The Kiran Thall stumbled away from Thealos, covering his eyes from the glare of the sword. Thealos could see the other Wolfsmen attackers in his mind even though they were still surrounded by enemies. They were just as aware of him as he was of them and charged forward, eager for the kill, whipping through the crowds of soldiers with lethal efficiency. There was no way they were going to let him escape. He was their charge, their mission. The Council of Elders in Avisahn wanted him in prison.
Thealos knew he had to leave. The Kiran Thall were strong, but the Wolfsmen were stronger now; the bond with their fallen comrade had renewed them. Thealos felt a pull, a windstorm against his back, an energy he’d never experienced. The soldier’s eyes in front of him widened with shock as Thealos met him stroke for stroke, inch for inch. It was as if he’d handled the leaf-blade all his life. Thealos cut the man once, twice, slashing his armor open. Thealos pressed towards him, hungry for the kill. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to.
“The garrison!” someone shouted. “The garrison is coming!”
As the soldier turned to look, Thealos had him, driving the short blade all the way through, burying it to the hilt. Warm blood splashed on Thealos’ hand as he jerked the sword up and out, letting the soldier crumple to the floor. He stared down at the body and then looked up.
The leader of the Wolfsman quaere was staring at him in fury. He could hear the man’s thoughts. That weapon doesn’t belong to you!
Thealos ran to the window and vaulted outside, cutting his hand on a shard of glass on the sill. He knew he was bleeding, but he barely felt it. If the Wolfsmen caught him, it was all over. His encounter with Tannon, this fight in the Foxtale – for nothing. They were distractions from his real goal. He had to get to Landmoor.
The sea wind on the pier whipped fiercely at Thealos’ clothes. He saw the garrison jogging down the street, armor and weapons jangling. The Kiran Thall were making for their horses, falling one after another to the knight who defied them all. He cut them from their horses, spilling their bodies into the street. Hearing the stamp of hooves, Thealos turned and saw the charging gelding, almost too late. Thealos was hit from behind, shouldered roughly by the horse.
As he lay on his back in the street, just beyond the reach of Secrist’s sword tip, he knew he had come very close to dying. The horse loomed over him, its foul breath snorting puffs of steam in the night air.
Secrist’s eyes met his coldly. “You’re dead, Shaden,” he spat, giving him a look of hatred. “No matter where you hide!” Whistling, Secrist called the other Kiran Thall to ride and jerked the reins roughly, galloping into the night-filled streets. “Ride! Ride!”
Thealos got to his feet quickly. He wanted to chase the man and cut him down with all the others. The magic burned furiously inside him. He could still see through the eyes of the other Wolfsmen. Then he saw himself in their eyes. Turning quickly, he faced off as the leader of the Crimson Wolfsman emerged from the window. Holding the blade of Jade-Shayler before him protectively, Thealos backed into the alley near the inn. Wrapped in the thick night shadows, he retreated from the commotion of the inn-room brawl.
A moment later the Wolfsman leader was there. His eyes were flinty and blue, like a mountain framed against the sky. He joined Thealos in the darkness of the alley. Even in the dark, even at night, Thealos could feel the other Shae’s presence.
“Thealos Quickfellow,” the Wolfsman said angrily in Silvan. “I am Xenon, Watcher Lor of Sol. You are under arrest by the Shae Council of Elders for high treason. You will come with me and stand trial before the Sunedrion.”
“I have not been charged with treason,” Thealos countered in Silvan, backing away, keeping his distance. He felt the magic in his arm, but something was not right. It retreated back into the blade. Abandoning him to the wind and the pain at his side and hand.
“You defile that weapon by touching it! You are not a Crimson Wolfsman. You were not trained in the magic. You are nothing but an unskilled barter. A boy. Now set that blade down, or I’ll make you.”
“No,” Thealos replied, shaking his head. He backed slowly towards an alley. “I can’t go back with you. Not now. There is danger for the Shae, I must…”
“You have no choice, Quickfellow. This is not something you can run from anymore. You will answer for your crime, for the most serious of crimes! I have no respect for Kilshae, and oathbreakers are the worst. You are a craven and a rebel. Stand and face your crimes, boy. You’ve run far enough!”
Thealos felt a prick of awareness on the back of his neck. A whisper that someone was there, just behind him.
“I don’t see him running from you, son of Keasorn,” Jaerod said in perfect Silvan. His black cloak rustled softly. “He chose to leave Avisahn. He chooses what he must.”
The Crimson Wolfsman studied the Sleepwalker for a moment. An instant. Then he came at Jaerod like a whirlwind.