Araezra looked between the two guards, frowning.
“Well?” she asked, pointing. “Which of you jacks will go after them?”
Treth ran his hand through his hair. “A snake strikes at short distances, not long ones,” he said. “At my age, I’m like to be no faster than Gordil, here. In fact—”
Turnstone, with his grim face and white mustache, shrugged.
Araezra sighed. “Well, well!’ She pulled at the clasps of her breastplate, thrusting it open to the belly. Turnstone’s eyes almost popped and Treth just smiled. “Turn, jacks.”
They did—though she could swear Treth was still watching.
Araezra shrugged out of her coat-of-plate, revealing her sweat-plastered chemise. It was a thin, short affair that kept her cool under her uniform armor—to which the padding was attached—but it was hardly modest, particularly when sweaty. She rolled her eyes and positioned the straps of her harness where they offered the most cover—and the best support. Sometimes, Araezra wished she’d been born a boy.
“Well,” she said, tying her hair back.
The guards turned. Turnstone had the decency to blush, while Treth snickered. Araezra threw her armor at the Snake’s chest, blowing the air out of his lungs.
“Ward her well,” Araezra said, nodding at Lorien. “Deliver her to the temple, then meet at the barracks. Unless you happen across Talanna or me—in that case, aid.”
She seized the silvery sword out of Turnstone’s hands and looked to Treth. “Scabbard.”
Treth handed her Shadowbane’s scabbard.
Araezra sheathed the sword and stuck the scabbard through the straps on her back, securing it with her belt. She made sure that her hips could move freely. She wasn’t sure why she needed Shadowbane’s sword, but something compelled her to take it. Then, tapping her watchsword hilt smartly in an ironic salute, she sprinted down the corridor where Shadowbane and Talanna had gone.
Talanna would catch him, all right, unless he could outrun the fastest woman in Waterdeep. Araezra wasn’t sure, though, what would transpire when she did catch him. Likely, she would need support, and quickly.
This was ridiculous—running through Downshadow so indecently. If this didn’t end terribly, she would look into a new suit of armor: a light, balanced harness like the sort Talanna wore, crafted for speed and mobility.
For the moment—well, Araezra only hoped the chase wouldn’t take her where any citizens might be.
EIGHT
Araezra ran south after the sounds of footfalls. She prayed to Tymora that she’d picked the right direction and wouldn’t end up a dragon’s late-night meal. Fortunately, she saw Talanna’s bright orange hair fly around a corner twenty paces ahead, so she ran on.
Shadowbane tried to flee deeper into Undermountain, but Talanna was chasing him back toward the main chamber of Downshadow.
Good, Araezra thought—at least we won’t lose him in the tunnels.
Ye gods, but they were fast. Talanna and Shadowbane tore through chamber after chamber, brushing past the injured delvers they’d found, careening through empty rooms, denying Araezra the chance to gain on them.
Not once or twice but thrice they startled sentries and adventuring bands in tunnels and chambers Araezra and the Guard had avoided. Every time they caught the eye of a sentry and blazed like hellhounds through the midst of their camp, the sellswords and rogues would scramble up only in time for Araezra to appear. They met her with blades, cudgels, and even spells a-ready, confusion running through their ranks.
“Waterdeep Guard!” she cried for the first such band, and they managed only fumbling swings at her as she ran past, panting, her long tail of black hair flying. “Stand aside!”
She drew her sword but didn’t bother to block or parry—she kept running, heedless, and leaped the delvers’ cookfire to scramble down the opposite tunnel.
The second such band actually stayed her a moment, where a quick clash of swords and a well-placed kick to the nethers laid low an agile hunter. As she tore open the door Talanna had left swinging, the archer of that group fired an arrow that rustled Araezra’s hair and shattered harmlessly off the wall. She had no time to delay.
The third band, composed almost entirely of young noble fops and a single plain-faced lass in the boiled leather of a delver scout, just stared at the flesh Araezra had bared from under her armor. As she ran past, thanking Tymora they had not attacked, Araezra saw the young woman slap one of the lordlings across the face. It didn’t break his stare.
As she ran on, the valabrar cursed inwardly, cheeks burning, and wondered how many dreams of the next few nights would star a dark-haired, half-naked swordmaid.
