The Verdant Passage

FIVE SHADOW SQUARE

The old man paused at the entrance to a narrow alley and peered down the shadowed corridor as if gauging the likelihood of being attacked there. Agis caught up to the fellow and gently tapped him on the shoulder. The man spun around, raising his wooden cane as if to strike with its pommel, a remarkable ball of polished obsidian.

“What?” the old man demanded, thumping the noble on the chest with the cane’s tip. He had robust, proud features with a hooked nose and a long mane of white hair.

“Pardon me,” Agis said. He lifted his hands so it would be clear he intended no violence. “I’m not familiar with the streets of the Elven Market. Would you be kind enough to direct me to a suphouse called the Red Kank? It’s located in Shadow Square.”

The old man frowned, then asked, “What do you want in a place like Shadow Square?”

Agis raised his brow, for the Elven Market was not the kind of place where strangers asked those sorts of questions. “The same thing as anyone else who goes there,” he answered evasively. “The sun is hot, and I’m thirsty.”

Though the noble didn’t have a clear idea why most people went to Shadow Square, the answer was the only one he would give. He had no intention of telling the old man his true reason for going to the Red Kank, which was to meet an influential group of his fellow senators. They wanted to discuss the Senate’s response to Kalak’s slave confiscations, and all of them had agreed it would be best to meet in a place templar spies were not likely to frequent.

The stranger studied Agis for several moments without replying. The noble was just about to leave when the fellow finally said, “You’d be well-advised to avoid Shadow Square. It’s no place for someone of your class to go-especially alone.”

“Your concern is well-taken,” Agis said. “If you’ll direct me to the Red Kank, I’ll no longer be alone.”

The old man shook his head in resignation. “I hope your companions have more sense than you do,” he grunted, pointing his cane down the street. “Walk down this street until you reach the pawnshop, then take the alley to the left. It opens into Shadow Square.”

“My thanks.” Agis replied, reaching for his purse.

The man laid his cane sharply across the noble’s hand. “I don’t want your coin, son,” he said. “If you expect to leave the market alive, don’t flash your gold around.”

Agis took his hand away from his purse, ignoring the dull ache in his knuckles. “Any other advice?”

“Yes,” the white-haired man said. He moved his cane to the noble’s back, then tapped the steel dagger concealed beneath his cloak. “No matter what happens, keep that thing in its sheath. You’ll live a lot longer.”

In light of the stranger’s earlier advice to avoid Shadow Square, this last comment seemed deliberately ominous.

“Is there some reason you’re trying to keep me out of Shadow Square?”

“Not really,” the old man replied. “It makes no difference to me whether you live or die.” With that, he turned and stepped into a nearby alley.

Agis frowned at the stranger’s parting words, then signaled Caro to join him. He had instructed the dwarf to wait behind so the old man would not be alarmed by the approach of two strangers. After the blows his knuckles and chest had suffered, the noble was glad he had not startled the old fellow any more than he had.

As the valet hobbled forward, Agis marveled again at the aged dwarf’s ingenious escape from Tithian’s press gang. A thirsty and bruised Caro had returned to the Asticles estate the same evening that the high templar had confiscated Agis’s male slaves. According to the dwarf’s report, Caro had pretended to collapse after a few miles of walking. When the templars kicked and lashed him to get him moving again, he had refused to budge or even look up. Finally Tithian had ordered the dwarf abandoned at the roadside. After the column had moved on, Caro had walked back to the estate.

Agis was surprised that such a simple escape plan had worked, but not that Caro had returned. The old slave had devoted his entire life to serving the Asticles family and, in typical dwarven fashion, he was willing to endure any hardship rather than break his commitment.

Once Caro reached his side, Agis pointed down the alley and said, “The old man warned me not to go to Shadow Square. Have you ever heard that there’s anything particularly dangerous about it?”

“No, but I doubt that your friends would have suggested you meet there if that were the case,” Caro replied, squinting up at Agis.

On one of Caro’s wrinkled cheeks was a yellow bruise the size of a fist. Hidden beneath the dwarf’s robe were several similar marks and a few lash wounds. Though the evidence of his valet’s beating angered the noble, he was relieved that the old servant had not suffered more. From the violence Caro had described, Agis had expected his slave to have any number of broken bones and deep, purple bruises from head to toe. Still, the senator knew even a minor wound could be painful, if not dangerous, for someone as old as Caro.

