The spymaster’s apprentice moved swiftly along the broad street leading to the town gates. Her green eyes danced warily in all directions as she searched her surroundings for the dangers she knew were lurking. The tension of her pose and the tilt of her head betrayed her alertness and her fear.

  Watching her, Raomar snorted softly in derision. She had chosen not to obey his instructions. Attempting to leave the city, now, would not keep her from him.

  She’d swear allegiance to the guild, or she’d become an example for the rest.

  Much as he hated doing it, Raomar knew he had no choice. If he didn’t enforce his will here, there were others who’d challenge his right to be in charge. As his mind drifted, the water clouded, the image of the apprentice wavering.

  With a soft growl of impatience, Raomar forced himself to concentrate, bringing the picture back into focus and zooming in on the slender figure making for the gates. There was a moment’s hesitation, then the water cleared.

  The apprentice was as lightly built as he was, and moved as silently as a wraith. Her movements were as graceful as those of any child brought up in the faraway courts of the plains and Raomar wondered how well she could ride. It would be unusual if she couldn’t.

  With another soft word, he altered the spell to give him sound, as well as sight, and adjusted the picture. Somewhere, in the nearby darkness, Grunwol would be following.

  Raomar knew the big man wasn’t far away, that he’d have been tracking the apprentice as she made her attempt to leave the city in defiance of the guildmaster’s orders. He wondered where the Northman had concealed himself, since the apprentice seemed unaware of him.

  She was also unaware of the Northman’s partner in this hunt.

  Raomar frowned. Why Grunwol had thought he needed a partner was beyond him, but the man had insisted on the shadow thief’s company and Raomar had agreed. He’d learned to trust the barbarian’s instincts for the hunt.

  Dart was also somewhere in the confines of the bowl, and it would be futile to look for her. Raomar resisted the temptation to try and see where the shadow thief was hiding. She wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion and he knew she had the means to know when she was being scried, if not by whom.

  He sighed, watching the apprentice progress through the streets.

  No, upsetting Lady Dart was not something he wanted to do. She was far too valuable an ally to annoy.

  The soft scuff of footsteps on not-so-distant cobbles drew his attention back to the bowl. Raomar frowned, surprised to hear any sound from the apprentice. It took him a few seconds to realize the apprentice wasn’t making any noise…and that she seemed as puzzled by the sound as he was.

  * * *

  Brianda Bloodbriar tensed as she heard the sound of footsteps on the road behind her. She didn’t want to look, not wanting to alert those following, but knowing she’d have to check soon. The footsteps had sounded closer, this time—like they were closing.

  It was yet another sign that all her carefully laid plans were coming rapidly apart. She’d wanted to leave the city two days ago, before she’d drawn the attention of the city’s guildmaster.

  Nobles, she thought sourly. Her contact had refused to bring their meeting forward, even when she’d stressed the urgency.

  “His lordship is out hunting and cannot be disturbed.”

  The senior servant had been as supercilious and unsurpassable as most of his kind, and had become even more rigid when she’d tried to insist.

  Brianda had waited the two days he’d demanded, then delivered the commission her master had died retrieving. It had been one day too long, and her funds had run out. She’d had no choice but to lift a few purses to pay for her lodgings, and had hoped it would go unnoticed.

  It hadn’t, as she’d discovered when a Northman dressed in light-weight tunic and trousers had tapped her on the shoulder.

  “The master bids you leave, or pay your dues,” he’d told her. “You have until sunset.”

  He didn’t specify which master, or why, but he’d slipped a wooden token into her hand and walked quietly away, leaving her standing shaken in the middle of the street. A Northman…

  She’d had nightmares that night, dreams of pain and blood and terror, that had left her sweating in a twist of sheets and seen the inn-keeper pounding at her door.

  “Dreams,” she’d explained. “Just dreams…”

  He’d given her a doubtful look and asked her to dream more quietly, so the rest of the guests could sleep, and Brianda had quietly agreed. Dawn had seen her knocking on the duke’s door, and being sent swiftly on her way.

  “He’ll see you in the morning.”

  She’d been refused the right to wait in the foyer, and left standing on the doorstep after the door had closed. Another night had passed, with restless dreams haunted by glittering green eyes and the snap of a lash that sent her downstairs to end the night before the warmth of the common-room’s fire.

