26 KYTHORN (EVENING)

SCORCHING DAYLIGHT DIMS AND TWILIGHT FALLS.

“I don’t know about this,” Rhett said for the tenth time.

Kalen shrugged and kept on.

Myrin snored where he’d slung her over his shoulder.

Night had fallen as they set out and the rats of Luskan had come out of their holes. Cloaks over their faces, Kalen and Rhett became just another pair of kidnappers. None blocked their path through the city.

Getting past the wall was easy enough. A jar of alchemist’s fire tossed to the north had drawn most of the Guards’ attention and they’d stolen past amidst the distraction. Kalen had knocked only one man senseless. Now they were half a league from the city.

“I have a poor feeling about this, saer,” Rhett said.

“Just stay quiet,” Kalen said. “We’ll find some horses—wait.”

Glittering steel appeared in the dark, followed by shields bearing the image of a moon reflected in water—the sigil of Waterdeep. “Hold!” a man cried.

The shields formed a ring around the two men, pressing them back-to-back. Myrin nudged into Rhett and she murmured. “Mmm, that’s it. Right there.”

Kalen turned to Rhett. “Draw steel,” he said, bracing to run.

“Belay that,” came an all-too-familiar voice.

The ring of shields parted for a lithe woman in plate armor and a black cloak. She drew off her helmet, letting flow a cascade of black hair. She was pretty enough that a man might hesitate to take her seriously. Once he witnessed her cold temperance and efficiency, however, he’d never make that mistake again.

“Valabrar Hondyl!” Rhett rapped Vindicator’s pommel in salute, then bowed.

Kalen remained standing. “Araezra,” he said.

“Kalen.” Araezra “Rayse” Hondyl wore a weary expression. “I guess it was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?”

“Stand aside, Araezra,” Kalen said. “Let me take her out of here—to Waterdeep or at least Neverwinter. Arrest me then.”

“Like Hells.” Rayse shook her head. “I’ve taken a beating in the Guard for aiding you before, Kalen. You think I picked this cursed quarantine duty myself?”

“You’re not taking me in,” Kalen said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry,” Rayse said. “You won’t.”

At her wave, crossbows rose and fingers tensed on triggers.

“Wait!” Rhett said, raising his hand. “There’s another way.”

Rayse looked over at him, her face carefully calm in the face of imminent bloodshed. “You,” she said. “You’re that noble lad—Hawkwinter, is it?”

“Aye, Lady—er, Sir!” Rhett inclined his head. “Trusty Rhetegast Hawkwinter—until my discharge, that is.”

“What are you doing?” Kalen asked, but Rayse put up a hand to stay him.

“Speak then,” she said wearily. “I’d surely like to stain this ground with as little blood as possible. Gods know Luskan’s red enough as it is.”

“The plague,” Rhett said. “We can stop it.”

“What do I care about the plague?” Rayse said. “I’m here to keep the quarantine until it goes away on its own.”

“And a good job you’ve done,” Rhett said. “What if one of us carries it?”

That got the guards to fall back a pace, murmuring among themselves.

“We’ll make sure it doesn’t escape the city,” Rhett said. “We’ll stop it here, before it endangers all of Faerûn.”

Rayse and Kalen looked at one another. “How’s that?” the Valabrar asked.

“Boy,” Kalen warned.

Rhett bowled over his protests. “Give us a fortnight and we’ll cleanse Luskan of the plague, and we can all go home.”

“A fortnight,” Rayse said, her expression dubious. “Our scouts say everyone in Luskan will be dead of hunger by then.”

“Then we’d best hurry, eh?”

Rayse stared at him, then at Kalen. “Your squire makes a fine offer,” she said. “Is this acceptable to you?”

“He’s not my squire,” Kalen said. “And yes, unless I’ve another choice.”

“You don’t.” Rayse nodded to her men, who parted to allow Kalen and Rhett to head back toward the city’s walls.

Rhett saluted and turned to Kalen. “I’ll carry Her Majesty back, if you like.”

“Kalen,” Rayse said. “Do I even want to ask why you’re carrying a drunken lass over your shoulder? Wait, is that Myrin?”

“Mmm, not the darkness,” Myrin murmured. “Don’t cast it there”

Kalen rebuffed Rhett, hefting the woman toward Rayse instead. “Will you take her away from here?”

But Rayse was already backing away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She might have the plague, for all I know. You all might.”

“We don’t,” Kalen said.