“It’s only been two days since your escape,” Agis said. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

“Didn’t I say I was?”

“Yes, but I know how dwarves are,” the noble replied. “You’d die before you admitted you need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Caro replied. “Let’s go.”

Agis started down the cramped street, his servant walking a step behind to watch for pickpockets. Though the midday sun could have baked bricks, the heat did not hamper the bustle of activity in the Elven Market.

The street was lined by two- and three-story buildings that had not been plastered or painted, but simply left the natural grayish brown of their bricks. The first story of every building contained a shop with a broad door and a pass-through counter that opened to the sidewalk. The sly, leathery faces of elven merchants leered out of every window or door, inviting passersby inside to examine the exotic wares their tribes had brought to Tyr: unbreakable giant-hair ropes from Balic, fingerbone necklaces from Gulg, shields of impenetrable aga-fari wood from Nibenay, even fleece from the legendary Silt Islands.

Sometimes an elf stretched his slim torso over a counter to tug at the sleeve of a well-dressed human or to pinch the purse of an unwary wanderer. Other times, one of the seven-foot shopkeepers blocked the path of an intimidated customer, babbling in a melodious voice about some worthless trinket.

In the center of the street, men and women of all races scurried along in a tight-packed stream, their hands clutching their purses and their eyes alert for trouble. Here and there, the stream temporarily parted as it passed a pile of debris or a pair of brawling elves, no doubt serving as bait for cutpurses working the crowd.

Agis walked down the middle of the avenue, for he had no interest in anything the elves had to offer. Most represented nomadic tribes that bought goods plentiful in one city and hauled them across the desert to sell in another place where such items were rare. In theory, this was what any merchant did, but the shifty elves were seldom satisfied with an honest profit. Elven tribes usually bought inferior goods and sold them at outrageous prices, or they raided legitimate merchants in the deep desert and sold the stolen cargo as their own.

After several minutes of struggling through the crowd, Agis reached the point the old man had indicated-a dilapidated pawnshop, identified by the three ceramic spheres hanging over the door. He slipped out of the throng and stepped toward the alley, pausing to make sure Caro followed.

“Hey, fellow!”

The voice belonged to a golden-haired elf who leaned against a wall just outside the alley. Taller even than most of his kind, the elf wore a tawny burnoose wrapped around his lanky body and had a bronze, weatherbeaten face with cloudy blue eyes. “You lookin’ for magic components? I got glowworms. I got wychwood. I even got powdered iron.”

“Isn’t that stuff against the king’s law?” Agis asked, hoping to silence the huckster.

The elf raised his peaked chin. “You a templar?”

“No.”

“Then what d’you care?” He looked away indignantly, leaving the noble to stare at a pointed ear caked with dirt.

Agis stepped into the alley, Caro following behind. The tall buildings provided some shade from the sun, but little relief from the oppressive heat of the day. Nevertheless, paupers and beggars had taken refuge in its shadows and lined both sides of the narrow corridor. As Agis picked his way through their legs, they silently extended their bony hands and filled the lane with desperate pleas for water and money.

Resisting the temptation to part with a handful of coins, Agis glanced over his shoulder at Caro. “This is what comes when a king cares more about magic than he does his subjects,” he said angrily. “If Kalak hadn’t rejected my proposal to set up relief farms outside Tyr, these people would have food, water, and beds.”

“They’re free,” Caro replied. “At least they have that.”

“Freedom won’t wet their throats,” Agis snapped. “You’ve been a servant for most of your life. You know that such service means you’ll always have enough to drink and eat, and a soft bed to sleep in.”

“I’d be glad to go hungry and thirsty a few days in exchange for my liberty,” Caro replied, stepping to Agis’s side.

“Ever since you escaped from the press gang, you’ve been talking like this. Why?” Agis demanded. “Is there something you need? Just ask and you know I’ll give it to you.”

“I need my liberty,” Caro answered stubbornly.

“So you can join these wretches? I won’t do it. You’re better off as my servant,” Agis said. He swept his hand at the alley of derelicts. “They’d all be better off as my slaves.”