These thoughts stole her concentration. Bursting into a new chamber, panting, Araezra slammed into Talanna, who had halted in her pursuit. Shadowbane, whom she had cornered, darted into an eastern passage as the women fell atop one another.
“Aye, Rayse!” said Talanna. “He’s getting—” Her startled eyes drifted to Araezra’s all-but-naked torso, and her cheeks went bright red. “Uh. Sorry!”
They fumbled apart and Araezra scrambled up. She forced her legs to carry her after Shadowbane. She saw his gray cloak flick around a corner and darted that way. Talanna, being much faster, caught up quickly.
They sprinted from chamber to chamber. Most were empty but for abandoned lean-tos and rubble, but in some they flew past sword-swingers and spellweavers, packs of monsters and flaming traps. Every time, they barely glimpsed Shadowbane ahead, disappearing around this corner or that. If they slowed even a touch, he would escape.
They crossed through an especially long chamber filled with clashing blades, screams of pain, and trails of sparks and lightning. Half a dozen warriors wielding the various steel of a rag-tag collection of dungeon delvers were fighting a whole horde of shambling, mindless zombies. Blood and limbs spattered the walls—much of it undead, some of it fresh. The adventurers fought and howled against the walking, flailing dead.
The room was outfitted with two rows of thirteen thrones stretching the length of the room. Zombies that stitched themselves together every time they were destroyed would make their way to the thrones. Three of the great chairs had been blasted to rubble over the centuries, and the zombies that approached those only flopped disconsolately to the floor.
Araezra recognized that hall from whispers among the Guard—the Sleeping Kings, it was called. Most sensible folk avoided the room, but few of the sellswords who descended into Downshadow were sensible.
“This is madness!” Araezra shouted to Talanna.
“Look!” Talanna pointed at Shadowbane, who was creeping along the fringe of the room unmolested. The brawl had slowed him, though, and he was only twenty paces ahead.
With a tight nod, Araezra and Talanna plunged into the thick of it, hacking their way through the undead to continue the chase. Swords bright with firelight, blood splashing everywhere, they fought their way across.
They had no sooner stepped near one of the thrones than Araezra heard a grinding of ancient gears. “Rayse!” Talanna cried.
The floor dropped out from under Araezra’s feet, and she would have fallen had not Talanna grasped her wrist. Adventurers screamed and tumbled down, draped with the moaning, wrestling corpses animated by the room’s fell magic.
Looking around, Talanna could see that most of the floor had dropped away, leaving the thrones on their bases standing like islands around the chamber. From the appearance of the floor and the sounds of the machinery, the trap had been designed as part of the original room.
Araezra dangled over the pit, clinging desperately to Talanna’s hand. Her watchsword had slipped from her grip and fallen into the pit along with the trap’s other victims.
She looked toward the exit—only two thrones away—where Shadowbane stood watching them. Inexplicably, he had paused in his flight, as though deciding whether to flee or stay and aid them. Araezra tried to catch his eye, but he looked away.
“Ready?” Talann
a asked, teeth gritted. The strengthening gauntlets on her wrists glittered, enhancing her natural power.
Araezra realized what she meant to do. “What? No! Don’t you even think—”
But Talanna strained, swung Araezra back, then threw her toward the next platform. Araezra uttered a tight scream but caught herself at the throne’s base. It blew the air from her lungs, but she hauled herself up to discover a zombie shambling toward her, its eyes jaundiced yellow.
Leaping through the air, Talanna kicked it in the head, driving it off the platform and into the pit. Araezra pulled herself up and they stood on the platform, shaking and panting. Shadowbane waited on the opposite ledge, cloak fluttering around him.
“What’s he doing?” Araezra asked. “Why isn’t he running?”
Talanna shook her head. She gestured at the gap, which was as long as a dagger cast. Araezra nodded. As one, they braced for it, ran, and leaped.
With the aid of her magical ring, Talanna made the jump easily enough, but she slipped on loose rubble and fell with a crash. Araezra’s feet faltered on the edge and she reeled back over the pit. Her heart froze.
Then a gauntleted hand caught hold of her arm and steadied her.
