient times. Believe it or not, the High Elves hunting humans was a compliment, for it marked the ascendancy of mankind and the eventual decline of elves."

Silence implied the human didn't consider being hunted a compliment, so Greenwillow tossed out her own question. "How did you turn that great cave bear from attacking us?"

Sunbright waved his free hand, realized she couldn't see it-though she could-and said, "Oh, I just told him we were friends. I work to be a-" He stopped the word "shaman" before it escaped. "A friend to animals. Which reminds me. We'll buy a goat and tether it near the bear's den. You should thank anyone who gives you a gift, and my life is my most prized possession."

"Mine too."

For a second, the barbarian thought Greenwillow meant his life was precious to her. Then he realized that, of course, she meant her own.

So the three companions, two living, one dead, trudged silently back to the city they'd spent almost two seasons trying to reach.

In the end, Dorlas was neither buried nor burned. Three dwarves had taken custody of the body and worked the night through to plane and hammer a coffin that was only partly watertight. At dawn, as the sun rose rimmed in blood, the three carried the short coffin on their shoulders to the edge of the river. A quiet word had passed to the city elders that there would be no ornate state funeral. The only observers to the ceremony were Sunbright and Greenwillow, who argued they had been friends of the dead man, or at least comrades.

The dwarves eased the coffin down on the pebbly shingle. Each bent to pluck a handful of gravel that was then sprinkled over the wooden box. The rattling was loud enough to startle sleeping ducks from the cattails on the other side of the river. When invited, Sunbright and Dorlas also stepped forward and sprinkled handfuls of soil on the coffin.

The dwarf in charge of the funeral, Mondar, explained, "These stones will cover him as he begins his journey to his homeland." Dorlas, they'd been told, was originally from a tribe called the Sons of Baltar in the Iron Mountains far to the south. Since the river wended that way, the leaky coffin would be consigned to it. Somewhere along the way it would surely sink, but the idea was that the dead Dorlas could travel the rest of the way underground once he reached the riverbed. Together, the five participants pushed the coffin into the quiet water. It bobbed and tipped, then straightened side-on to the current and sailed southward. Mondar called, "Go, brother, and lead the way!"

Dorlas's warrior tackle had been stripped from his body, for it was thought there was no fighting in the afterlife, only simple pleasures and fulfilling work. Solemnly, Mondar held up the dead man's knife, and asked, "Who will take this knife, that it might work well and honor its master's name?" A dwarf held out his hand and received it. So went the crossbow and quarrels, baldric, even his file and fishhooks and compass. The dwarves were all workmen in the city and could find a use for the tools. At the last, Mondar held up the fearsome warhammer, frowning at it, for with its long narrow head and sharp parrot's beak on the back face, it would make a poor tool for blacksmith or cobbler or silversmith. At the ritual question "Who will take this warhammer, that it might work well and honor its master's name?" no one extended his hand.

In the awkward silence, Sunbright surprised himself and everyone else by saying, "I will."

The dwarves squinted in the bright light of dawn. Needing to explain, Sunbright said, "I have more battles ahead, and can do honor to Dorlas's name. But I promise that someday I will return the hammer to his family in the Iron Mountains. I'll tell them how he died and saved our lives."

"It is not necessary." Mondar frowned. "We know of his dying. Word will pass to his relatives."

"Good. For if I'm killed, I won't be able to relate the tale. But if I live, I will make that journey. I owe him that much." Behind him Greenwillow sniffed, but this time to hold back tears.

Without a word, Mondar laid the cold, heavy war-hammer in the young man's hand. Sunbright slid it in his belt, felt it nestle beneath his ribs. He wasn't sure why he'd taken it or made that vow. Perhaps he was only being selfish, and hoped that when he was killed, someone would make an effort to see that his family knew. But whatever the reason, he was glad.

Barbarian and elf had slept for a few short hours in a soldiers' hostel where the women were separated from the men. Over a breakfast of bread and ale and cheese served at long tables in a surprisingly quiet throng, Sunbright suggested, "Since this is my first time in a city, you'd best lead the way. What do we do?"

Greenwillow used her crust to sop up the last of her ale and stuffed it in her mouth. "First we collect our wages, before anyone forgets they owe us. Let's go." Getting up from the table, she dropped her mug in a tub by the door and strode into the sunshine.

Unerringly, she marched to the left and up the center of the street. Sunbright had no idea where they were bound, or what their destination was, so he simply trotted along at her side like a child. Housewives and masons and fishmongers and schoolchildren watched them curiously as they passed.

Thinking aloud, Greenwillow said, "We bodyguarded them for six months, give or take. One hundred eighty days… at two silver crowns a day… with two of us… is seven hundred twenty crowns. The traders who survived were fourteen, so that's… fifty-odd apiece they owe us. Cheap enough for saving their lives, and they don't have to pay Dorlas or the other dead bodyguards. Still, I imagine they'll squeal like trapped pigs. We could go to the piepowder court for our wages, but that would take forever. There's one!"

