Torvald threw himself to one side and rolled — straight over the roof edge. Not quite what he had planned, and he desperately twisted as he fell, knowing that it wouldn’t help in the least.
He had tucked into his belt two Blue Moranth sharpers.
Torvald could only close his eyes as he pounded hard on to the pavestones. The impact threw him back upward on a rising wave of stunning pain, but the motion seemed strangely slow, and he opened his eyes — amazed that he still lived — only to find that the world had turned into swirling green and blue clouds, thick, wet.
No, not clouds. He was inside a bulging, sloshing sphere of water. Hanging suspended now, as it rolled, taking him with it, out into the courtyard.
From the rooftop, which he was able to look up at as the misshapen globe tum shy;bled him over and over, he saw an assassin pitch over the edge in a black spray of blood — and then he was looking at Madrun and Lazan Door, wielding two curved swords each, cutting through a mob that even now scattered in panic.
At that moment sorcery ignited the courtyard, rolling in a spitting, raging wave that swept up the main building’s front steps and collided with the door, shattering it and the lintel above. Clouds of dust tumbled out, and three vague shapes rushed in, disappearing inside the house. A fourth one skidded to a halt at the base of the cracked steps, spun round and raised gloved hands. More magic, shrieking as it darted straight for the two unmasked Seguleh and those few assassins still standing. The impact sent bodies flying.
Torvald Nom, witnessing all this through murky water and discovering a sudden need to breathe, lost sight of everything as the globe heaved over one last time, even as he heard water draining, splashing down out to the sides, and watched the blurred pavestones beneath him draw closer.
All at once he found himself lying on the courtyard, drenched, gasping for air. He rolled over on to his back, saw a spark-lit, fiery black cloud tumble through the sky directly overhead — and that was curious, wasn’t it?
Detonations from within the estate. A sudden scream, cut bloodily short. He looked over to where Lazan Door and Madrun had been. Bodies crowded up against the inside wall, like a handful of black knuckles, and their bouncing, skid shy;ding journey was at an end, every knuckle settled and motinless,
Someone was approaching. Slow, steady steps, coming to a rest beside him.
Blinking, Torvald Nom looked up. ‘Cousin! Listen! I’m sorry, all right? I never meant it, honest!’
‘What in Hood’s name are you going on about, Tor?’ Rallick Nom was wiping blood from his tjaluk knives. ‘I’d swear you were scared of me or something.’
‘I didn’t mean to steal her, Rallick. That’s no lie!’
‘Tiserra?’
Torvald stared up at his cousin, wide-eyed, his heart bounding like an antelope with a hundred starving wolves on its stumpy tail.
Rallick made a face. ‘Tor, you idiot. We were what, seven years old? Sure, I thought she was cute, but gods below, man, any boy and girl who start holding hands at seven and are still madly in love with each other twenty-five years later — that’s not something to mess with-’
‘But I saw the way you looked at us, year after year — I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t sleep, I knew you’d come for me sooner or later, I knew. .’
Rallick frowned down at him. ‘Torvald, what you saw in my face was envy. Yes, such a thing can get ugly, but not with me. I watched in wonder, in admira shy;tion. Dammit, I loved you both. Still do.’ He sheathed his weapons and reached down with a red-stained hand. ‘Good to see you, cousin. Finally.’
Torvald took that hand, and suddenly — years of guilt and fear shedding away — the whole world was all right. He was pulled effortlessly to his feet. ‘Hang on,’ he said, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘Helping out, of course.’
‘Taking care of me-’
‘Ah, that was incidental, in truth. I saw you on the rooftop earlier. There’d be a few trying that way. Anyway, you did a nice job of catching their attention.’
‘That quarrel through that one’s head was from you?’
‘At that range, I never miss.’
They turned then as Studious Lock, limping, emerged from the wreckage of the main entrance. And behind him strode the Lady of the house. She was wearing leather gloves that ran up to the elbow on which dagger-sheaths had been riveted. Her usual voluminous silks and linens had been replaced by tight-fitting, fighting clothes. Torvald squinted thoughtfully.
Studious Lock was making his way towards the heap of bodies.
Lady Varada saw Rallick and Torvald and approached.
Rallick bowed. ‘Did the mage give you any trouble, Mistress?’
‘No. Is the rooftop clear?’
‘Of course.’
‘And Seba?’
‘Probably scampering for his warren as fast as his legs can take him.’ Rallick paused. ‘Mistress, you could walk back in-’
‘And who is left in my Guild, Rallick? Of any worth, I mean.’
‘Krute, perhaps. Myself. Even Seba would manage, so long as he was respon shy;sible for a single cell and nothing more.’
