The Disappearance of Winter's Daughter (Riyria Chronicles #4)(58)

Luckily, the Calian was slowing down, getting tired most likely. Darting into a series of dilapidated houses, he dodged a ladder and jumped a pile of manure that Hadrian slipped in. He didn’t fall, but it was close.

They both ducked under a clothesline loaded with clothes someone had forgotten to take in. With boots still slick with muck, Hadrian ran past a cascading avalanche of busted crates, over an open sewer grate, around a brimming water barrel, and into a yard enclosed by a battered wooden fence. The Calian managed to leap the stockade-style wall, and for precious seconds, Hadrian lost sight of him again.

By the time Hadrian had cleared the fence, he’d once more lost his prey.

The barrier was merely a dividing line between one property and another—separating an alley filled with a stack of broken wagon wheels and one filled with dented buckets. The Calian could have gone left or right. Rather than running off blindly, Hadrian stood still, held his breath, and listened. He had no idea where he was anymore. They had raced up a dozen different streets. The architecture was back to four-story buildings with stone bases and timber-and-stucco uppers. Damp, salty air accompanied a growing level of fog, which reduced his visibility to half a block. His only clue was a familiar pungent fragrance, a pervasive incense burned in many homes in Calis.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

Off to his left.

He darted around the buckets and back out onto a street, another tiny affair. Again, he had a choice, and once more Hadrian paused to listen. He waited but heard nothing.

Is he hiding? Hadrian was exhausted after the long run. The old Calian had to be, too, or maybe he’d realized it wasn’t such a good idea leading his pursuer back to his home. Or perhaps he had simply taken off his sandals. Slowly, carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, Hadrian made a calculated guess that the Calian had continued in the same general, southerly direction, and he crept that way. Reaching an intersection, he found a lonely streetlamp illuminating three choices. Straight ahead lay the masts of ships, black against the starry sky. To his right, the dark edifice of the cathedral towered over rooftops and the bright-white fog. Its lower reaches were illuminated by the increased presence of streetlamps. To his left, there was only darkness.

I’d pick darkness, Hadrian thought and started down the dismal street. He’d only gone a few steps when he heard a wet tearing noise. In daylight, while surrounded by a crowd of smiling friends, the sound would have made him cringe, but in a strange, dark place of mist and twisting streets, it made him shudder. This wasn’t a happy noise. Hadrian drew his short sword. The metal made a soft ring as it left the scabbard. Something moved. Hadrian saw little more than a shift in shadows, but the sound was a harsh sudden jerk, the sort a startled deer might make. There was a thrash—something knocked over—and then silence.

Hadrian guessed his prey was fleeing again and quickly rounded the corner. He tripped, and this time he did fall. He hit the hard alley floor with his left shoulder and knee, grunting with the pain that shot up his thigh. His knuckles struck the cobblestones hard enough to make him let go of the blade. Instinct made him roll to one side and snatch up his weapon as he did. He raised the blade in defense against the expected attack.

No one was there.

He was alone, lying on the ground in a dark alley, feeling foolish. Hand throbbing, knee aching, shoulder sore, he once more held his breath to listen. All he heard was the distant ringing of cathedral bells.

It’s official, I’ve lost him.

Royce would never let him hear the end of this fiasco. You couldn’t even catch an old man?

Angry and disappointed, Hadrian looked for what had finally tripped him up. It took several seconds of staring to understand what he was seeing. It failed to make sense in so many ways that his mind took a great deal of convincing to finally accept it.

Three steps back, the Calian was sprawled on the wet stone. Hadrian knew him by the burgundy wrap, the green scarf, and the box. These features provided the identity rather than his face, because he no longer had one.





Chapter Fifteen

Bird Hunting





Royce leapt from the roof of the four-story building and landed on the slate tiles of the structure on the opposite side of the street. He ran to the ridgeline and sprinted along it. A slender figure in a dark, hooded cloak ran with abandon ahead of him. Racing entirely across rooftops, Royce had pursued his quarry out of the congested dwarven district toward the center of town. At that moment, the cathedral’s soaring tower began tolling ominous peals of cascading notes, providing musical accompaniment for the drama unfolding against the starry night sky.

With buildings tightly packed, the canopy tour had been without serious challenge. Still, Royce’s prey had been impressive. He’d proved more than comfortable with heights. He was fast, agile, and clever in his maneuvers. The moment his quarry had decided to make his flight across the high ground, Royce experienced a giddy sense of victory. Rarely did a target act so agreeably. Rather than trying to disappear into the unfamiliar maze of city streets, this guy was like a bird trying to escape a shark by diving into the ocean. Royce’s sense of jubilation was soon replaced with a rush of excitement at finding an unexpected challenge. This bird, he was stunned to discover, could swim.

Ahead was trouble. They were at the end of the easy jumps. Before them was another street-imposed gap, a wide one, and on the far side, the vertical wall of a much taller building.