“But-”

“I won’t discuss it any further, Caro,” Agis said, reaching the other end of the rank-smelling lane. “Don’t bring the subject up again.”

“As you wish,” the dwarf said, once again falling a step behind his master.

The alley opened into a plaza, as the old man had promised. The scene in Shadow Square seemed more chaotic than the merchant row on the other side of the alley, but Agis saw nothing particularly dangerous. Dozens of tents had been pitched by elves either too poor or too cheap to rent a storefront. These elves were vainly accosting the dozens of half-elves, dwarves, and humans who carried large ceramic pots toward the center of the square.

There, a templar and a pair of half-giant guards collected a small tax from the pot-bearers for the privilege of filling a jug from the public fountain. It was a slow and tedious process, with a long waiting line, for the fountain consisted of a single trickle of water spilling from the mouth of a stone statue. The artist had shaped a braxat from the stone, a huge, hunchbacked creature resembling a cross between a baazrag and a horned chameleon. It walked on its hind legs and had a thick shell covering its back and neck. Agis could not imagine why the king’s sculptors had selected such a grotesque beast for a fountainhead, save that the city populace was always curious about the seldom-seen creatures that roamed the wastes.

Looking away from the fountain, Agis walked along the edge of the square, carefully studying the symbols painted above the building doorways. There was no writing on the signs, for in Tyr, as in most other Athasian cities, only nobles and templars were permitted to read or write.

At last, Agis came to a red sign portraying a man mounted upon a kank, one of the giant insects that caravan drivers often used as beasts of burden. The insect had an abdomen from which was suspended a globule of honey. Judging that he had reached the Red Kank, Agis entered the suphouse, Caro close behind.

Lit only by a handful of narrow windows, the interior of the building was quite dim. As Agis stood near the door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, the babble of voices inside quickly died.

Once his eyes were accustomed to the shadows, he found himself standing in a small square room. Dozens of surly-looking elves stared at him with intolerant expressions, their hands firmly closed around mugs of fermented kank-nectar, known locally as broy.

A beefy man wearing a filthy linen apron hitched his thumb toward a set of stairs. “Your friends are upstairs, my lord.”

Agis nodded his thanks to the proprietor, then ascended the stairs and stepped out onto a second-story veranda overlooking Shadow Square. In the background rose Kalak’s mountainous ziggurat, looming over the plaza like a dark cloud.

Four nobles, easily identifiable by their haughty bearing and careful grooming, sat at a table on the edge of the balcony. Like Agis, they were all senators, each the informally acknowledged leader of a different faction. A half-elf serving wench with fire-colored hair and a low-cut bodice stood beside the table, gamely laughing at a ribald joke.

As Agis stepped toward the table, a fair-skinned man with a square-set jaw noticed him. “Welcome, Agis!” Beryl called. “Tell me, did you manage to arrive with your coins?”

Agis placed a hand on his hip and felt his purse still hanging from his belt. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Good!” bellowed Dyan, a lord with a jowl-heavy face and a rotund build. “You can pay!”

A lanky man with long blond hair offered Agis a stool at his side. “You may as well spend your money here, my friend. You’ll never leave the Elven Market with your purse strings intact.” Kiah’s tone was warm as always when he was spending someone else’s money. He was the leader of a formal association of business-minded nobles.

Agis accepted the stool and ordered a mug of broy, leaving Caro to stand behind him. No other servants were present, undoubtedly because Tithian had confiscated them all.

As soon as the serving wench left to fetch Agis’s drink, Dyan nodded toward Caro. “Perhaps it would be wise to send your boy downstairs.”

Realizing that the other nobles would feel more comfortable discussing their sensitive agenda without a slave present, Agis nodded to Caro. “Wait downstairs. Have whatever you eat or drink charged to me.”

The old dwarf inclined his head and left without a word.

“You’re too kind to your slaves,” Kiah said. “It makes them insolent.”

“To the contrary,” Agis replied. “It makes them loyal. I guarantee that Caro will not abuse the privilege I just offered him.”

“Let’s get to our business while the serving wench is away,” Dyan said. “Mirabel may be no friend of the templars, but she’s no friend of ours either. I wouldn’t put it past her to earn coin or two by selling what she hears of our conversation.”