She looked up into Shadowbane’s face, covered by his helm, but he averted his eyes. He pulled her away from the dangerous drop-off.
The three paused for many heartbeats—Araezra panting, Talanna kneeling and flexing her sore arms, Shadowbane standing aloof. He didn’t seem able to meet their eyes.
“Don’t run,” Araezra said. She felt the hilt of Shadowbane’s sword at her hip, slung crosswise across her back. “We mean you no—”
Talanna lunged from behind him, but Shadowbane eluded her hands. He whirled, slapping her in the face with his cloak, and ran into the next tunnel.
Talanna and Araezra looked at one another, then bounded after him.
On Shadowbane’s heels, they burst into the chamber they had descended to reach Downshadow—a vertical shaft beneath a popular, centuries-old tavern.
Other than the Knight ’n Shadow, this place saw the most traffic into and out of the caves and tunnels. The hounds of Downshadow who stalked the Waterdeep night didn’t use such a visible entrance, so the bottom of the shaft was empty.
Shadowbane leaped up, bounced off one wall and then the other, and grasped the harness at the end of a long rope that was used to lower folk into Undermountain—often at the Watch’s behest for crimes against the city, but sometimes by request for fools with more greed than sense.
Shadowbane dangled a moment, twenty feet over their heads, then began to climb.
“Tal!” hissed Araezra, but the shieldlar was already moving.
Talanna hurled two daggers into the opposite wall. The fine adamantine edges sank into the stone easily, one at chest level, the other higher. She bounded up one, then the other, then pulled a third blade from her belt and stabbed it into the wall above. She grasped the knife below and snaked it up to jab higher. In this way, wiry arm muscles bulging, the red-haired guard pulled herself up dagger by dagger, as Shadowbane scaled the rope.
It was a bow shot to the top of the well—a long, hard climb.
At the bottom, Araezra shivered, panting at the speed of the chase. She wanted to pursue, but she was helpless without means to climb—or fly.
She seized the lowest of Talanna’s daggers from the wall and felt for Shadowbane’s sword on her back—still tightly secured. Then she looked up.
Long breaths dragged on, and she heard the click and scrape of Talanna’s daggers as she climbed ever higher. The strength of that woman …
Shadowbane gained the tavern first, of course, and Araezra heard distant, startled murmurs of patrons at their drink. Talanna reached the top and pulled herself over the lip of the shaft. “Waterdeep Guard!” came Talanna’s shout. “Lower the harness! With haste!”
Araezra winced, thinking of the stir she would cause when she appeared, half-dressed as she was. “Tal!” she shouted.
Sounds of a scuffle followed, then a feminine voice swore loudly. A red-fringed head poked over the wall far above. “Rayse! He’s going to the street—I’ll stop him!”
“Don’t even think it!” Araezra shouted. “That’s an order!”
Talanna bit her lip, then disappeared back into the tavern.
“Damn it, Tal!”
The harness came slithering down. Grasping the dagger between her teeth, Araezra rubbed her hands together, then leaped to grab hold. She hung on as it was pulled slowly—too slowly!—toward Waterdeep.
As Araezra reached the top, she swung free of the harness and planted her feet on the tavern floor. She ignored the startled and curious looks of patrons as she ran to the door. Talanna was nowhere to be seen, and if she didn’t know better …
One of the patrons—a white-faced noble lad—gawked at her and pointed out the door. “They—they were fighting, lady, and—and they ran that way!”
Araezra pushed through the door of the Yawning Portal tavern and looked down the dark street—and cursed. “Oh, Hells.”
She watched as Shadowbane leaped from one roof to another, running east along the rooftops toward Snail Street. Talanna, her red hair gleaming in the moonlight, sprinted after him.
Araezra darted into the chilly Waterdeep night and streaked after, following along the city streets.
Waterdeep’s sky was clear that night, and an almost full moon and Selûne’s tears shone down to light the streets. The night was very late—or very early, depending on one’s perspective—and drunken lordlings were making their way back to their villas, where servants would aid them (perhaps along with new-met lasses, or possibly other nobles) into their beds. Meanwhile, the common folk—who had to earn an honest living—were rising to begin the day, making dough for the ovens or gathering eggs to sell at market.