  The duke had arrived late, then taken his time reading the missive she’d brought. She’d been fed and watered with scant attention, then paid.

  “Thank your master,” he’d told her shortly, then left without another word.

  He hadn’t even asked why her master had sent her, instead of attending the meeting himself. Brianda had left, her heart sinking at the gathering dusk and rapidly approaching night. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to spending another night on the road, she hoped the guards would let her out.

  The sound of footsteps came again, and Brianda resisted the urge to break into a run. If she was lucky, she’d reach the gates. She’d camp outside the guardhouse if she had to, but she was leaving.

  Someone had to carry news of her master’s demise to King Strevani’s court. There, at least, his presence would be missed, and he’d be grieved as he should be.

  The sound of boots scuffing against cobbles came again, bringing Brianda back to her current predicament.

  There had to be at least two of them trailing her steps…and it was past time she tried to out-distance or out-maneuver them. She had to reach the relative safety of the gates—and she had a feeling her current pursuers weren’t about to let that happen.

  A narrow alley opened up to her left, and she turned into it, pretending it had always been her destination. Behind her, the footsteps paused, and the indistinct murmur of voices whispered softly in her wake. The words were too indistinct for her to hear.

  Hearing them wasn’t necessary, she decided, rounding the corner and breaking into a run as soon as she was out of sight. She kept her footsteps as silent as she knew how, running with her head down until the corner was well behind her…and only then did she look up.

  The street ended. Instead of an intersection, the brick and timber front of a cobblers rose in front of her. Boots and shoes lined its window front and Brianda gaped at them in disbelief. Moving into the shadows of its doorstop, she pivoted to look back down the street.

  Maybe they weren’t following… Maybe they hadn’t seen her… Maybe…

  Her mind raced as she tried to salvage something of her plans. Tucking herself back in the shadows she watched the street beyond the lane’s end, breathing a soft sigh of relief as two figures walked across it and kept going.

  Brianda took a deep breath, thanking Enshul, goddess of thieves and the night as she listened to their footsteps fade. When the night was quiet, once more, she moved out of the shadows and trotted swiftly back the way she’d come.

  * * *

  Watching her, Raomar nodded in slow approval, then shifted the scry’s focus to the rooftops, where he found his enforcer.

  Grunwol was moving parallel to the girl, and had probably watched her from the roofs for most of the night—a routine task for the big Northman…until the two others had appeared. Retrieving the apprentice before she reached the gates was the man’s main priority, but discovering which of his competitors had sent similar pursuit rivaled it.

  Raomar watched as Grunwol silently maneuvered his huge bulk across the roof tiles, descending the angled canyons and negotiating chimneys with an ease that many envied. The Northman tracked the apprentice’s path as she moved from a trot and bolted toward the end of the lane.

  Seconds later, he watched as Grunwol dropped to a crouch. The two figures were back, two men, bulky in black leather armor who rounded the corner with the suddenness of good planning. Raomar saw when the apprentice spotted them and dropped into a brisk walk.

  Ten feet from gaining the main street, and too close to avoid notice, the apprentice continued forward, slightly angling her path to keep out of arms’ reach as she went to pass the new arrivals.

  “Evening, sirs.” Her voice showed no sign of the worry she had to be feeling as she tried to walk by them and into the street beyond.

  They moved swiftly to block her way.

  “Evening, miss,” one of them replied. “And what brings a lovely lady, like yerself, out at this time of night?”

  The girl blushed—and well she might, Raomar thought, given she’d just been greeted like a common call girl in a tone that suggested her services were expected. He watched as she pasted a smile on her face and replied.

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  “I’m not for sale,” she told them. “I’m running an errand.”

  The hint of something lethal lurked in her expression, and Raomar heard a certain hardness in her voice. If he’d been one of the men confronting her, he’d have taken a couple of steps back.

  Messengers didn’t give more information than they had to…and most thieves thought twice about interfering with them, in case they angered someone more powerful than they could handle.

  The two men exchanged glances, and then looked back at the girl.

  “An errand, is it?” one asked, smirking. “Collecting or delivering?”