Sunbright was flummoxed by her ciphering. He'd been fuzzy on the whole idea of being paid in coins, anyway. In his tribe, you bargained for the completion of a job, usually for supplies. So what she was doing was a mystery. But he recognized the flag over the shop door. It was a bluebird on a yellow circle, symbol of the house of Sunadram, a middle-aged trader with a yellow beard.

Sunadram was in his shop, which was heaped high on all sides with fabrics in every color. He held an account book, jabbing a finger repeatedly, demanding of his cringing clerks why the figures didn't add up. Greenwillow had to shout his name several times to get his attention.

When she did, Sunadram slammed the book shut and rubbed his face. "Oh, you two. What do you want?"

Sunbright didn't like his tone of voice, and would have punched the man for his insolence, but Greenwillow only spread her feet, planted her hands on her hips, and stated simply, "Our wages for bodyguarding. We kept you alive, so we'll take fifty silver crowns, if you please."

Already the fabric seller was shaking his head. "No, no, no. I pay no bills without a proper invoice. You'll need to write up your request, then have it notarized by the city clerk. I'll consider it then, but you'll have to wait. My shop is in chaos because of my long absence. These idiots can't add two and two without slipping three into their pockets. Now, I'm busy, so good day."

Greenwillow only nodded, which Sunbright found astonishing. The man, who'd bargained fairly at the beginning of the journey, now reneged. By barbarian code, the two fighters could cut him down, chop off his head, then take their pay in money or goods, or else enslave some of these clerks, though they were puny specimens. But Greenwillow only turned for the door.

"Wait!" Sunbright whirled after her, tackle jingling. "What about our-"

"Hush!" She stepped through the door into the morning bustle, then pointed to the doorjamb. "Stand there and be quiet. And sharpen your sword; it must need it."

"It does not! I hone it every night-" But a glare told him to belt up.

Bemused, the barbarian slid Harvester from its scabbard, put his back to the doorjamb, and worked to hone the edge with a fine stone, though he could have shaved with it already. Greenwillow waited, fuming. Inside the shop, Sunadram and the clerks watched and whispered.

It wasn't long before they learned what was to transpire. An elderly woman was brought near the door in a sedan chair toted by two sweating porters. Holding her skirts high, the woman stepped into the mucky street, careful not to dirty her red slippers. A pair of maids who'd walked behind flanked her. The lady glanced at Greenwillow, expecting the elf-maid to step aside, but the warrior instead barred the door with her arm. "Sorry, milady, but Sunadram can't see you. He's putting his shop in order."

"But-" The lady frowned with wrinkled lips. "I need fabric! I need a gown fashioned for Baroness Missos's ball!"

"Sorry, He's too busy," was the stoic reply.

From inside the shop came a gasp as Sunadram ran up, all afluster and abluster. But when Sunbright, still holding his naked great sword, turned curiously, the trader quailed. Greenwillow flipped her nose at the lady, who huffed and reboarded her sedan.

"Gods above!" Sunadram wailed. "You'll ruin me! Do you know who that is? That's-"

"A lost customer," Greenwillow stared him down. "The first of many. If you can't pay your help, you can't do business."

"I'll call the city guard! They'll throw you in prison or chain you in a galley to toil your lives away at the oars!"

Greenwillow shrugged. "You'd have to bribe them to tackle us, two doughty fighters. It would cost more than you owe us."

"So?" the merchant demanded. "Will you spend a month at my door just to get your money?"

"We've naught else to do," Greenwillow replied sweetly. "You can't do much in a city without coin!"

With a groan, the fabric seller hurried back into the shop, knocking clerks aside, and dug around under his counter, counting frantically. Momentarily, he hurried up and counted out five stacks of worn silver coins into Greenwillow's hand. "There! Take your damned wages and get away from here! If I see you again, I'll… I'll…"

"Thank us for escorting you home? I didn't think so. Come, Sunbright. And put your fool sword away."

Befuddled as ever, the barbarian slid his sword home in its sheath. "What was that all about? What was he afraid of?"

Greenwillow chuckled. "It was business, and he was afraid of losing money. Come on. We've got thirteen more merchants to pester."

They repeated the process up and down the street, making for a long morning. But while Greenwillow groused about the constant quibbling, Sunbright took it all with the patience of a herdsman and hunter, and his mellow strength and gentle joshing helped pass the hours. The merchants must have spread the word over the midday meal, for the afternoon's collecting passed more quickly. Some merchants gave the asked-for amount, some dickered to give only their share less what they'd need to collect from their dead colleague's estates, and one, late in the day, even gave them a bonus, an amphora of sunny southern wine and her hearty thanks.

