“Five.”
“A hunting party.” Hadrian drew his swords. “Everyone get moving. Royce and I will catch up.”
“But they’re just five,” Arista protested. “Can’t we avoid them?”
“It’s not the five I am worried about,” Hadrian told her. “Now go. Just keep moving up the avenue.”
He and Royce moved back down the road at a trot. She watched them go as a sinking feeling pulled at her stomach. Alric led them forward at a run, past the fountain and on up the Grand Mar.
This part of the city was familiar to her. This road, these buildings—she had seen them before. Gone were the brilliant white alabaster walls and brightly painted doors. Now they were dingy and brown, cracked, fractured, chipped, and like everything else, covered in a layer of dirt. As in the rest of the city, the columned halls stood on misaligned stones.
Alric led them around a massive fallen statue whose head had severed at its neck and lay on its side, its features bashed and broken. They then leapt a fallen column, and as soon as she cleared it, Arista stopped. She knew this pillar; it was the Column of Destone. She turned left and saw the narrow road Ebonydale. That was the way Esrahaddon had gone to meet Jerish and Nevrik. She looked forward down the Mar. She should be able to see the dome, but it was not there. Ahead was only rubble.
“Arista!” She heard Alric calling to her and she ran once more.
Royce and Hadrian paused near the headless statue, where the algae in the water cast an eerie green radiance to the underside of all things. Royce motioned with two spread fingers that a pair were coming up one side of the street and two on the other. While the two pairs were mere shadows to Hadrian, the fifth was quite visible as he loped up the center of the boulevard like an ape hunched over and traveling on three limbs. His massive claws clicked intentionally on the stone as signals to the others. Every few feet he would pause, raise his head, and sniff the air with his hooked, ring-pierced nose. He wore a headdress made from the blackened fin of a tiger shark, a mark of his station—a token he would have obtained alone in the sea with no more than his claws. He was the chief warrior of the hunting party—the largest and meanest—and the others looked to him for direction. They all carried the traditional sachel blades—curved scimitars, narrow at the hilt and wider at the tip, where a half-moon scoop formed a double-edged point. Like all Ghazel, he also carried a small trilon bow with a quiver slung over one shoulder.
Royce drew out Alverstone and nodded to Hadrian as he slipped into the darkness. Hadrian gave him a minute; then, taking a breath, he also moved forward. He closed the distance, keeping the statue between him and the Ghazel. To his surprise, he was able to reach the platform before the warrior noticed him and let out the expected howl. Immediately arrows whistled and glinted off the stone.
The warrior rushed him, his sachel slicing the air. Fighting a Ghazel was always different from fighting men, but the moment the two swords connected, Hadrian no longer needed to think. His body moved on its own, a step, a lunge. The fin-endowed warrior responded exactly as Hadrian wanted. Hadrian caught the warrior’s next stroke with his short sword and saw the momentary shock in the Ghazel’s eyes when his bastard sword came around, removing his arm at the elbow. A short spin and Hadrian took the warrior’s head, fin and all.
A high-pitched shriek announced the charge of two more Ghazel. Hadrian always appreciated how they announced their attacks. He was able to step out from his shelter now—the rain of arrows having ended.
The two bared their pointed teeth and black gums, cackling.
Hadrian shoved the length of his short sword into the stomach of the closest. Dark blood bubbled up from the wound. Without looking to see the reaction of the remaining Ghazel, he swung his other blade behind him and felt it sink into flesh.
Hadrian heard fast-moving footsteps and looked up. Across the open square Royce ran at him, carrying a Ghazel bow and quiver of arrows. The thief was making no attempt at stealth, his cloak flying behind him.
“What’s up? Did you get the others?”
“Yep,” he said. As he ran by, he tossed the bow and quiver to Hadrian and added, “You might need these.”
Hadrian chased after him as he ran back up the Grand Mar. “What’s the hurry?”
“They weren’t alone.”
Hadrian glanced back over his shoulder but saw nothing. “How many?”
“A lot.”
“How many are a lot?”
“Too many to stand around and count.”