  The girl frowned, and Raomar mirrored her expression. What was the man driving at? Did he already know who the girl was?

  He had to admire the girl, as she answered with more confidence than she had a right to.

  “An errand,” she repeated, eyeing them up and down. “Now, let me pass.”

  “Just as soon as we’ve your name,” the speaker of the pair told her.

  There was no threat in his tone, just matter-of-fact command.

  The girl paused, and Raomar knew what was passing through her mind. Brianda Bloodbriar, Brianda of the Blood, Brianda Spikenard… Any of those would be enough to get her killed, as would Brianda the Assassin’s Daughter.

  Raomar shook his head and wondered what was taking Grunwol so long to reach her.

  In the meantime, the girl looked into her questioner’s eyes, tension running through every line of her body.

  “Well?” the man demanded.

  “Well, what?” Brianda asked, and the two men exchanged glances.

  “I asked yer name.”

  The girl swallowed, then glared at him.

  “Bonnie,” she lied, her voice firm, her gaze never shifting.

  Again, the men exchanged glances. Arching one eyebrow, the questioner looked the girl up and down.

  “Bonnie,” he repeated, then asked the question she’d been trying to avoid. “Bonnie what?”

  Brianda glanced away, looking past him as though looking for help. What she was really looking for was inspiration. She needed a name…a surname…one common to these parts and not the plains she came from.

  There wasn’t much to choose from between the buildings crowding the lane, and its dimly lit confines didn’t reveal much. Dark lumps of refuse, the irregular pattern of cobbles…the lane’s name on a board at the entrance…

  “Bonnie Cobbler,” she answered, flicking her gaze back to his face.

  “Cobbler?” the man spat.

  He glanced around, his gaze taking in their surroundings and passing across the sign as it did so. He snorted, amusement briefly lighting his features before he turned back. His smile faded.

  “Absolute cobblers!” he snarled, stepping to grab her.

  * * *

  Raomar tensed, resisting the urge to deny the man’s actions with a shout. His grip on the bowl tightened and he pressed his lips together.

  To make a sound, now, would end the spell, and he needed to see what happened next. The girl would be brought into the fold…or hunted to extinction. There was no other way.

  It was bad enough he’d come out of his seat, and fortunate he hadn’t lost his grip on the spell. As it was, the water rippled, blurring the picture. It did not settle, until he’d sat back down.

  Releasing a soft breath, he watched the water stir and the picture return to normal. Once it had, he murmured the word to shift its focus to Grunwol. The Northman balanced beside a chimney, observing the drama unfold in the lane below.

  Raomar wanted to order the man to take out his rivals and make the capture, but knew his second-in-command had the situation under control, even if it didn’t look it. Resisting the urge to drum his fingers against the sides of the bowl, the beast elf waited.

  With most of his bulk concealed by the chimney’s shadow, Grunwol reduced his chances of a stray glance uncovering his presence. Raomar watched as the big man unhooked the rope-and-grapple he carried, and reverse down the roof.

  As he did so, a startled shout came through the bowl, and Raomar snapped the command to switch the focus back to the girl. He was in time to see her duck beneath her opponent’s hand. The man’s fingers brushed the back of her cloak and missed, and the girl didn’t give him a second chance.

  Her palm slammed into the cobbles, as she threw herself into a roll and came to her feet. She didn’t look back as she raced for the end of the lane, dodging the second man’s grab as she went.

  Raomar stifled a slight cry of dismay, forcing himself to sit as he watched her opponents go tearing after her. One of them pulled a dagger from his hip and flung it after her retreating form, and Raomar silently cursed.

  If Grunwol didn’t hurry…

  * * *

  Brianda’s palm stung from hitting the cobbles, but she was past her pursuers with the lane’s end clear before her. Running footsteps came from behind her as her assailants tried to catch up, and she hoped they didn’t catch her before she reached the corner.

  She gave herself a one in one hundred chance, but it was still a chance.

  Passing beneath the street sign, she lashed out to catch the corner and spun herself around it. Something whirred past her and clattered off the stonework beside her hand.

  Brianda didn’t stop to find out what it was. She didn’t need to. She’d had daggers thrown at her before. She also knew the men wouldn’t be able to catch her, before she ducked down another of the alleys…and once she did that, she could be up on the roofs and away.