So they got less than they wanted, but not much less, and ended happily, sharing the amphora with curious clerks and lawyers at the Bursting Book where they took their meals. But there was a lot of wine, and the others had gone home before it was finished, so the elf and barbarian, not wishing to waste such a bounty, tried to drink it all. As a result, they got louder and sillier.

Even the serving girls had gone to bed by the time Greenwillow said, "You know, you could almost pass for an elf. In bad light. If you were skinnier."

"Oh?" Sunbright made to throw his booted foot up on the table, but missed and dropped it with a crash. " 'S slippery. No, elveses is handsome, and I'm all scar… scarey… scarredy… chewed up."

"Battle scars don't count," chuckled Greenwillow. She pointed a wavering finger. "Some elf-maids find 'em sexy. Like to nibble on 'em, see where they go."

"Go where?"

"Scars go. And you sing too. Like a bird. Not much for a hu-human man, but like a crow. Or a bug."

"Bugs sing?" Sunbright peered at the ceiling, as if to ask a nearby spider its opinion.

"Sing like birds! 'Cept if they make too much noise, birds eat 'em. Must taste yuckly, yicky, yucky." She stuck out her tongue.

Pointing again, she pronounced, "You respect nature too. Not many whatsits do that." She focused blearily at the bottom of her cup, tilted it up and splashed her chin. "Oops!"

"Oh, your lizard skin! So beau'ful!" Sunbright leaned over the table, knocking her cup crashing, and pawed at the front of her armor to wipe off the wine. Belatedly he saw where his hands stroked, and whipped back. He hit his head on the wall, but didn't feel it.

Greenwillow doubled over laughing, so weak she could only wheeze. " 'S funny! You're so funny, make me laugh! First time in… long time. Elves're too dour! Do it again!"

"A' right!" Sunbright brought his head forward, then snapped it back against the wall with a thump. He still didn't feel it.

"Noooooo!" The elf covered her mouth and laughed so hard she fell out of her chair onto her knees. "Not your head, your hands!"

"Hands?" The man frowned at his hands, found nothing unusual. "Are they dirty?"

"No, warm! Not there, here!" She pointed at her chest, more or less. Sunbright reached for her and toppled from the chair, landing atop her. The amphora rolled off the table and crashed, spilling the dregs of the wine.

"Ooh, mustn't waste!" Sopping her hand in the spilled wine, Greenwillow stuffed her fingers into her mouth, then Sunbright's. Unclear on the concept, the barbarian bit her fingers. "Not bite!" she yelped. "Gentle."

The half-elf used both hands to grab his ears, tugged him close, and bit his nose gently. Their wine-misted breath mingled. "Help me…up!"

Holding one another and the furniture, they clambered to their feet, kicking cups and chairs every which way. Greenwillow towed Sunbright by his jerkin out the door into the cool of very early morning. "Come on. We can go to the women's barracks. 'S a'right if we're quiet."

Blundering against a wall, she stepped on an errant cat that squalled hideously. With a gasp, she leaped into Sunbright's arms, and they both landed squashily in the mucky street. Greenwillow, in his lap, caressed his hair. "You like elf-maids?"

"Oh, yes!" the barbarian assured her as his mouth found hers. "I want… Hey!"

The empty streets were very quiet, and even a soft footfall made enough noise to be noticed. Sunbright jerked as he pointed wildly. "Look! Look, 's her!"

Greenwillow peered down the narrow street, saw nothing, then was unceremoniously dumped on her rump as the man scrambled up. Traveling sideways as much as forward, he rebounded off the nearby shop walls and charged into an even narrower street beyond. Cursing, the elf clambered up and trotted after him.

"Ruellana!" the barbarian hollered, his voice incredibly loud in the sleeping city. "Ruellana, stop!"

Ahead, in deeper shadow, a slender white figure in a simple, short shift flitted away. Calling, pleading, swearing, the man blundered after, his war tackle rattling, his boots clumping. Behind him, Greenwillow called out that it was a trap, but he didn't hear.

The ghost-girl paused and turned, and Sunbright got his first good look at her. It was Ruellana; he'd swear it, for her hair was like living fire. She'd mysteriously appeared at his campfire half a world away, then disappeared to haunt his dreams, and here she was again.

She held out both arms enticingly, then flickered sideways into a dark doorway. Sunbright didn't notice the shops on this street had no signs hanging above the doors, and the windows were either shuttered or boarded over. He crashed down the street, calling her name, pivoted wildly, and plunged through the door into blackness.

And fell a dozen feet. The crash onto rubble crumpled his legs beneath him, stunning him. Blinking, he cast about, but could see nothing but pitch-blackness and, high overhead, the grayish outline of the doorway.

Then there came a hiss like that of a pit of disturbed snakes, and around him rose a wreath like black fog.

With an oath, he watched the smoke coalesce and harden. Within seconds, he was peering up at a black-cloaked monster with flaming red eyes and hair.