The Wide World's End by James Enge

Author:James Enge
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781616149086
Publisher: Prometheus Books
Published: 2015-01-15T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dead Ends

The healer sewing up the side of Aloê’s neck was Master Snide, whose actual name turned out to be Cromber. She was surprised to find him an efficient and capable healer.

“Struck from long distance?” he asked at one point.

“Yes. I could only just hear the tone of the songbow.”

“And your cloak was drawn over your head? Possibly saved your life.” Cromber shook his head. “These gravebolts are well-named. They’ll be giving the necrophors more work than they will us.”

“I was glad to have one at Tunglskin, against the Khnauronts.”

“I suppose.”

“How long will you be?”

“I’m done. Stay and rest a bit, though. You lost some blood getting here. I’ll make you some redleaf tea.”

She had bled a good deal while searching for the would-be assassin in the shadowy street. But they had taken to their heels after their unlucky shot. No matter: she had the gravebolt. She thought she could find the songbow it matched. Raudhfax had brought her to the Well of Healing before she passed out.

Cromber brought two cups of tea: redleaf for her and blackroot for himself. They drank in amiable silence.

“How did your Wordweave game go the other night?” Aloê asked.

“Horrible,” he admitted. “I’m a bad player, and a bad loser.”

Aloê nodded. “This I understand. I hate to lose.”

Cromber wanted her to stay in the Well overnight, but she wouldn’t. It was that “hate to lose” thing. She felt she had lost a point and wanted to even the score.

She left Raudhfax at the Well and walked toward Tower Ambrose, sneaking through alleys when she could, sliding along in deep shadows when she must take a broader way.

Her thinking was this: the would-be killer would try again. The place she was most likely to go was Tower Ambrose. The assassin would wait for her somewhere near there.

Tower Ambrose was on a bluff, and it could not be approached from the south. The place she had been attacked was to the east. She stalked the person stalking her in the shadows of the River Road east of Ambrose.

The wind was high that night, and its noise covered a multitude of sounds. That was good for her, so that she could move safely in the dark. But it was bad, also: it meant that her assassin could hide from her.

She came to a halt near the place she considered optimal for her own assassination. It was near enough to Tower Ambrose that the shooter could attack someone coming from two or three different sidestreets and then escape down two or three others if need be. Yes—if they were going to try again, it would be somewhere near here. She climbed up the side of a house she knew was empty and sat on the roof in the shadow of a dormer.

She sat still for a long time. She thought of it like fishing with her hands: you had to be still, let the fish become calm and brave. Then strike when they were unaware.

The wind changed, grew quieter.

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