《Shadow's Blade》 A Meeting in Solanthe -- part 1 Naked to the waist, the men chanted in the ancient tongue taught to them by Zall, the priest from Xuphar. They pointed the blood-covered knives in their hands at the ground, for their god dwelt deep within the Great Sea and they wished to do him honor. The stone altar they circled was stained with fresh human blood. A gold statue stood on it, ten inches tall, unsoiled save for two smears of blood across its eyes so that Thosk could see their sacrifice. Faster and faster they chanted, as the hooded priest brought the tails of his leather flogger onto their backs to drive them into a frenzy. Their bodies reeked of sweat. They had been drilled in the language of Xuphar, but the foreign tongue did not come naturally to them, and as their ecstasy and pain intensified, one of them misspoke. Zall was angry, but he dared not disturb the ritual further by berating the Solanthian who had made the mistake. A dark shadow coruscated over the altar; it had not made a difference, after all. What rough demoniac beast, hungry for the blood of a defiled woman, would come forth, sent by Thosk himself to slay the witch who had caused so much trouble? A thrill ran through his bones. This was power! If the hungry beast devoured a few of his compatriots, they were replaceable. Thosk had few worshipers in Solanthe now, but worship always followed power. The dark void shimmered, and from the void and onto the gory altar stepped not a demon, but a man. Perhaps a demon in human form. He didn¡¯t look like any human Zall knew. He was a well-built man, tall and muscular, with the blond hair of a barbarian, but it was his clothes that marked him as alien. His trousers, fashioned of a sturdy blue fabric, fit him snugly, unlike the pantaloons the men of Solanthe wore. There were metal buttons on them, and their method of fastening in the front was unclear. His chest and arms were covered by armor that looked bulky but lightweight, quilted and covered with a black silk-like fabric. He wore socks, like a noble woman might, and strange blue and yellow leather shoes held on by means of a blue rope that wound between rivets in them. Rather than a weapon he clutched a paper-wrapped hunk of bread that oozed a reddish slime. Around the altar, the Solanthians looked to Zall. He had taught them the words, their looks seemed to say. Why had the words not summoned something more monstrous? Because you said them wrong, fools. A few moments earlier Steve Crawford had been crossing Wilson Boulevard on his lunch break, thinking about how to break up with his girlfriend Kelly. The air was crisp and cold. Snow dusted the sidewalks, but the flurries had stopped two hours before and the black street was merely wet. Steve held a Reuben sandwich in one hand and a cup of fizzy water in the other. Technically, he was jaywalking, but so were a dozen other people, as did hundreds every day. The intersection needed a proper light. A car horn honked. He paid enough attention to assure his safety, but his mind was elsewhere. Steve planned to hit the courts after work tonight and play a little pick up basketball at the rec center. He wanted to see his hooping friends, who he hadn¡¯t seen for a while, and it would delay going home to Kelly. There would be going away sex. There was always going away sex. She was going to sleep with someone else while she was at the sales convention, he knew that. Theoretically he was free to do the same. That was her rule, which he had never quite agreed to ¡ª it wasn¡¯t cheating if it happened more than five hundred miles away from the other person. But he wouldn¡¯t look for some one night stand. Instead, he¡¯d bury himself in work, rewriting code that was running too slowly for his company¡¯s client. When she got back they¡¯d have the discussion. Another car honked. Steve turned his head to look as his foot came down on the curb near the coffee shop in the corner of his building. But there was no curb. Nothing but space. He windmilled his arms for balance. The cup slipped from his grasp and vanished in the space between the planes, but he held onto the sandwich as he fell to his knees on hard stone. Cold, wet, sticky stone. The air was warm and smelled of sweat and blood. He looked around. Torches burned in sconces on the stone wall, their flickering fire the only source of light. Half a dozen men surrounded him. One wore a dark gray robe with a hood, the others only loose flowing pants. Curved knives eight inches long pointed toward Steve. There was red gunk on the knives, on the stone table where Steve had landed, and on his blue jeans. Where the blood had come from wasn¡¯t clear. ¡°Did Thosk send you?¡± The man in the hood demanded. ¡°Who is Thosk?¡± Steve asked. ¡°And who are you, and where the hell am I?¡± ¡°I am Zall, priest of mighty Thosk, who has risen from his home beneath the sea. And you are in Solanthe, a city upon the river Lethe, that we seek to claim for Thosk¡¯s name.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t look like I expected,¡± said a man behind him. ¡°He looks like a man,¡± said a fat bare-chested guy. Same accent. They spoke slowly. ¡°He is strangely dressed,¡± said the skinny dude next to him. Bold words from a man wearing pantaloons. ¡°Perhaps he is a demon.¡± Given the blood, the altar, and the knives, Steve wasn¡¯t sure whether being a demon in this situation was something the thin man desired or feared, but it sounded like it was something he expected. Steve got to his feet, careful not to slip on the wet, gross stone, and knocked the gold statue over. At least the statue seemed normal enough. One might even imagine the figure depicted to be friendly, if you cleaned the blood from the face. He stayed on the table, which he reclassified as an altar. It disgusted him, but he didn¡¯t want to get any closer to the men with knives. ¡°What do we do?¡± asked the fat guy, looking to the man with the hooded robe. ¡°We have made the sacrifice.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± asked Zall. ¡°Who do you think I am?¡± Steve stalled, looking for an exit. His voice sounded strange to him, too. Slowed down, somehow. He spotted a stone stairway that led up to a trap door. It was the only way out, but the men surrounded him. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.¡°You could be a being from beyond the planes. You could be as you appear, a mortal man, summoned by mistake. What shall we call you?¡± ¡°Steven,¡± He said. He reserved Steve for people he liked. ¡°Your speech is passing strange. And you do not know Thosk. Are you prepared to do his bidding, and slay our enemy?¡± ¡°Are you?¡± Steve countered. No matter where one goes, it¡¯s always the other guy who has an accent. The question took the man aback. ¡°Of course. Bow down before Thosk!¡± He reached out and put the statue upright. ¡°Thosk is the statue?¡± He asked. ¡°The statue is but an image of the mighty God of the underwaves,¡± Zall replied. ¡°Um, thanks, I¡¯ll pass.¡± Steve knew the smart thing to do was to go along, but bending a knee to a god who wanted blood and demons to slay his adversaries was more than he was willing to do, even to save his skin. ¡°Kill him. And we¡¯ll try again.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not a good plan,¡± Steve said. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because.¡± His mind races for something to say. ¡°Because Thosk will be angry.¡± ¡°You just said you did not know who Thosk is.¡± ¡°My people make bad sacrifices. It¡¯s like an allergy. I¡¯m allergic to being sacrificed.¡± It was the best he could come up with, and he knew it wasn¡¯t good. ¡°Kill him,¡± said the man. Surrounded and unarmed, height was his only advantage; he was on the altar, and they were on the floor. They advanced from their position a few feet away, brandishing their knives. Time felt like it had slowed down. He jumped, trying to leap over the fat guy. He doubted his standing long jump was that good, but he had to get past him to reach the stone staircase. He wasn¡¯t any better at leaping than he remembered, but he could see everything clearly and in slow motion. He considered his trajectory in mid air, watched a knife rise upward, and twisted one leg out of the way of the blade while placing his other foot solidly on the fat man¡¯s head. He pushed off. The head gave way. He used the leverage to take another leap forward, landed gracefully on the stone with one foot and kept running. He seemed to be running though a thick liquid, he was moving so slow when he wanted to sprint and be gone, far away from the men with knives. But they were moving just as slowly, as if time itself had changed speed. He had time to optimize his form and foot placement on the uneven stone floor. ¡°Aaftuuhr hiim,¡± the robed guy said. Two more steps got Steve to the stairs, and he ran up them. He tossed his sandwich ¡ª two slices of rye, along with some sauerkraut, corned beef, swiss cheese and Russian dressing that had soaked through the paper, back toward his pursuers, because he needed both hands free to push through the trap door and in the hopes of distracting them. The trap door gave, and he breathed a sigh of relief. The room above had a wooden floor. He scanned quickly for a way out, and found it: a closed door, unpainted, next to a window with a thick black curtain. He took in the room as he ran, and saw an iron chamber pot, some mangy beds, and a big wooden tub. The tub had a woman in it: naked, bloody, and dead. Between the sight of the body and the smell of waste from the chamber pot, his breakfast rose in his stomach, but there wasn¡¯t time to throw up if he didn¡¯t want to be the donor for the next batch of blood on the altar. His pursuers weren¡¯t going to be slowed down by the sight or smell. The wooden floor creaked under his running shoes. He made it to the door as his pursuers reached the top of the stairs. The door was bolted from the inside, and he had to stop to throw the bolt. His hands shook, but with everything moving in slow motion he managed to open the door in time. He ran through, and pulling it closed behind him to slow them down. The alley outside waslit only by a gibbous moon. The hot air smelled of sewage and rotten food. It was too warm for the parka he was wearing but he didn¡¯t want to slow down to take it off. He ran left, hoping it would lead to a street, that men with bloody knives weren¡¯t welcome in public, and a man wearing a parka on a summer night was. Maybe people didn¡¯t go out at night at all in this place, for fear of being sacrificed. He wanted to know more and make informed decisions, but the immediate need was to get far away. The men chased him to a wider alley. One could imagine a bicycle going down it, or more likely a rickshaw, but it was too narrow for a car. He turned right, the menacing footsteps behind him getting quieter. As he let himself believe that he might be in less danger, time started moving at a normal speed again. He kept running, down crooked empty streets, through narrow alleys, until he got to a major thoroughfare. There, candle lanterns hung from red-tinted windows, and in their flickering light one could make out the denizens of the street: drunk revelers; flirtatious women with low cut blouses, cheap perfume, and eyes rimmed with kohl; a pair of men armed with swords, wearing armor of overlapping bronze plates, content to stand and be present without participating in the debauchery. He took off his parka and tied it around his waist, thinking he¡¯d found some measure of safety. If he had to guess the arms and armor were more ancient than medieval, and there were no other signs of anything more modern. Wherever he was, it was the wrong time of day, wrong season, and wrong millennia. Still, the men had the air of cops on the beat. He would ask them for help. A woman saw him and screamed, and the guardsmen ran in his direction. He¡¯d forgotten about the blood that stained his pants. He started running again, conscious that flight was evidence of guilt. How could he even speak and be understood in a place like this? Yet the men in the cellar had understood him, and he, them. In a few minutes he¡¯d gotten lost in the twisted back streets again, and no one seemed to be following him. He paused to catch his breath. A Meeting in Solanthe -- part 2 In a rented, two story roof tile house in the middle of Solanthe, Amaraine, Marquise of the Third Tower of the City of Umber, sat at a bare wooden table and gazed deep into a clear globe that sat in a polished silver bowl. She was out of place in the modest surroundings, even in her disheveled state. Her long white hair was unbraided. Her maidservant, who snored lightly on a bench ten feet away, had not brushed it since morning. Amaraine¡¯s corset of sky blue silk piped with royal blue, was draped around her rather than properly fastened. In the flickering light of two candles the redness of her lips contrasted with the intense paleness of her skin. A tendril of vapor from the translucent ball joined twin wisps of waxy smoke from the candles on each side. She had fashioned the sphere of ice with her own delicate hands. For an hour it had tortured her with hints. A man had arrived in Solanthe, of deep importance to her reason for being in the city. Who, and where from, were concealed, except that he was deeply alien, not from any of the cities along the River Lethe. Just a man, from somewhere, pivotal for some reason, for good or ill, with her or against her. He could be a priest of Thosk, fresh arrived from Xaphur in the Great Sea, in which case she would not hesitate to slay him. He could be a barbarian and their sworn enemy. He could be just a man who, by chance, would stumble and bump into someone and set in motion a series of unintended events. The mystery was maddening. Soon the ice would melt and deform, and be useless, and she would go to bed unenlightened. The worship of Thosk, of which she was the sworn enemy, had been spreading. Even in Umber it had a few adherents, and more so amongst the people of the plateaus outside her native city. Iskander, the magnificent sea port, had turned a decade ago, when the king of that city had given himself over to the Xaphurian abomination. In Kiira the priestesses of Astarte still held sway. But here, in Solanthe, the rival priests had been disappearing, one by one. It was whispered that dark shapes had taken them in the middle of the night. Normally Amaraine cared little for what happened to priests, or those who worshiped the gods. Whether they served the fat dark Jug, who was favored by merchants; Astarte, the curvaceous goddess of lust and fertility; her brother and mate Bakal, the warrior; Jakal, who promised his believers an afterlife of leisure in exchange for hard work in the present; or any of the dozens of other gods revered along the river, priests did not like sorcerers and she cared little for them. Neither did most along the river much care for Umbrians, for the rulers of Umber were known for their sorcery. This, too, was mutual. Those along the Lethe spoke of the river¡¯s ¡°civilization,¡± and Umber¡¯s ¡°decadence.