Agis began immediately. “We all agree that Kalak is driving Tyr to ruin. Closing the iron mine was bad enough, but by confiscating our slaves, he’s condemned the entire city to starvation.”

“What do you propose?” asked Jaseela, the only person who had not yet spoken. She was a sultry beauty with silky black hair hanging to her waist, a shapely figure, and a regal face dominated by huge hazel eyes. Jaseela’s speeches were seldom taken well in the Senate chamber, for they often bordered on the seditious. Still, even her greatest rivals admired her courage in so consistently speaking out against Kalak.

“Given that everyone’s interests in this matter are similar, I thought we might work together toward a solution,” Agis said. “Between the five of us, we have enough influence to insure that any resolution passes virtually unopposed in the Senate.”

The other three men nodded, but Jaseela rolled her hazel eyes and looked out over the square.

Agis continued, “Let’s convene an emergency session at sunrise. We’ll co-sponsor a resolution demanding that the king return our slaves and reopen the iron mine. With our influence, we’re sure to get unified backing. Even the king won’t be able to ignore us.”

“He won’t ignore us, that’s true,” returned Dyan. “He’ll have us assassinated.”

Beryl added, “Even if we survive, Kalak hasn’t listened to the Senate on any matter dear to him in a thousand years. What makes you think he’s going to start now?”

“If he doesn’t, we’ll withhold our taxes. We’ll burn our fields,” Agis said enthusiastically. “We’ll revolt.”

“We’ll commit suicide is what you mean,” Dyan said, shaking his head. “You’re talking madness. We can’t force the king to do something he doesn’t want to. He’ll kill us all.”

“Then what are we going to do?” Agis demanded.

Beryl glanced toward the ziggurat. “Nothing. Kalak’s been building the ziggurat for a hundred years. Our grandfathers and our fathers managed to survive his mismanagement, and so will we. Now that the tower’s less than a month from completion, we’d be fools to oppose it.”

“In a month, my faro will be withered and dead,” Agis said. “Without enough slaves to work my wells and irrigate the land, my fields are baking. The rest of you can’t even be as well off as I am.”

“So what? Are any of us going to starve?” Dyan asked, shrugging his plump shoulders. “I, for one, have no intention of risking my life to feed slaves and derelicts.”

Kiah placed a hand on Agis’s shoulder. “You’re overreacting, my friend,” he said. “If you look at it in a certain light, the situation is advantageous to us.” He paused and smiled at the other nobles. “I’m sure we all keep crops stockpiled against famine. Once the effects of the confiscations hit, those stockpiles will be worth ten times what they are now. If we can reach some arrangement among ourselves and the other nobles, we might even drive the price much higher.”

Agis shrugged Kiah’s hand off his shoulder and stood. “Are we concerned about nothing but gold and protecting our own fat necks?” he demanded. “By the moons, I can’t believe what I’m hearing!”

The serving wench stepped out of the door with Agis’s broy. He quickly returned to his seat, pretending to laugh at some abusive jest. Once she placed the gummy liquid in front of him, Dyan immediately handed an empty mug to her and said, “Mirabel, be a good wench and fetch me another milk vine.”

As soon as Mirabel went back into the suphouse, Agis resumed his appeal. “If we allow our fear of Kalak to intimidate us, we’re no better than his slaves.”

“If you give me a course of action that will work, I’ll go along with you,” said Dyan. “But I won’t risk my life and my estate by sponsoring a meaningless resolution that Kalak will ignore anyway.” He shook his head to emphasize his point.

“He’s right, Agis,” Beryl said, not lifting his eyes from his mug. “The Senate can do nothing.”

“Perhaps we need to do something outside the Senate,” Jaseela said, commanding the senators’ attention by ending her long silence.

“Such as?” asked Kiah.

“Kill him.”

The balcony fell quiet. Finally, Dyan asked, “Kill who, exactly?”

“You know who I’m talking about,” she countered, fixing her hazel eyes on each of the men in turn.

“Regicide?” gasped Dyan, pushing his stool away from the table. “Are you mad?”

“He’s too powerful,” objected Beryl.

