Mortals & Deities (21 page)

Alant Cor had no idea how long the man in the cream laced-up shirt and brown leather pants had been following him, nor even why. Yet, no matter what zigzag pattern he took, no matter how narrow or wide the street, or if he doubled back toward a direction he had just come—whenever he positioned himself to look in a shop window, or to gaze at the tray of one of the last few street hawkers of the eve, he saw the same man. Too far off to see his face clearly, to be sure. Still, Alant was certain it was the same man.

And a man carrying a sword, no less!

Not that swords in and of themselves were uncommon. Still, most townsfolk carried a long knife at best. Many, not even that much. The streets of Mocley had always seemed safe enough. Rarely was a group of city watch out of sight for more than a few moments before another appeared. Looking around, Alant had to admit that the city watch was not so prevalent here in the Warehouse District as in other parts of Mocley. Yet, this was all he could afford, short of finding a place in Fishtown or Gullstown. He knew he would never have survived one eve in either of those places! The one instance he went to Fishtown during the day, he found it to be a lawless shantytown. Fights took place out in the muddy excuse for streets, and never once did he see the city watch. He had heard that Gullstown was much the same.

Still! Why would a man with a sword be after me? I have done nothing!

Picking up his pace, he made a decision.

I am tired of being the hunted animal!

After a few more turns, he found himself on a street almost void of people. Spying what he sought, Alant darted into a deserted alleyway. Letting the Sight of the Essence fall upon him—or this new Sight, he did not know why he still tried to differentiate it from what he had learned as a Shaper—he began gathering in the energy Strands that hung in the air around him. Flexing his hands, a few wisps of blue-white energy crackled between his fingers.

He may have a sword. Yet, he will find that I am not as helpless as I appear.

Slipping down a narrow side alley that paralleled the one the Mah’Sukai had taken, Elith placed a hand and a foot on either wall and scurried up the three stories between the buildings to the roof. Grasping the ledge, she swung up, crouching in a night too brightly lit by the large silver moon, Sainor, for her comfort. Wrapping her Shadow Cloak around her, she swept her gaze over the rooftops and strained her ears for any signs of movement or sound that would tell her she was not alone.

Letting a moment pass to ensure her privacy, she darted down the row of buildings, jumping the small gaps she came upon without pause. She held no fear of losing her quarry. Ever since she had found him—or more appropriately, been shown him by that strange old hag—the Mah’Sukai was a ball of tingling sensations in the back of her skull. If she closed her eyes, she thought she could still see him. The old hag’s words welled up in the back of her mind and troubled her. She had spent her entire life preparing to seek out and capture a Mah’Sukai, then deliver him to the Father. It was her purpose. Yet, between her bouts with madness and the strange woman telling her she had to follow the Mah’Sukai, not hinder him, she no longer saw the path she was meant to walk.

Crossing the roofs, Elith raced ahead of the Mah’Sukai and flattened herself out on an edge to peer down into the alley below. The Mah’Sukai picked up his pace. He still clutched his cloak around him, his hood pulled forward to hide his face, yet his strides came longer now. Not quite running, yet he strode along at a more brisk pace than he carried while on the wider streets of the city. And walk he did. She had followed him for the last several aurns, and all he did was meander—as if he had no destination. Then, less than half an aurn gone and without reason, he changed his pattern. His path became erratic. He made sudden turns down streets, doubling back upon himself, crisscrossing the poorer area of this city like a drunken madman.

Almost as if he was searching for someplace. Or running from something.

Motion down the alleyway caught her eye and the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Shifting for a better look, she watched a second man slink down the edge of the alleyway. Hugging the wall, this man moved at the half trot, half creep of a man who did not wish to be seen. Moonlight glinting off naked steel as the man drew his sword drove her to action. Rolling sideways, she fell into a gap between two buildings just grasping the roof’s edge with one hand. Holding on long enough to slow her descent, she bounced from one wall to the other in a barely controlled free fall, landing without a sound behind a stack of crates. Within moments, the Mah’Sukai passed by her. He came so close, she could have reached out and grabbed the edge of the cloak he still clutched around himself. He appeared oblivious to the danger that stalked him. Yet, her job was to see him back to the Revered Father in Komar—or, mayhaps, to aid him on his own journey.

Either way, She is not about to let a common city lifter take his life.

Reaching up, she slid a jet-black throwing knife from its sheath on her shoulder.

Palms slick with sweat, Arderi Cor adjusted his grip on Dorochi’s hilt.