¡± Umbrians regarded those not of the City of Shadows as uncouth. Amaraine would have let Solanthe rot in whatever mess it chose for itself, but better to stop the rot here, if she could, than to let it reach Umber. Unexpectedly, the globe revealed one more secret, the vision of an alley deep within the bowels of the merchant quarter. ¡°Berta! Awake! Fetch my cloak and lace my corset!¡± Amaraine stood, and with the confidence of one who is used to being obeyed, turned her back on the woman. Berta, a plump, middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair, roused herself from her slumber on the hard bench. At the base of the Third Tower, Berta had a soft bed. Here in Solanthe, with Amaraine incognito, they had a rented house whose sole bed was for the use of the Marquise. ¡°Surely Milady is not going out so late at night!¡± ¡°I am, and quickly!¡± Berta stood up reluctantly. ¡°Tight, milady?¡± she asked, her voice still disapproving. ¡°So as to make the most of¡ª¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m not heading to a rendezvous with man, Berta. Well, I am going to meet a man, but not for amorous reasons. Loose enough to let me move. Tight enough that it won¡¯t reveal more than it should.¡± ¡°If you wanted to move, no corset at all would be better, milady.¡± The woman continued lacing, and soon had the garment tied off. Leaving the corset behind was not an option, for the same reason that Amaraine had half worn it while attempting divination. The stiff bones of the corset were made of the fossilized remnants of a dragon, taken from a cave near Umber. They enhanced her sorcerous powers, absorbing into themselves some of the less desirable effects of magic on the body and the soul. She wished to be prepared for whatever she might encounter. She took her dagger from the table, and slipped it into a loop designed for the purpose on the right hip of her corset. A coin purse went on her left hip. Berta settled a dark blue cloak, which matched the long flowing skirt Amaraine wore, around her Lady¡¯s pale shoulders. Amaraine pulled it around herself, the velvet lining sliding across her skin. She didn¡¯t need it for warmth on a summer evening, but the hood would keep her from being recognized or mistaken for a woman of purchasable virtue. ¡°Do you wish me to go with you, Milady?¡± asked Berta. ¡°No, Berta. That will not be needed.¡± Berta was useful in running her household, but would get in the way if things went poorly. ¡°Sleep. I shall rouse you if I need you upon my return.¡± With that, Amaraine opened the door and slipped out of it into the darkness of the city, leaving the globe to melt. The bowl it sat in would not contain the water, but she had faith Berta would clean it all up somehow. She found her quarry in an alley, as her scrying had revealed. Divination was rarely wrong, per se. But whether it showed the future or the present or the past was sometimes difficult to discern, and it was often vague. She had heard it said that she was incapable of love. It was untrue. She her city enough to risk herself and leave her high tower to find herself in a rank alley deep in Solanthe, alone with a man. He did not look like an islander; he was too pale, although not nearly as pale as she, and she had never seen the like of his clothes. They were excellently made, each button on his shirt a perfect opalescent circle. Around his waist was tied a strange quilted garment covered with silk the likes of which she had never seen. His blue trousers were stained with blood. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.¡°What a strange man you are,¡± she said. The man stood there gawking, and for a moment she thought he did not understand what she had said. Perhaps he did not even speak the language, although it was spoken by all who lived or had business along the river. ¡°Strange?¡± he repeated. ¡°Do you not think of yourself as such?¡± she asked. He did not seem to be injured, so the blood was someone else¡¯s. She kept her distance. ¡°I¡¯m normal enough where I come from.¡± His gaze took in all of her, but settled on her face. ¡°And where is that?¡± ¡°Earth.¡± ¡°You have risen from the earth?¡± Thosk had risen from the sea, according to the cult¡¯s myth, but he had been buried in the earth beneath the sea. ¡°No, no. The place I¡¯m from is called ¡®Earth.¡¯ If anything, I had a sense of falling from above, rather than rising from below. She pondered the riddle, but didn¡¯t understand. She moved onto the next mystery. ¡°Who did you kill?¡± she asked, pointing to the blood on his pants. ¡°No one! At least I didn¡¯t think I did. I stepped on someone¡¯s head on the way out, and I didn¡¯t stop to see what happened to him.¡± She chuckled. ¡°No, you¡¯re not strange at all.¡± He took a deep breath. She could practically see the thoughts whirring in his head as he tried to decide what to do. As far as she could tell, he was unarmed. She waited. ¡°Look,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m Steve.¡± ¡°Amaraine.¡± She looked for a flicker of recognition in his eyes, and saw none. ¡°Nice to meet you, Amaraine. I ¡ª was talking a walk. It was lunchtime in my world, and winter. And then, suddenly, I was in a room with blood and men with knives and chanting, and they had a naked dead woman upstairs, and I ran like hell.¡± He paused. ¡°I¡¯m not making sense. But this whole thing doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± ¡°Oh? But you are making sense. Chanting. A sacrifice. They summoned you. Tell me, what do you know of Thosk?¡± ¡°Thosk,¡± he said. ¡°You¡¯re not one of them, are you?¡± ¡°Quite the opposite.¡± ¡°Thosk was what the men said, when they ¡ª summoned me, as you say. They asked if I was his servant. I don¡¯t know any Thosk. I don¡¯t belong here.¡± ¡°But you are here.¡± She had little patience for wishing things were different than they were, unless one could change them. ¡°I want to go back.¡± ¡°I know of a man who might be able to accomplish that.¡± It was true. The man was no friend of hers, and would send him to a hell and pronounce mission accomplished if whoever was paying could not tell the difference, and if it was even a tiny bit easier to reach hell than ¡°Earth.¡± There would be time to explain all that later. For now, she wanted him on her side, and had no qualms about dangling hope. ¡°Take me to him,¡± the man said quickly. ¡°He is not in this city, and I have business here first.¡± ¡°What business?¡± ¡°I wish to kill the minions of Thosk, each and every one of them.¡± He blinked. ¡°Oh.¡± And then a moment later. ¡°But you seem like such a nice person.¡± ¡°Nice?¡± Amaraine laughed. She could not remember the last time someone had called her nice. Even a poet, searching desperately for a rhyme with the element she controlled, would not choose that word. She regretted laughing, however. It might have served her purposes better to let him have his illusion. ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, trying to undo the damage. ¡°But my enemies are foul and murderous, and I would give them no quarter.¡± He contemplated that for a moment, during which Amaraine considered whether he might be on the slow side. But whisked from his home, to suddenly find himself in a different place ¡ª there was probably a lot to absorb. ¡°Yes. I see that. Shouldn¡¯t we go to the police, or, er, the guard, or whatever it¡¯s called here? They murdered a woman.¡± ¡°Was she important?¡± ¡°Everyone¡¯s important.¡± Ah, an idealist. ¡°I don¡¯t disagree, exactly, but to the Solanthian guard, I suspect the question is significant. And with both of us obvious outlanders?¡± ¡°Well what, then?¡± He looked her up and down again, and this time she felt he was not so much interested in her form as her suitability for a fight. ¡°We should go there now,¡± Amaraine said. Steve stared. ¡°Are you nuts? Some of them were big men, and there were half a dozen of them. They all had long knives. I¡¯ve got nothing, and don¡¯t take this the wrong way, but you¡¯re a small woman who looks like she¡¯s dressed for a fancy ball. Unless you have a bunch of burly friends you¡¯re going to round up quick, I don¡¯t think we¡¯d have a chance.¡± She heard footsteps behind her. Multiple people. In front of her, she saw Steve¡¯s eyes widen, and further down the alley, two men had appeared. One was fat, and one was thin. Their bare chests shone with sweat in the moonlight, and they were brandishing knives. Amaraine slid her dagger from its loop, pressed its hilt into Steve¡¯s hand, then whirled to face what turned out to be three more shirtless ruffians with knives. ¡°It appears we¡¯re about to find out. How unfortunate. Look behind you! We fight back to back!¡± A Meeting in Solanthe -- part 3 Reluctantly, Steve turned his back to Amaraine, holding the dagger awkwardly in front of him. What hope did the slender woman, who couldn¡¯t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds, have against three armed men? But he needed to focus on his chances against two. He spread his feet in a balanced stance and waited. He searched his memory for what he might have learned from a dozen or so jiujitsu classes. He wished he¡¯d stayed with it. Balance. Patience. Use your enemy¡¯s moves against them. He squeezed the unwanted knife. Presumably Amaraine knew better how to use it, but she was busy chanting in some language that he couldn¡¯t understand. The two men charged, the fat man ahead of his thin friend. As if in response to the adrenalin pumping through his veins, time once again slowed down. His opponent was big and armed. At least one of those Steve could turn against him. The large cultist had a full head of steam when Steve side-stepped and reached for his wrist, dropping Amaraine¡¯s dagger in the process. Steve yanked hard, accelerating his enemy past him. He used him for leverage to aim a kick toward the face of the thin man, swinging his leg in an arc calculated to avoid the slashing knife. He¡¯d couldn¡¯t pull that move at normal speed, but now he could make adjustments he never could in the jiujitsu studio. There were two satisfying thuds ¡ª one as his kick crunched a nose, the other as the fat man collided into something. Confident the thin guy was down for the count, he turned to see how his new-found companion was doing. The three facing her weren¡¯t moving. Their features and bare torsos were whitened with frost, and their legs were encased in ice. One man¡¯s mouth was open in misguided triumph, but the other two had an expression of sheer terror. Amaraine lay flat on the ground with her face in the muck, as he¡¯d propelled the fat man directly into her. Barely affected by the collision with the slight woman, the cultist stumbled forward until he regained his balance. For a moment both he and Steve stared at the three, as still as the frozen men. Then they both moved again, the fat man running away as fast as he could go, not sparing a look behind him. Steve checked quickly ¡ª the thin man was groaning, but still prone ¡ª and then knelt to help Amaraine. She rolled over with a grunt, grabbed his arm, and pulled herself up. Her clothes, arms, breasts, and face were covered with dirt, or worse, judging by the smell. ¡°He¡¯s escaping!¡± Amaraine took three quick steps to pluck her dagger from the ground. The thin man stood, his nose was busted and bloody, and ran away with Amaraine chasing him. Everything returned to normal speed for Steve, but even so Amaraine did not run fast, and the thin man outpaced her. Feeling like he¡¯d finished an intense workout, Steve ran after her as she turned the corner. He caught up to her a block later. ¡°He¡¯s gone,¡± she said. ¡°What would you have done if you caught up to him?¡± ¡°Killed him.¡± She paused, her chest rising and swelling as she tried to catch her breath. Running in a corset had to be hard on the lungs. She slid her dagger back to its place, under her cloak. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have let him get away.¡± ¡°Sorry for the knockdown, it was unintentional,¡± Steve said, ignoring the rebuke. ¡°Obviously,¡± she said. ¡°No apology required. We live.¡± She smiled ruefully. ¡°And the guard didn¡¯t catch you chasing a man down the street with a dagger in your hand.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she agreed. ¡°That would have created a diplomatic incident that would have taken days to smooth.¡± ¡°Diplomatic incident,¡± he repeated. She brushed some of the reeking muck from her clothes and body, but didn¡¯t elaborate. ¡°And you, you froze those men? With some kind of magic?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± The single word seemed inadequate. ¡°Will they live? Maybe we should go check on them?¡± ¡°No need. Their bodies will thaw in the heat, and create a minor mystery for the guard. Their souls are already burning in hell.¡± ¡°Remind me not to get on your bad side.¡± ¡°That would be intelligent. Tell me. You say you were summoned?¡± ¡°I think it was you who said that, actually. But I guess it¡¯s right.¡± ¡°Why did they summon you?¡± Amaraine asked. ¡°I think they were trying to summon a demon, as crazy as that sounds.¡± ¡°Where? Show me the place. Summoning you must have weakened the boundary between the planes. They¡¯ll want to take advantage of that by trying again as soon as they can.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I can find the place,¡± said Steve. ¡°It was in a house that looked pretty much like all the others, at least in the dark. Besides, I¡¯m exhausted.