“What would happen to the city?” demanded Kiah, waving his hand toward the merchant emporiums on the other side of the ziggurat. “The political and economic structure of Tyr would collapse. We wouldn’t be able to sell our crops.”

Agis remained thoughtful, trying to decide if Jaseela could be right. Perhaps the only way to save Tyr was to kill the king. It was a difficult thing for him to accept, for it meant destroying the foundation of the city’s ancient social order. He could not deny that there was much that was wrong in the city-the corruption of the templars, the poverty of the masses, the injustice of Kalak’s law-but he had always believed that those things could be corrected by working from within the established order. He wasn’t sure that he was ready to give up that notion.

Jaseela’s mind, however, was made up. “Gentlemen, all of your objections can be worked out,” she said, bracing her elbows on the table. “The question is, do we let Kalak ruin our city or don’t we?”

Kiah shook his head. “No. The situation is more complex than that. What about the templars? How will they react when Kalak is killed? How will-”

“The question before us is simple,” Jaseela interrupted, rising to her feet. “Are we nobles, or are we slaves?”

When no one answered, the noblewoman turned her hazel eyes on Agis. “What about you?” she demanded. “You’re the one who wanted to resist the king. Is your courage limited to the Senate chamber, or are you willing to fight for what you believe?”

Agis met her demanding gaze with a calm countenance. “I’ve spent ten years in the Senate fighting-”

“Can you point to a single resolution that we’ve passed in that time that has actually made Tyr a better place for anyone but ourselves?” Jaseela demanded.

Agis pondered the question for a moment, then looked down into his mug of broy.

“Of course not,” she said for him. “The templars are corrupt, the Senate is corrupt, and so is the nobility.”

“So we should destroy it all and start over?” Agis asked. “You’re beginning to sound like you’re in the Veiled Alliance!”

“I wish I was,” Jaseela said bitterly. She turned to leave. “At least they’ve made enough trouble for Kalak to attract his attention.”

Agis rose to intercept her, but before he left the table he caught sight of a tumult in the square below. “Don’t leave just yet, Jaseela,” he said, moving to the edge of the balcony. “Something’s happening in the square.”

Jaseela and the other nobles joined him. Dozens of paupers were pouring into the square from the narrow alleys that led away from it. From the elves’ tents rose a drone of apprehensive voices as the merchants hurriedly packed their goods into bundles. Confused residents were casting aside their water pots and trying to push through the mass of paupers rushing into the square.

Kiah searched the sky above the tenements surrounding the plaza. “There’s no sign of smoke, so I don’t think it’s a fire.”

The five nobles watched in silence for several more moments. The scene grew more panicked and more confused, with beggars and paupers continuing to stream in from all directions. Soon, hundreds of people jammed the small plaza, half of them crowding toward the center and the other half pushing toward the tenements surrounding it. Most of the elves had wrapped their wares in their tents and, in groups of two and three, were beating their way through the crowd.

Agis turned to peer down an alley running alongside the Red Kank. He found himself staring down at a half-giant, his menacing eyes as big around as plates. Below the eyes, a huge nose ran down to a misshaped, thick-lipped mouth.

“In the king’s name, stand away from the wall!” ordered the half-giant, tilting his head back only a little to look up at Agis.

Agis obeyed, reaching for his mug of broy. The guard turned his attention back to the alley, gleefully kicking at the beggars, driving the poor wretches into the square.

Once the half-giant had passed the Red Kank, Dyan, Beryl, and Kiah immediately disappeared into the suphouse. Agis and Jaseela stayed where they were to watch what happened next.

From each alley emerged one of the king’s huge soldiers, using his feet and a club of polished bone to drive a small group of terrified paupers before him. Behind the half-giants came templars armed with whips and long black ropes. As Agis and Jaseela watched, the templars moved to the edge of the square and started separating people into two groups. They released one group to leave the square, then they bound the hands of those who remained into loops on the black ropes. As far as Agis could tell, the only thing that determined whether the templars released a person or bound him into a rope was whether or not the captive could produce a bribe.

“Tithian is certainly a clever fellow,” remarked Jaseela sarcastically. “I would never have thought to solve the worker shortage by enslaving beggars.”