“So you say,” Rayse said. “I should have had you feathered on sight. I could be stripped of my rank just for talking to you.”

“This is important, Rayse,” Kalen said. “Please.”

“I can’t,” she said.

Kalen nodded, only then handed the mostly unconscious woman to Rhett, who grunted as he took her dead weight.

Rayse was looking at him appreciatively. “Fine upstanding lad, turned criminal by just a glance at the legendary Shadowbane. And now he carries your sword. Typical.” She paused, thinking. “I seem to remember another boy you turned to your dastardly ways.”

Kalen winced as though she’d struck him and Rayse’s face turned apologetic.

Rhett, standing a little apart, cocked his head to listen.

“I’m sorry, Kalen—I didn’t think …” Rayse put a hand on his shoulder. “You should know, what happened to Vaelis was not your fault.”

Kalen didn’t want to think about that. He was bone weary and hungry as well. “Farewell, Rayse,” he said. “If we see each other again, I promise I’ll surrender.”

They turned and walked back toward Luskan, the Guard nervously shadowing their path to make sure they attempted no flight.

Behind them, Rayse sighed. “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

“Ay,” Myrin slurred when they arrived at the Drowned Rat. “I can walk my own self.”

Kalen gave Rhett a warning look, but the lad set her down regardless. “Wouldn’t be proper,” she said with a smile, “returning to my castle not on my own two feet.”

She almost fell—would have, had Kalen not caught her. They fumbled in one another’s arms and Kalen smelled the wine still thick on her breath.

“I’m really quite angry at you, you know,” she said to Kalen. “You and your tight little hindquarters.” She looked down under his arm. “Mm-hmm. Yes.”

Rhett took Myrin’s arm. “We should get her back into bed,” he said.

“My head hurts,” Myrin said. “Just thought I’d inform you.”

Kalen pushed through the door to the tavern, then stopped dead a few paces into the common room. Every Dead Rat in the gang was gathered and all eyes turned toward them.

“Oh,” Myrin said with a drunken smile. “Well met, everyone!”

Toytere stood in the center of the chamber, his thumbs hooked in his belt. When he saw them, his face turned pale. “I”—he said—“I didn’t reckon you be coming back.”

Kalen understood immediately. “Toytere, what have you done?”

Rhett felt it too. He drew Vindicator. “What’s going on?”

“Aye!” Myrin broke away from Rhett and stumbled toward Toytere. Kalen ran forward and caught her. “What’s going on, Toy?”

He took a hesitant step toward her, half-raising his hand, then stopped and shook his head. “I want you to be knowing, me dear lady,” he said. “I never did want this thing.” He nodded to Sithe. “Get the girl.”

Kalen shouted a word of warning, but it was too late. The genasi surged across the floor and swept her axe at Rhett. Vindicator caught the blow, but Rhett staggered away. Sithe turned toward Myrin, her axe high.

Betrayed.

“Myrin—” Kalen reached for his daggers, but something hard struck him in the gut. He fell to his knees, his strength instantly gone. He looked from the point of a rapier blade protruding through his side to the halfling who had stabbed him.

“You be bringing this on your own self,” said a seething Toytere in Kalen’s ear.

Toytere lunged at him with a hiss, knocking him to the floor. The halfling clambered atop his chest, a broad dagger in either fist. They looked more like meat carving knives than weapons of war.

Kalen struggled, but Toytere slashed a knife across his left hand, stilling it. The halfling slammed the pommel of one of his knives into Kalen’s face in a shower of white sparks. Toytere struck him again and again, pounding the sense from his head, roaring with every blow. He cried out for his sister, cried out for vengeance, and finally just cried out with no words at all.

Dimly, in the depths of a shrinking world, Kalen heard Myrin calling his name. He couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t even move.

Toytere heard it too and her voice seemed to shake him from his rage. “There be no escape for you, me good son,” he said. “You hark? That be your friends dying—except Myrin. That girl be bought and paid for. I be but the means.”

Kalen had failed her—failed them all.

“I be deciding which ear to be taking first,” Toytere said. “The left?” He stabbed one knife to the left of Kalen’s head. “Or the right?” He stabbed the other down, closing Kalen’s head between rusty steel.

“Mebbe the nose,” Toytere said, pulling out a third, even bigger knife. “Or mebbe we let fate do the deciding, no?” He grinned wickedly. “Then I’ll feed. Yes … feed.”

And he tossed the blade into the air over Kalen’s face, letting it spin end over end.