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure why, exactly. The whole fight had been less than thirty seconds of concentrated effort, followed by a hundred meter run. He¡¯d done way more playing a game of basketball. ¡°I¡¯m tired too. Magic takes a lot out of me, but we have to try,¡± Amaraine insisted. Magic. Maybe the slowing down effect was magical. On the other hand, he¡¯d run a lot earlier, in a heavy coat on a summer day. It might be catching up to him, with the thrill of the fight having given him a temporary burst of energy. He tried to retrace his steps, using Amaraine¡¯s guidance to avoid the areas where people caroused at night. But the city was a maze of twisty streets and alleys, much of it looked alike to him, and it was dark. A native might have been able to tell the difference between the various alleys and buildings, but to him the houses were all ramshackle affairs built of lumber, with thatched or tile roofs, and the streets were all narrow and arranged by happenstance. Amaraine had him recount every detail of his experience in the cellar while they walked. But after an hour of searching, even Amaraine gave up. ¡°Come. Let¡¯s seek refuge. We have gone in circles, and we are almost to the place where I am staying. The men who escaped will report to the man you called Zall, and he will report to his superiors. They will know my hand was in this, and will not stop hunting for me as long as I am in the city. At least in my temporary home I can ward against divination.¡± The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.Steve shrugged, and followed her. What else was he going to do? ¡°Divination?¡± ¡°Do you think I found you by chance? My scrying led me to you. I¡¯d wager they found you the same way. That alley was a nexus point, where the fates turned for better or worse.¡± He found it hard to credit, but he was also certain he had lost his pursuers. He had no better explanation for how they turned up again and surrounded them, and he¡¯d seen the three frozen men. ¡°Nexus point of fate? Well, that¡¯s good then, since we won.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± said Amaraine. ¡°Or bad because we had a chance to kill them all, and two escaped. As I said, they will try again, and soon.¡± ¡°What do they want with you?¡± ¡°They seem to object to me killing them.¡± ¡°Well, yeah.¡± ¡°Enough. Talk when we are safe.¡± He tried to focus on remembering the turns they made, while keeping his eye out for danger. Right into another alley, left onto the big street where he¡¯d seen the guards and revelers. The crowd was sparser now, with no sign of the gendarmes. A quick left brought them into another alley that twisted and turned before crossing another wide street, this one deserted. At last, she stopped at a building like many of the others. Its walls abutted its neighbors, and it had a sloped terracotta roof. She opened a door and led him inside. Once she closed the door behind her, she waved at it and said a word he didn¡¯t understand. A single candle on a table lit the room within, enough that Steve could see another candle, unlit, and a shining silver bowl between them. Across the room was a rustic iron oven with a chimney, and wooden stairs to the floor above. A woman, lying on a wooden bench with only a blanket for padding, bolted upright. ¡°Milady,¡± said the woman. And then. ¡°Milady! You brought back a man!¡± ¡°Never mind that, Berta¡± said Amaraine. ¡°Light the other candle.¡± The woman, who had been sleeping in a brown linen shift, hurried to obey Amaraine¡¯s bidding. ¡°What were the words you spoke?¡± asked Steve. He guessed it to be of the same language that he had heard her speak in the alley. ¡°It was the ward, so that their divination will not reach here.¡± In the candle light, he noticed that her eyes were the palest shade of blue he had ever seen. No doubt she had picked her wardrobe to match them. ¡°You believe in that,¡± he said. He found the idea of her or anyone else seeing the future more fantastical than her ability to freeze men with a few words. ¡°It is not all the fraudulent mutterings of old women making their way in the world. How do you think I found you?¡± He didn¡¯t know what to make of that, so he moved on. He had a lot of questions. ¡°Who is Thosk?¡± ¡°A dark god, who it is said rose from the bottom of the Great Sea, or from the land beneath the sea. Along the river ¡ª you know nothing, do you? You are in Solanthe, a city on the river Lethe. The men of Xaphur worship their sunken god in monstrous, inhuman form, but here among the people of the river they cast him in the likeness of a kind, handsome man to win converts while they conspire to murder their adversaries.¡± ¡°Like the gold colored idol on the altar.¡± ¡°Probably made of gold. Xaphur is rich in gold, and Thosk¡¯s cult reveres the statues.¡± ¡°Is the idol magical?¡± Amaraine shook her head. ¡°No. The gods grant their priests power akin to magic, always with a price. But golden statues? They are there to impress the masses. At most they serve as a focus for ritual.¡± ¡°Milady,¡± interrupted the older woman. ¡°You are covered in ¡ª¡± she paused, as if rejecting word after word. ¡°Dirt,¡± said Amaraine. ¡°Let us agree to call it dirt. I suppose I am.¡± For all the elegance of her clothing, she didn¡¯t seem particularly concerned by it. ¡°I must get you out of your clothes and into some clean ones,¡± said the woman. ¡°And you need a bath!¡± ¡°Steven, meet Berta. My maidservant. Very well, Berta, get me out of my clothes.¡± ¡°Not in front of him!¡± Amaraine rolled her eyes. ¡°Of course not. Make yourself comfortable, Steven, this could take a while.¡± He nodded. ¡°I¡¯m, uh, not going anywhere.¡± Where would he go? ¡°I suppose not.¡± She mounted the steps, with Berta following along behind her, and then paused half way up. ¡°On second thought, I am quite tired, and it is late. After Berta fusses with me I will be more tired still. We shall talk more in the morning, and Berta will bring you a blanket. Feel free to lie wherever to sleep.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sleepy,¡± Steve said. He was exhausted still, but not ready to sleep. One didn¡¯t travel to an entirely new world ¡ª one where magic was real, no less ¡ª and take a snooze. It was probably barely four in the afternoon back home, if time even worked that way. Still, at least he would lie down, and try to rest. He¡¯d pump Berta for information about Amaraine when she came down with the blanket. ¡°Suit yourself,¡± said Amaraine. Steve untied the parka from around his waist, put it down on the wooden bench as a pillow, and stared at the ceiling while he waited for Berta¡¯s return. Feeling uncomfortable, he took his wallet, keys, and cell phone out of his pocket. He checked the cell phone, but as he expected, there was no signal. That probably wouldn¡¯t change, but just in case he somehow found himself back on Earth, he wanted to have some battery when he got there, so he turned it off, and then lay back down. What strange place am I in? At least I can understand the language, although that, too, must be magic. Maybe that¡¯s why I¡¯m so tired. A Meeting in Solanthe -- part 4 Kelly¡¯s cold hand was on his cheek. It was freezing. He must have a fever or something. He¡¯d dreamt of a pale woman and blood and ice. ¡°What time is it?¡± Steve asked without really waking. ¡°Work? Don¡¯t you need to get to the airport?¡± ¡°Airport?¡± Kelly asked. ¡°What¡¯s an airport?¡± Her voice was high-pitched, soft, and she smelled of vanilla. He woke and saw Amaraine perched on the edge of the bench, leaning over him. She wore a silk robe of royal blue that tied in front at the waist, which left a rather deep V. The paleness of her skin accentuated the shadows. He forced herself to look at her face. ¡°You¡¯re not Kelly,¡± he said, as if to ground himself in the fact. ¡°Who is Kelly?¡± ¡°My girlfriend.