  Neither of them looked like climbers.

  “Thief!” The cry rang out behind her, and Brianda cursed.

  That cry would bring out the locals…or the Watch…or both. It was the only chance the men had of stopping her, and they knew it.

  “Stop! Thief!”

  “A gold for the one who brings her to me!”

  Cold fear coursed through her. That last call was enough to have everyone out of their beds and in the street—even those most determined to mind their own business.

  “Thief!”

  “A gold for your help!”

  “Dammitall,” she muttered, as doors opened on either side of the turn she wanted to make. Two men, three boys, a girl, and two women with brooms converged to block her path, and she altered course.

  She had to get out of the street.

  Footsteps echoed above her.

  Above? Brianda resisted the urge to look up. Above meant the rooftops, but she hadn’t…

  There was no time to look. What she needed was another alley, one where the occupants of the houses flanking it hadn’t yet woken to her pursuers’ cries.

  “A gold!”

  “Stop! Thief!”

  More voices took up the cry, adding to the volume and the likelihood the Watch would come.

  She really had to get out of the street.

  “Thief! Thief!” The shouts grew louder and became a chorus.

  Doors opened in answer. Lanterns were held aloft.

  “A gold for the one who stops her!”

  Lanterns bobbed down stairs and footsteps scrambled over the cobbles. Very soon doors would be opening ahead of her instead of just on either side in her wake.

  Brianda put her head down and ran harder.

  The shouts traveled faster than she did, and doors started to open ahead of her, their emerging inhabitants moving to block her escape. Brianda looked around, hoping for an opening between the houses and shopfronts, but not seeing any.

  She turned towards a vertical stretch of shadow, only to find a recess from which emerged a group of men hastily buckling their trousers. A brothel…with customers eager for more gold. She changed course, pivoting to avoid the grab from one of the other residents, and diving under the outstretched hand of another.

  There was an intersection ahead.

  Brianda put on a spurt of speed, avoiding yet another pair of hands and leaping over someone’s hasty attempt to trip her. Reaching the intersection, she bolted right—and slammed into a breastplate made of hardened steel.

  She bounced off, the impact throwing her back onto the cobbles, her head ringing. Shaking her head, Brianda started to roll to her feet, all too aware of the mob racing toward her, and the armored figures closing the distance between them.

  She wasn’t aware of the amber eyes blazing with frustration that watched through the rippling waters of a crystal bowl, or the big man who landed hard on the cobbles on the other side of the street. He raced toward her.

  Brianda heard his footsteps, but kept her eyes on the watch sergeant and the leveled spears of the two watchmen approaching beside him. Scrambling back, she tried to get to her feet as well as get out of range. She didn’t expect to hit the solid wall of Grunwol’s boots or feel a large hand closing over her collar, her hair and the nape of her neck.

  Brianda lashed back with a boot, and her captor shook her, making her teeth rattle.

  “Enough,” he commanded, his voice soft enough to stay between them, as his grip tightened.

  Brianda froze. She knew that voice! She drew a breath to explain she’d been leaving, but he shook her again, and the words fled.

  Raising her eyes, she saw the mob had registered her capture…or, more importantly, registered who had made the capture. They also registered the presence of the Watch and turned quickly away.

  “What’s going on?” a hard voice demanded.

  The watch sergeant had halted two strides away, raising his hand to signal his men to stop. They still held their spears, but upright, the tips no longer pointed in her direction.

  Brianda almost relaxed. If it hadn’t been for the man that held her, she’d have been happy with the change. As it was, she was in more trouble than if the Watch had caught her. She glanced at the sergeant, but he ignored her, his attention on her captor.

  “Just a little in-house trouble, Sergeant,” the Northman replied, and Brianda’s hopes of leaving the city died.

  Her captor’s grip had momentarily tightened, and she knew he wouldn’t let her go.

  “We seem to have the cause of it well in hand,” the Northman added, giving Brianda another shake as he did so.

  The answer made it clear there’d be no negotiation, and she was well and truly caught. Brianda’s heart sank, and she wondered if she’d ever see the plains city again…or if her master would ever properly be mourned.

  “In-house, eh?” the sergeant asked, studying Brianda’s face. He was about to say more, when the guildsman spoke.