“I wonder if it has occurred to Tithian that the king’s half-giants would do much better on the ziggurat than our slaves or these paupers?” Agis asked, glancing at Jaseela.

“I’m certain it has, but have you ever known a half-giant to give an honest day’s labor?” Jaseela countered. “Besides, if he made slaves of the king’s guard, who would keep the Veiled Alliance in line?”

Below the Red Kank’s balcony, a pauper broke away from the slave rope and sprinted for the alley. A half-giant lumbered after the escapee, roaring with excitement. He caught the unfortunate wretch in front of the suphouse, knocking the starving beggar into the wall with a well-aimed blow of the bone club.

The guard stopped a few feet from the balcony and peered up at the nobles. “Nice smash, eh?” he chortled, displaying his bloody club.

As that moment, a silver flash flared behind the guard and a clap of thunder rolled across the square. Agis looked toward the sound and saw a different half-giant crashing to the cobblestones, a smoking hole in the center of his back.

The guard in front of the Red Kank slowly turned and searched the square. “What’s happening?”

An alarmed murmur rustled across the square, and the king’s men stopped collecting slaves to look at their fallen comrade. Suddenly golden bolts of energy shot from shop windows and alleys all around the square, striking templars and half-giants with unnerving accuracy. Several black-robed bureaucrats collapsed. Others disappeared into the crowd. Some of the half-giants took the attacks without falling. They only roared in pain and clutched at the hideous burns that marked them wherever the golden beams had struck.

The guard in front of the Red Kank stood with his back to the nobles, looking from one side of the square to the other.

“Agis, look!” Jaseela pointed at a form standing behind the counter of a nearby shop.

The figure wore a blue robe with a white veil pulled across his face. From beneath the veil protruded a small yellow tube, directed at a wounded half-giant a quarter of the way across the square. As the nobles watched, a handful of shimmering balls streaked out of the tube. When they hit the wounded guard, they erupted into sprays of brilliant flame. The half-giant dropped without making a sound.

The guard in front of the Red Kank raised his club and started toward the figure, but paused when someone in the square called, “Watch out, there’s another!”

Out of a nearby alley streamed a crackling flame, coming from the outstretched fingers of a blue-robed figure to scorch another guard’s head.

“Sorcerers!” Agis gasped. “It has to be the Veiled Alliance!”

A nearby templar scooped three stones off the ground. “In the name of Mighty Kalak, let these missiles strike dead the enemies of the king!”

The templar tossed the stones at the wizard attacking with the fire stream. As soon as he released them, all three shot through the air like arrows and struck their target square in the forehead. The sorcerer collapsed, spraying the alley walls with great gouts of effulgent flame.

The half-giant in front of the suphouse stepped toward the first sorcerer that had revealed himself. In the same instant, Jaseela pulled a steel stiletto from beneath her cloak.

“What are you doing?” Agis asked.

“Joining the fight,” Jaseela returned. “How about you?”

With that, she hopped onto the wall and dropped down onto the guard’s back. As the noblewoman landed, she threw her free arm over the half-giant’s shoulder and reached around his massive neck, burying her stiletto deep into the guard’s soft throat.

The half-giant bellowed in rage. After dropping his club, he grabbed at Jaseela’s head with one massive hand and at her stiletto with the other.

Agis watched the noblewoman’s attack with a sense of detached shock. In the flash of an eye, Jaseela had declared herself in full rebellion against Kalak. If someone later identified her as a participant in the ambush, which seemed likely given the number of people in the square, her lands would be confiscated and orders issued to kill her on sight.

Jaseela ducked the half-giant’s clumsy grasp, then slipped down his back, still clinging to her dagger. The blade opened a long gash in the guard’s throat, then suddenly came free. The noblewoman dropped the rest of the way to ground, her arm soaked with dark blood.

The half-giant spun around. He held a massive hand across the gash in his throat, but could not stop the flow. Bright red bubbles appeared between his fingers. He gurgled an unintelligible threat and lifted his free hand to strike.

Realizing that even a wounded half-giant could crush the noblewoman with just one blow, Agis took a deep breath and prepared to help her. With a little bit of luck, he could use the Way to save Jaseela and no one would ever know.