¡± Amaraine looked at him oddly. ¡°Little boys have ¡®girlfriends.¡¯¡± ¡°My lover, then.¡± Spurred by the view he was unsuccessfully avoiding, he asked, ¡°Tell me, is it reasonable to say that this place is five hundred miles from Earth? Where I came from?¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Amaraine paused, considering the matter. ¡°As I understand it, you come from another world, another plane of existence entirely. Some theories of the universe say that the planes are laid out side by side through some great space, and so your home is farther away than any place that exists on this world. If so, then yes.¡± ¡°And some?¡± ¡°Would say that the reason you could come from there, to here, is because there and here are right next to each other.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± So much for easy moral decisions. ¡°What is your world like?¡± asked Amaraine. ¡°Sort of like this. Colder, but that¡¯s because it¡¯s Winter. Do you have seasons here?¡± ¡°Yes. It is Summer here now.¡± ¡°Good. I¡¯d hate to think it got a lot hotter.¡± ¡°You had that heavy thing tied around your waist.¡± She pointed at the parka beneath his head. ¡°Is that a cloak, with arms? I thought it might be armor.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a coat. A very warm coat.¡± ¡°What else is different?¡± ¡°We¡¯re more ad¡ª¡± he started, and then decided ¡°advanced¡± might be an insult. Earth didn¡¯t have anyone who could freeze three men to death with a few words. ¡°What¡¯s actually most curious is what we have in common. We speak English, like you do.¡± Amaraine smiled. ¡°I am not an expert in demonology, but I have read a little. Apparently there is a magic about summoning that allows the creature summoned to understand the language of the summoner. Otherwise they¡¯d barely understand commands, would they? To my mind, I am speaking a language called River, or by some Lethian.¡± ¡°And the cultists ¡ª they speak Lethian too?¡± ¡°It is spoken all the way up and down the river Lethe, from Iskander to my home, Umber, with only slight variation. You were, if I was not mistaken, about to say that your world is more advanced.¡± ¡°We have machines that do amazing things. But we do not have magic.¡± He didn¡¯t want to believe in magic, even here. But he¡¯d seen the three frozen men, and he had no other explanation for why he was here at all. She leaned over, her robe gaping further. ¡°I¡¯d like to hear about it sometime. When we have time. If we both survive.¡± Her lips were not so close that she was offering a kiss, but they were close enough he could steal one, if he¡¯d been that sort of man. He opened his mouth to ask her. He¡¯d always preferred curvy, outdoorsy girls before. Amaraine made the average goth look bronzed, and she was delicate, but he still felt a pull. Berta opened the door from the street, and came in, shutting it behind her. ¡°Is he just now waking up, Milady?¡± Berta asked. Her hands cradled some clothes, and something made of iron that jutted out. ¡°Yes,¡± said Amaraine, standing. ¡°We were just talking.¡± ¡°I see, Milady. Well, he¡¯s a good sleeper, he is, but no wonder as late as you were out. I brought the things.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Amaraine started toward the stairs, and addressed Steve. ¡°We shall go up while you change.¡± As she spoke, Berta laid the clothes in front of him. They were simple things, pants and a shirt, made of pale brown, undyed and unbleached fabric of some sort. The blade of a sword stuck out from between them. He lifted the shirt to see it clearly. The blade was thirty inches long, the point sharp and the edges beveled and as dull as a butter knife. The ribbed hilt had room only for a single hand between its flat guard and ball-shaped pommel. He gestured to the weapon. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to use this.¡± ¡°You¡¯d best learn, then.¡± Amaraine paused mid-step. Berta had to stop quickly to avoid running into her. ¡°It has always looked quite simple to me.¡± So she didn¡¯t know how to use one either. ¡°What am I supposed to do with it? I¡¯ve never killed anyone.¡± Amaraine raised her eyebrows. ¡°The way you fought in the alley, I thought you were a warrior. You didn¡¯t even need my dagger.¡± He didn¡¯t know how to explain it, or know why it happened in life-or-death situations and not in conversation. But he could see combat like he always imagined Wayne Gretzky saw hockey, or LeBron saw basketball. ¡°I have great reaction time.¡± ¡°I see. Well, that¡¯s something. I shall try divination again to find the cultists, but I am not optimistic.¡± She continued upstairs, Berta right behind her. The blood had dried on Steve¡¯s jeans, and he doubted that stain was ever coming out. He wondered why he had slept so late, when it hadn¡¯t even been evening yet back on Earth when he lay down. At least he felt rested now. He stripped off his clothes without checking to see if the ladies were out of sight. He¡¯d nearly been stabbed. He¡¯d seen a dead woman. He¡¯d seen people frozen to death. Getting seen naked didn¡¯t seem worth worrying about. There were pants, a shirt, a belt, sandals, and the sword. He pulled on the pants, which were loose fitting but not as baggy as the ones the cultists had worn. They tied in the front for fit. He understood why they were loose. Where they touched skin, they scratched. The shirt was softer and smoother, and had a deep V neck that laced up. He tried walking around, and he could move alright, but the pants chafed so he took them off again. He was tempted to wear his jeans underneath, but he was at least going to put his boxers back on. ¡°I had presumed you¡¯d be done by now,¡± said Amaraine. How long she¡¯d been standing there on the stairs watching, he didn¡¯t know, but her skirts were on so at least she¡¯d been gone some. She had her robe still wrapped around her. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.¡°Milady!¡± said Berta, from out of sight. ¡°I need to get you in your corset!¡± ¡°Better not come out,¡± Amaraine said. ¡°He¡¯s naked. And built quite nicely, too, I might add.¡± Steve imagined the maidservant wanting to come drag Amaraine back to the room, but unwilling to leave it herself. His imagination was wrong. He barely got his underwear on before Berta came out to gawk. He pulled the scratchy pants back on. ¡°Show time is over.¡± He hefted the sword. It was lighter than he thought it would be. ¡°A pity,¡± said Amaraine. ¡°I¡¯ll let you play with your toy.¡± A few minutes later, corseted, Amaraine descended the stairs. ¡°Well?¡± she asked. ¡°In a fight, it might be more dangerous to my opponent than it is to me,¡± Steve said. It was probably an understatement. He¡¯d swung a few tennis rackets. But he didn¡¯t like the idea of carrying a sword. It implied that he intended to kill someone. He remembered a friend explaining that she hadn¡¯t made her boyfriend use a condom because she didn¡¯t have one around, and she didn¡¯t have one around because she wasn¡¯t that kind of girl. He¡¯d bit back the retort that the type of girl she apparently wasn¡¯t was a smart one. ¡°I¡¯ll carry the sword, just in case. Why are you giving me these things?¡± ¡°We¡¯re leaving town, and I intend to take you with me. I will pay you a hundred silver dinars a week to serve me, and I will pay for you to be trained with the sword. I have a boat docked that will carry us upriver.