Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [99]
He got another quarrel from his calf quiver, but the oily smoke got into his lungs. He backed away coughing, trying to get clear.
After his last hacking cough, the dying hiss of the alchemical vents was the only sound in the room, and they were already petering out.
A shape moved in the dispersing cloud. Chant snapped the bolt into the crossbow and took aim.
Demascus appeared, his eyes red and his cheeks tear-streaked from the black fog.
“By all that’s holy and sovereign!” Demascus yelled. “He’s gone!”
Chant blinked. Sure enough, the corner was empty. Jett—no, Kalkan the tiger-headed beast—was gone.
And so was Riltana.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AIRSPUR
THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
RILTANA LUNGED THROUGH THE PIVOTING DOOR WITHOUT losing a limb when the mechanism slammed shut.
Acrid smoke burned her eyes and stung her lungs. She concentrated all her willpower on not coughing aloud. She didn’t want Kalkan to know someone was with him in the hidden space behind the wall.
The sound of spewing gas died. She heard a distant tread, growing fainter.
No, you don’t!
She couldn’t see a thing, but the floor was smooth, as was the wall she traced with her fingers. She scurried forward as fast as she dared while remaining quiet. As long as she didn’t lose contact with the wall, she should be all right.
The passage sloped up precipitously. She slowed her pace, just to be safe; those catlike ears Kalkan had sprouted could probably hear someone running behind, out of breath and panting.
A flash of light ahead traced the shape of something manlike, then darkness returned.
She accelerated—and saw a glow spilling from around a door soon enough to avoid smashing straight into it.
She listened. The faint sounds of the city issued through the crack.
Riltana found the pull and opened the door.
She looked out across a dank alley.
And where—There! A man in a dark hood stroke quickly away, head down.
I see you, she thought. She took off after him.
After that, it became a sort of game.
Kalkan was adroit at moving quickly through Airspur, from bridge to mote, and mote to cliff. The fellow used every shadow to his advantage, and seemed able to glide through knots of congestion and traffic without pausing.
Riltana was equally adept at moving quickly through the city, but her paths were rooftops, lamp posts, and bridge supports. The hardest part was to stay close enough to Kalkan that she wouldn’t lose him, but far enough back that he didn’t realize he had a tail.
The first time Kalkan circled back to a plaza he’d previously visited, Riltana was sure he knew he was being followed. But after he employed a few more false paths and backtracking tricks, she realized he was probably merely taking standard precautions before returning to his lair—she did exactly the same thing every time she returned to her loft after a night of work.
This guy is good, she thought, realizing she’d just lost Kalkan for the third time. Had the creature gone up the wide stairs on the north cliff face near the Drakeyards, or down?
She chose up. The stairs’ ultimate destination was a ridge. She breathed easier when she saw the flash of a dark hood. Kalkan ducked into the front gate of a manor house walled in white stone.
Where others saw walls, Riltana saw roads built deliciously high. She launched herself on a passing breeze. The moment her boots found the wall top, she dropped to her belly. It wouldn’t do for her to be silhouetted against the view.
She was just in time to see elaborate double doors close behind Kalkan.
The mansion was certainly ostentatious enough to be a noble’s residence. But Riltana mostly avoided burgling such homes. Nobles usually had the means to employ more than merely natural safeguards for their treasures and loved ones.
She studied the building’s facade, looking for likely entrance points. The upper story balconies seemed like her best bet, assuming she could avoid triggering any arcane wards.
Riltana squirmed