The noble focused his thoughts on his energy nexus, then made a fist and turned the knuckles toward the guard’s chest. In his mind he imagined a mystical rope of energy flowing from his nexus into his arm. Agis mentally shaped the energy he had summoned into a huge fist. He drew his arm back and punched at the guard, simultaneously releasing his psionic attack.

The invisible fist struck its target square in the chest. The half-giant rocked back on his massive heels, but did not fall. Instead, he shook his ponderous brow and peered more closely at Jaseela, then slapped her with the heel of his open hand. An astonished cry escaped the noblewoman’s lips as the blow sent her crashing into the suphouse wall. She collapsed to the ground, and the half-giant reached down to pick her up.

Agis cursed himself for being tentative and subtle when he should have been bold. He had used the Way not because it was the best method of saving Jaseela, but because he was afraid to overtly involve himself in the revolt. Jaseela had shown no such hesitations. She had seen what was right and done it in an instant.

As the half-giant’s fingers closed around Jaseela’s limp body, Agis drew his dagger and climbed onto the edge of the balcony. “Up here!” be called.

The half-giant looked up, blood still seeping from between the fingers clasped about his throat. Agis dropped off the balcony. He landed on the guard’s shoulder and stabbed at his foe’s eye with all his might. The dagger sank to the hilt. The half-giant screamed and spun away, spilling Agis onto the cobblestones next to Jaseela. The huge brute plucked the dagger from his eye and stumbled away in pain and shock. A few steps later he finally dropped to the ground.

Agis turned to Jaseela. The noblewoman’s eyes were closed and her breathing shallow. He ran his hand over the back of her head and felt a huge knot forming where it had struck the wall. She was covered with blood, but he could not tell how much of it was hers and how much was from the dead guard.

Agis poked his head into the shadowy door of the Red Kank. “Caro!” he yelled. “I need you!”

Though he had no doubt the other three nobles were also inside the suphouse, he did not bother calling them. If he was disappointed in himself for letting Jaseela attack alone, he was disgusted with them for abandoning her altogether. Besides, he and Caro would have an easier time getting the noblewoman out of the Elven Market if there was more than one group of nobles for greedy pickpockets and vengeful templars to follow.

As Agis turned away from the Red Kank, he saw that the elven merchants had fallen upon the templars. He knew the elves were more interested in stealing the bureaucrats’ fat purses than resisting Kalak’s oppression, but he was glad for the diversion. The more chaotic the scene in Shadow Square, the less likely templar informers would be to take note of him and Jaseela.

Agis gently stretched the noblewoman out on the cobblestones, then kneeled at her side and checked once more for obvious wounds. As far as he could tell, all of the blood had come from the half-giant.

Caro stepped out of the suphouse. “What happened?”

“No time to explain now,” Agis said. “I’m going to need you to keep Jaseela from being jostled as we leave. Do you feel well enough for a little pushing and shoving?”

The dwarf nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

Without further comment, Agis laid his hands on the ground next to the noblewoman, then called on his psionic powers to create an invisible bed of pure force beneath her. His fingers and hands began to tingle, and Jaseela’s body rose off the ground. Agis laid a palm on her stomach to keep her stable and used his other to take her hand. He stepped toward the alley through which he had entered the square, thinking he might be strong enough to keep her levitated until they had left the Elven Market.

When Agis lifted his eyes from Jaseela’s unconscious form, he found himself facing a large man wearing a blue robe, a white scarf pulled across his face. The brown eyes peering out from beneath the white brow seemed as ancient as Caro’s, but there was a depth and power to them that Agis found both alarming and awe-inspiring. In one hand, the wizard held the noble’s bloody dagger, and in the other he carried the obsidian-pommeled cane that Agis recognized as belonging to the old man who had given him directions to Shadow Square.

The figure offered the dagger to Agis without saying a word.

“You?” the noble gasped.

The sorcerer ignored the question and placed the dagger in Agis’s hand, then turned to go. The senator caught him by the shoulder. “Wait. We’re part of this now. We want to help.”

Using his cane, the sorcerer knocked Agis’s hand away. “We don’t need your help.”

With that, he took a single step away from the nobleman. Before Agis’s eyes, the old man’s body grew translucent and faded from sight.