¡± The way she just assumed annoyed him. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much a dinar is worth and I don¡¯t know how long your week is. I can be your partner. You don¡¯t like the Thosk guys. Neither do I. We can work together against them. You can help me figure out this crazy world in the process.¡± ¡°Partners? As in equals?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°What a curious thought,¡± Amaraine said. An uncomfortable silence followed. Steve didn¡¯t know how he was going to survive without help, or how to get back to Earth, but he knew he had some value to her. Hadn¡¯t her divination told her he was pivotal? She studied him. He stared back, trying not to blink more often than she did. He felt the tension rise. Time, don¡¯t slow down now. That only makes this harder. But it happened anyway, outside his conscious control. Finally she raised her hand and started to chant. He grabbed her hand. A slow, cold smile formed on her ruby lips. ¡°You moved quickly,¡± she said. ¡°Everything you do is in slow motion to me.¡± ¡°Slow motion? As in I move slower than you do?¡± ¡°No. As in ¡ª it¡¯s hard to explain. I move at the same speed you do, basically. But I can watch it all as if it were moving slowly, see which way your hand is moving, and make a decision as to where to intercept it.¡± She considered that. ¡°So you don¡¯t move faster. You¡¯re saying you think faster.¡± ¡°I guess so.¡± She had a laugh like silver bells, a schoolgirl¡¯s giggle from a poised adult woman. ¡°What is so funny?¡± ¡°Few would suggest they could out think a sorceress. You have an unusual talent, which must be the source of your importance. Well then, we can be,¡± she paused, seeming to struggle with the word, and then at last completed the sentence. ¡°Associates. But I would suggest you be mindful of your ignorance about this world, and until you learn, be open to taking direction from me. I shall try to exercise restraint in the giving of it. We must still leave town, either way, for we are in danger.¡± ¡°But I thought you said that they¡¯d be summoning something else soon!¡± ¡°Yes. And I don¡¯t think we want to be there when it comes.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not just going to turn around and head back if you¡¯re not here, is it?¡± Amaraine shook her head. ¡°Do you have a way of finding them? My divination found nothing.¡± ¡°They need a sacrifice. Maybe we can talk to the watch and ask them about any disappearances?¡± ¡°There are always disappearances. Most of them come back. I doubt the watch keeps track of disappearances, until there¡¯s a body found. Even then, if it¡¯s not someone of note, the probably shrug.¡± Steve frowned. There had to be a way. ¡°Well, do the sacrifices have to be virgins? That might narrow it down some.¡± ¡°Virgins? Where did you get that idea?¡± asked Amaraine. ¡°I think it¡¯s quite the opposite. The cults of the River, whatever the faults of their priests, generally celebrate physical pleasure. Especially, of course, that of Astarte. But Thosk frowns on sexual relations for any reason but procreation, and binds every adult woman to a single husband. The favored sacrifices of Thosk are unchaste women, whose sexuality he despises.¡± Steve blinked. ¡°The less chaste the better?¡± ¡°I suppose. I¡¯ve studied the Thoskites, but they haven¡¯t told me all their secrets. I¡¯ve seldom had the opportunity to kill one slowly enough. Steve gulped but let that go. ¡°If you wanted a woman with lots of sexual experience, in a hurry, where would you go?¡± ¡°Umber?¡± Amaraine asked. ¡°The temple of Astarte?¡± Amaraine had said she was from Umber. Steve filed that away. ¡°I mean, you¡¯d go to a brothel.¡± A thin smile played around Amaraine¡¯s ruby lips. ¡°Now, why didn¡¯t I think of that?¡± ¡°Because you¡¯re a proper lady,¡± said Berta. ¡°I¡¯m a proper lady of Umber, Berta. I know there are brothels. I may never have been in one, but that¡¯s because I¡¯m not that way inclined, and a woman need not pay to get a man. You may be right, Steven, and you have a crucial role in this. Perhaps you have played it already, and perhaps not, but I ignore your intuition at my peril. The hetaera of Astarte would be better protected than the freelance women, and would insist on performing their service in the temple, so yes, it would make sense for them to choose a harlot as a sacrifice.¡± ¡°Prostitution isn¡¯t illegal, is it?¡± ¡°Why would it be? No, harlotry is a long tradition both honored and dishonored. Perhaps in Iskander it is different, since the Thoskites took over. My brown cloak, Berta! The blue one needs more washing after last night. You go to the boat and tell Bradgar to have it ready for us, and Steve and I will investigate the brothels.¡± There was a glitter in her eye as she said it. ¡°Yes, Milady,¡± said Berta through tight lips as she draped a garment of chocolate wool over Amaraine¡¯s pale shoulders. A Meeting in Solanthe -- part 5 The wide street Amaraine and Steve had hurriedly crossed at night was transformed into a busy marketplace. A portly man dressed in beige hawked dyed fabrics in yellow, orange, and green, his plain dress in contrast with the panoply of shades. Sellers of fruits and vegetables called out to townspeople with wicker baskets, proclaiming the freshness of their produce and insulting their competitors. A thin, dark skinned man sold brightly colored baubles and glittering chains of gold and silver behind two solid looking guards. The guards wore bronze plate mail, and gripped pole-axes in two hands, with daggers at their hips. Swinging a pole-axe on such a crowded street would be almost impossible, so Steve presumed they were for show. Adults and children pressed on every side. ¡°Easier for you to clear the way for me than me for you,¡± Amaraine said. ¡°That way to Whore Street.¡± Steve didn¡¯t know what the social niceties were for ¡°clearing the way.¡± They were going against the bulk of traffic, although people moved in all directions. He resolved to move, and keep moving, more concerned about poking someone with the sword on his belt than anything else. The people of Solanthe seemed shorter than most of the people at home whether due to genetics, poorer nutrition, or both, and their skin was a shade darker. Many people brushed against him. ¡°This would be a good place for pickpockets,¡± he said. ¡°It is,¡± Amaraine agreed. ¡°Do you have anything of value?¡± He had a wallet in his back pocket with nearly a hundred dollars in cash and two credit cards, and a cell phone that cost nearly a thousand dollars in his front pocket. ¡°No, not really.¡± Most people seemed to carry their belongings in small purses, like little dice bags, either in their fists, attached to their belts, or in their cleavage. Cutting a purse from a belt was surely easier than fishing something out of the back pocket of his jeans, and probably a skill well practiced by a few. The throng thinned as he got to where he had seen the late night revelers the night before. Most of the taverns were shut, apparently deciding that morning business wasn¡¯t worth opening for, but several women leaned against the buildings, shoulders back, one knee bent, half-naked bosoms displayed to view. ¡°I think we¡¯ve come to the right place.