Calm down! You can do this.

Slinking down the dark alley, the Mah’Sukai not more than twenty paces ahead of him, Arderi left the protection of the wall and moved forward. His stomach, twisting into a knot, sent the taste of bile rising to the back of his throat. He must do this. He knew he had to kill this man. This monster. The fate of the entire Plane rested on his shoulders. He could not let his family be slaughtered like sheep by a power-hungry madman. Blinking to clear a drop of perspiration from his eye, he sped up. Closing the distance at a silent jog, Arderi pushed all thoughts away. He did not want to come to terms with what he planned to do. With Dorochi held tight in both hands before him, gleaming in the silver moonlight of Sainor, he tensed. The man—that is what he was, just a man—the man in the brown cloak continued down the alleyway, as if he did not care that he was about to be murdered.

Nix! This is not Murder!

Or was it? The man had done nothing—did not even look dangerous. Arderi’s breath came in gulps as he closed upon the Mah’Sukai. Bringing up Master Rine’s words, he sought strength in them—tried to find some solace for what he was about to do. That by killing this man, he would save his brothers and sisters. His parents. Everyone he knew. It could not have taken more than a moment or two for Arderi to close the distance, yet this seemed like an eternity. Less than five paces separated them now. He had come to kill. And now this man, this Mah’Sukai—this monster—walked right in front of him. He felt numb, as if the entire Plane was spinning around him. Raising Dorochi, muscles tightening to the point of snapping, Arderi sprinted forward, abandoning stealth to close and strike before his target discovered that death was upon him. He stopped thinking about what he was doing. It was right and just and—

His mind boiled with so much turmoil that he did not notice when the Mah’Sukai spun to face him. A blinding light, brighter than a thousand suns, lanced into his eyes.

Pain engulfed his body.

Alant Cor heard the man with the sword following him into the alleyway. Terror bit at him. Threatened to seize control and force him to run screaming for his life. He could not draw attention to himself, however. Whatever this man wanted, Alant would not be murdered in some back alley like a helpless child! The soft steps of the man in the almost silent space between the buildings rang loud in his ears, enhanced as they were with him holding the Sight. Reaching out with his mind, he aligned the Strands of the Essence—the ones he now knew represented energy—and pulled them into himself. At least, he felt he brought them into himself. He still did not fully understand this new Sight of the Essence. Power crackled between his fingertips. He needed more. He did not know how he knew this, yet he knew he did not have enough to do what he wanted.

I need to kill this man! Whoever he is, I will not die in some back alley.

The footsteps dogged him. Fear coursed over him like a splash of cold water as the footsteps grew louder. The man with the sword came running at him. Alant knew he would die in this filthy alleyway if he did not act now.

Spinning, drawing in as much energy as he could, Alant released what he had. The energy lashed out from his fingertips, combining at a spot just in front of him. A blinding light lit the alley, yet Alant was too afraid to look away. The energy, like a bolt of white-blue lightning, struck the man’s outstretched sword and lanced up the blade. The smell of burning flesh filled Alant’s nostrils once his bolt of energy struck his attacker. The blinding bolt picked the man up and tossed him backward like a child’s playdoll. A blur of black, like a bat swooping out of the night sky, flittered through Alant’s now blue-streaked vision. A thud off to his right said that if it was a bat, the small creature had smashed into the wall of the building next to him.

Funny that his mind would center on such an odd fact during this. Still, even with the distraction, Alant reached out and started to draw in the energy that floated around him—sparks arched between his fingertips as he did.

His vision was still streaked with the jagged remnants of his energy bolt, yet he could see the red glow of his eyes reflected off the wet paverstones. He took a step closer to the man with the sword. The man who had tried to kill him. Pulling in still more energy, he took another step forward.

Now this man dies!

The lifter sped up his steps, sword raised high. With a quick flick of her wrist, her heavy bladed throwing dagger left her fingertips. It would hit the side of the man’s head, in the soft spot just in front of his ear. The gods willing, the man’s death would be quick and painless.

The thought stabbed at her.

Why should she wish this man’s death to be painless?

Just as the blade left her hand, the alleyway exploded with light. Flinging up an arm did no good. The light seared into her head and she stumbled. Hand whipping out to steady herself, the box she leaned on slid forward and she fell to the wet ground. On hands and knees, she wretched. Panting like a whipped dog, she fought to retain consciousness.

She will not fail here! She is too near her goal!