  “Yes, in-house.” Again, the words were accompanied by a shake, and Brianda’s teeth rattled. “We were in the middle of dealing with it when you came, but there were…complications.”

  The sergeant scanned the streets around them, and gave him a disgruntled look. After a minute’s thought, he came to a decision.

  “In-house,” he repeated, then cleared his throat. “Well, deal with it more quietly in future…a little more in-house in fact.

  The pressure on Brianda’s neck increased.

  “We will, sergeant.”

  She heard satisfaction in the reply, and the grip didn’t ease. Keeping her eyes down, Brianda watched as the sergeant’s shins and boots took a step out of her range of vision, then she listened as he walked away.

  “Abouuut face!”

  Boots slammed into the cobbles.

  “Forward…march!”

  Hearing the squad move away, Brianda took a chance. Hoping the guildsman’s attention was on the retreating patrol, she shifted her hand carefully, until she found her dagger’s hilt.

  She might have been caught, but she didn’t need to stay that way. Curling her fingers around the hilt, she drew it carefully from its scabbard.

  The Deverath guild was the only thieves’ guild she’d noticed…as in, she hadn’t been able to find evidence of another…and that meant she was in a lot of trouble, because there were only two ways a guild got that powerful in a city this size.

  They were either brutally ruthless in enforcing their rules…or they had access to power from another realm. Brianda didn’t want to discover which.

  The grip on her shoulder didn’t loosen, but her captor didn’t speak. Brianda guessed he was waiting for the Watch to turn the next corner…and she didn’t want to still be caught when they did. Her grip tightened on the dagger and she tensed her arm, preparing to drive it back into the man holding her.

  Unfortunately, Grunwol didn’t hunt alone.

  There was a brief snap of sound, and pain flared through Brianda’s wrist. She gasped and dropped the dagger, her hand opening under the impact of a long, thin dart. A jerk followed the sound of the dagger hitting the cobbles.

  For a moment, her captor stood still, and then he flexed his arm, turning Brianda to face him. She lashed out, catching him in the stomach with her foot, and his green eyes flared with anger. She tried again, swinging for his face with her undamaged hand.

  The Northman snarled, then dropped to one knee, shifting his grip and slamming her into the cobbled road with enough force to drive the breath from her lungs. Brianda’s head hit hard and she saw stars for the second time that night.

  She was still trying to catch her breath, when he flipped her onto her stomach and pulled her hands behind her back. Brianda turned her head and caught a glimpse of his face. His silvered hair glimmered and fury rode his expression.

  For a moment, she was reminded of another Northerner, and panic rose like a cold sea in her gut. No! Gravarik! She tried to pull free, but he was too heavy.

  “We haven’t the time to waste,” he growled, and her panic ebbed.

  Not Gravarik… Breathing fast with fear, Brianda stilled.

  Not…Gravarik… she reminded herself. Just another…only another… Someone different.

  She hoped she was right.

  “Nice shooting, my lady,” the big man murmured, and Brianda wondered who he was talking to.

  She hadn’t shot anyone.

  “Please…” she began, as hopeless as it was. “Let me…”

  “No,” he told her shortly, slinging her over his shoulder, like a bag of wheat.

  Behind them, she caught a glimpse of the empty street, and saw two familiar figures backing away from several more. Curious, she watched, and saw her original pursuers taken quickly from their feet, their bodies carried away.

  Ruthless, she thought, remembering her master’s assessment of the guild situation in Deverath. That thought was almost comforting.

  Ignoring what she thought, the guildsman carried her quickly off the main street and into a smaller lane. Every stride rippled through him, travelling into Brianda’s stomach.

  “You can put me…” she began, and was cut off.

  “No. Be silent.”

  Brianda wondered what he’d do if she threw up down his back. The movement was making her feel ill, and her wrist ached, both from being tied, but also from the dart. She wondered idly if he’d bound it, or if it was bleeding…and why that even mattered.

  As well as feeling nauseous, she was also starting to feel clouded…like she’d been drinking…or…

  The dart had been poisoned?

  Brianda wondered if the guildsman knew…and what would come first, oblivion or vomiting.

  She was still pondering the question, when darkness took her.