Rulers of the Darkness

"Of course it is," Merkela said. "It's a demon of a confusing place for everybody." She took a bite. Gedominu was still watching, wide-eyed. She shook her head at him. "You can't have any of this. Not till you get bigger."

The baby's face screwed up. He started to cry. Skarnu started to laugh. "That'll teach you to tell him what he can't do," he said. Merkela jiggled Gedominu up and down and from side to side. He subsided. She let out a sigh of relief.

Someone knocked on the door, a quick, hard, urgent knock.

Skarnu had been about to pour himself another cup of tea. He froze. So did Merkela, with a bite of bread halfway to her mouth. Nobody in Erzvilkas had any business here at this hour.

The knock came again. Skarnu grabbed a knife and went to the door. "Who is it?" he growled, his voice clotted with suspicion.

"Not the redheads, and cursed lucky for you."

Hearing that rough reply, Skarnu unbarred the door and worked the latch. Sure enough, Raunu stood in the hallway. Skarnu looked him up and down. "No, you're not the redheads," he agreed. "But if you're here now, you don't think they're very far behind you."

"They're sniffing around, all right," the veteran sergeant agreed. "Time for you and yours to pack up and go."

"What about you?" Skarnu demanded. "What about the Kaunians from Forthweg?"

Patiently, Raunu said, "I'm not a captain. I'm not a marquis. As far as the Algarvians are concerned, people like me are two for a copper. And Vatsyunas and Pernavai are just a loose end. You, though, you're a prize. And your lady's bait."

"He's right," Merkela said from behind Skarnu. "We have to go." She held little Gedominu in her arms, and also carried a sack full of diapers. "When there's no other choice, we run, and then we strike again another time."

Raunu smiled at her and gave her half a bow, as if her veins, not Skarnu's, held noble blood. "That's good sense. You've always shown good sense, as long as I've known you." He turned back to Skarnu. "Come on, Captain. We've a mage of sorts downstairs, ready to block the redheads' searching as best she can."

"A mage of sorts?" In spite of everything, Skarnu smiled. "That sounds- interesting." But the smile slipped. He was worried about Merkela. "Can you flee again, so soon out of childbed?" he asked her.

"Of course I can," she said at once. "I have to. Do you think I want to fall into the Algarvians' hands?"

He had no answer to that. "Let's go, then," he said roughly. Raunu's shoulders rose and straightened, as if he'd just had a burden lifted from them. He hurried for the stairs. Skarnu and Merkela followed. When they got to the stairway, Skarnu took the baby and the sack of cloths. Merkela didn't protest, a telling measure of how worn she was.

Out on the street, a carriage waited. Skarnu let out his own sigh of relief when he saw it. No matter how fiercely insistent she was, Merkela couldn't have got far on foot.

Also waiting was Raunu's "mage of sorts." She couldn't have been above fifteen, her figure half formed, her hair stringy, pimples splashing her cheeks and chin. In a low voice, Skarnu said, "She's going to hold the Algarvian wizards off our trail?"

It wasn't low enough; the girl heard him. She flushed, but spoke steadily: "I think I can do that, aye. The techniques for breaking affinities have improved remarkably since the days of the Six Years' War."

Skarnu stared. She certainly spoke as if she knew what she was doing. Raunu let out a soft grunt of laughter. He said, "I've been pretty impressed with Palasta, I have."

"Maybe I see why," Skarnu answered, and bowed to her.

"Get you gone," Palasta told him. "That's the point of this business, after all. From now on, powers above willing, the Algarvians will have a harder time coming after you."

Raunu had already helped Merkela up into the carriage. Now he slapped Skarnu on the back and gave him a little push. Skarnu handed Merkela Gedominu and the bag of cloths, then scrambled up beside her. The driver- another man from the underground- flicked the reins. The carriage started to roll.

Fleeing again, Skarnu thought bitterly. He reached out and set his hand on Merkela's. This time, at least, he had what mattered most to him.

The silversmith's shop that had been Kugu's remained closed. Every so often, Talsu would walk by, just for the satisfaction of seeing it locked and dark and quiet. He knew better than to do that very often. Someone might note it and report him to the Algarvians. He was grimly certain Kugu hadn't been the only collaborator in Skrunda.

He'd wondered if the redheads would come around asking questions of him after Kugu's untimely demise. So far, they hadn't. A forensic mage could have assured them he hadn't been in the room when the silversmith perished. That was true. But truth, here, had many layers.