¡± ¡°So it would seem,¡± agreed Amaraine. ¡°Hey honey,¡± said a woman, dressed in a minimum of red silky fabric with lips painted to match, her eyes heavily lined with kohl. Her neckline dipped to her navel. Either bras hadn¡¯t been invented yet or she felt wearing one got in the way of flashing the merchandise. ¡°I could show you a fun time. Both of you a fun time, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re looking for.¡± ¡°No money.¡± He lied and told the truth simultaneously. The woman shrugged, looked at Amaraine for a moment. They both became invisible as soon as Amaraine, too, shook her head. ¡°I shall pay you a weekly allowance, even if we are ¡®associates,¡¯¡± Amaraine remarked. ¡°At least, until you are more independent. Then you¡¯ll be able to afford some entertainment.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never paid for sex yet,¡± Steve said. Not in money, anyway. Occasionally in stress. He wasn¡¯t cynical enough to think that everything was an exchange, nor naive enough to think that sex never was. ¡°In any case now isn¡¯t the time.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s not.¡± They stood there for a moment. Steve felt increasingly awkward. It had seemed like a good plan. People passed through the area on the way to or from market, and a few talked to the girls working there. Occasionally a woman would escort one of the customers into the tavern, the door locking behind her. But no one just stood still, except for the women themselves and one dark mustached man who had taken up a position on the porch of one of the taverns. He had a sword strapped to his waist, a little shorter than Steve¡¯s own. For a while, Steve was unsure whether he plied the same trade as the women, but he called out to no one, male or female, who walked by. As they continued to stand there in the street, he began to watch them more fixedly. ¡°We¡¯re a bit out of place,¡± Steve said. ¡°And I think their pimp doesn¡¯t much like us.¡± Amaraine¡¯s eyebrows rose. ¡°Is he a pimp, or simply someone hired by the girls for their protection?¡± she asked. ¡°Possible. Either way, I think we¡¯re starting to make him nervous. I thought we might sit in one of the taverns, but none of the taverns are open.¡± ¡°Not at this hour, not on this street. Come. I have an idea of how to make us less conspicuous.¡± She took his hand, and pulled him toward an alley. Steve let himself be pulled. Amaraine pushed him gently but insistently until his back was against a wall. She wrapped her arms around him, and stood on her toes so that her lips almost reached his, carefully not quite touching him with her hands. ¡°You keep watch, then ¡ª but I don¡¯t know how we¡¯re going to tell the difference between them and ordinary customers,¡± she whispered. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.¡°I¡¯d recognize two of them. The fat or the thin man.¡± ¡°But not the leader, in the cloak?¡± ¡°No. His face was too obscured. ¡°Well, then. Don¡¯t get distracted.¡± Her lips brushed his, teasingly, and he questioned her sincerity. He couldn¡¯t deny that she was enticing, even if the bones of her corset poked into him and negated any of the softness he might have hoped for. At the same time, a life might be at stake. ¡°No, seriously,¡± said Amaraine, as his breathing got shorter. ¡°Don¡¯t get distracted. I¡¯ll provide the theater, you watch. It will make me seem an incompetent harlot, to not be able to hold my customer¡¯s attention, but I¡¯m okay with that.¡± For a while, nothing happened. It might have been as little as ten minutes, but it was a long time to keep from being distracted by her lithe body pushing up against his. The way the real harlots primped and posed, displaying their charms, did little to distract him from erotic thoughts, and watching them was the point. He didn¡¯t want to have a reaction that Amaraine might notice. She touched the back of his neck with her cold hands, and that helped a little, but over time they began to warm against his skin. ¡°You¡¯re getting distracted after all,¡± said Amaraine. ¡°You implied that harlotry is illegal in your world?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I¡¯m supposed to carry on a conversation, too? ¡°You were dressed strangely ¡ª I suppose women also dress strangely.¡± ¡°Well, more covered up than those women, to be sure.¡± ¡°Like me, then?¡± Steve risked a glance down. ¡°No, a bit more than that.¡± ¡°Really? Oh, because it¡¯s so cold.¡± He looked up again and saw a thin man talking to the scarlet woman who had propositioned him before. He wore loose pants, and a white linen shirt, and Steve couldn¡¯t see his features. ¡°Stop,¡± he said, not wanting to be distracted more. Amaraine stilled against him, her body as tense as his. He willed himself to stay relaxed. The two seemed to agree on terms. They didn¡¯t go into one of the nearby buildings, as most of the women had done with their customers, but instead headed down a side street, but not before Steve caught a glimpse of a face with a broken nose. ¡°That¡¯s him,¡± Steve said. ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± ¡°Unless he has a twin who also got his nose kicked in recently.¡± ¡°That seems improbable.¡± Steve grabbed Amaraine¡¯s hand and hurried after them. ¡°Hey you two,¡± said the man who Steve took to be a pimp. Fuck, we don¡¯t have time for this. They were almost out of sight. He kept going. ¡°I said, hey. Stop. I want to talk to you.¡± It probably looked to the man like he was stalking the woman and her client, which was in a way exactly what he was doing. How could he explain that? Even on Earth, he¡¯d have difficulty coming up with a good reason. He didn¡¯t know how credible claiming that she was about to be sacrificed would be. ¡°You follow them,¡± Amaraine whispered. ¡°I¡¯ll buy you time.¡± She turned to face the man, and said allowed to him. ¡°You don¡¯t really want to talk to him. You want to talk to me.¡± Maybe she knew some Jedi mind tricks. He¡¯d have to leave it in her hands, and hope she could catch up soon. But by the time he¡¯d followed the pair a few blocks the sorceress was no where to be seen. If she could enchant the ladies ¡°protector¡± then maybe she could use divination to find him. He was wearing things she¡¯d given him, maybe that helped. He let himself imagine that the sword was a kind of tracing device, but the fact was he had no idea how magic worked. He pursued down the maze of streets, thankful his quarries were too intent on each other to notice that they were being followed. The thin man with the broken nose led the woman toward a building Steve recognized, where he had been summoned the night before. As they crossed the narrow street the alley extended from, Steve saw two armed men walking together. City guards on patrol, perhaps. Presumably they¡¯d frown on drawing steel in the middle of the street, or even a nearby alley. He wanted to explain what was going on, but he didn¡¯t dare. He didn¡¯t know if they¡¯d investigate or just watch him to make sure he didn¡¯t do anything. So he leaned against a wall and watched as the guardsmen passed and the thin man and the scarlet woman went into the house. He looked around, hoping to spot a pale woman in a hooded cloak, but he was once again alone.