Dawn was naught but a small bell distant, and pale light glowed at the eastern horizon. It was still a time for rest before the gates opened and the important business of coin gathering—and spending—began anew.
In Dock Ward, however, there was no such tranquility.
“You stupid, stupid—Tal!” Araezra shrieked as her friend leaped over the narrow thoroughfare between Belnumbra and Snail Street.
Talanna barely made the jump, tumbled, and got up to run again. She turned south to follow Shadowbane, and they ran down Snail Street. Despite its name, nothing was slow about the street that night.
Araezra, heart thundering in her throat from weariness and terror, ran on, panting. The damp chill of Waterdeep clung to her sweat-soaked, bare shoulders.
Talanna leaped from rooftop to rooftop in pursuit of Shadowbane, whose gray cloak streaked behind him like a pair of wings. Gods, the man was fast, if he could outpace Talanna. Araezra knew magic had to be at work, probably in his boots—no living man could run that fast or jump that far. Sure enough, she saw a slight blue glow lingering around his feet.
The few folk on the streets—laborers, mostly—peered at her curiously, but Araezra put her head down and forced her legs to carry her. At least she was in Dock Ward, where frenzied chases and loud drunken disruptions were common in the early hours of pre-dawn. In the finer wards, Araezra would be reprimanded for disrupting the peace, for sure.
Gods, she was tired.
They ran past the Sleepy Sylph tavern on the left. Araezra’s heart almost stopped when Shadowbane seemed to fly across the alley between two buildings, and Talanna didn’t hesitate to make the jump after him. Still, they continued their chase.
Araezra ran on, narrowly avoiding pedestrians and carts and broadcriers who were just setting themselves to morningfeasts of simmer stew in round loaves. At the sight of her, the older folk gawked and the younger giggled. This, more than anything else, made her cheeks burn.
They passed another tavern, The Dancing Pony, and then Ralagut’s Wheelhouse, where Araezra ran up an unhitched wagon and jumped off the other side before pounding her way down the street. Her lungs felt like fire in h
er chest, but she kept running, her eyes scanning on high.
Shadowbane leaped over the next street, Talanna just behind him.
Surely she was tiring. Araezra thought she could hear the woman panting and wheezing for breath, even from so far away. They were going so fast and leaping so far …
At the end of the block, Snail Street curled east and south. At that juncture, a street from the west—Fish Street, named for its vendors, the finest place for a stringer of the morning catch—met Snail Street. It was a broad intersection, much wider than …
Gods, Araezra realized. “Tal! Tal, ‘ware!”
Shadowbane ran across the roof and leaped—soaring like nothing human—all the way to the other side. The roof was lower there, and he barely caught the edge. Araezra saw him land and roll, and he looked back at his hunter.
“Tal!” she screamed. “Stop!”
Too late.
Talanna reached the edge of the building and leaped, and for one heart-wrenching moment, Araezra thought she might make it.
Then she slammed into the edge of the opposite building at chest height, and rebounded to plunge into the open Fish Street, where a few men with their nets were passing. Araezra could only watch, heart frozen, as her friend tumbled like a discarded doll toward the ground.
Then she slowed, and drifted down gently like a fluffy cottonwood seed. Araezra realized Tal was wearing Neverember’s ring—the ring the Open Lord had given her to mock her name.
“Tal!” Araezra shrieked, and she pushed herself forward. She slammed into a fisherman rounding the corner, and they both rolled on the wet, grimy cobbles.
Talanna settled gently to the ground and lay there, unmoving.
Araezra cursed, forced herself up, and hobbled to Talanna. She fumbled for a healing potion in her belt, only to prick her half-numb fingers on a shard of glass. Her belt was damp and she realized her potions had broken somewhere in their hectic flight.
The hairs rose on Araezra’s neck as Shadowbane dropped next to her, his cloak billowing wide. Two throwing knives—Araezra recognized them as Talanna’s—stuck out of his shoulder and forearm, but he appeared not to feel them. Blue smoke wafted from his feet—the remnants of whatever magic he’d used to run that fast and leap that far. His cold eyes gleamed at her—seemingly colorless in the moonlight—then at Talanna. Those eyes looked somehow familiar, but in her terror for her friend, Araezra did not care.
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