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“You lie.”

One man stood up, facing Daine across the clearing. He spoke with an odd, lyrical cadence, blending the syllables of the common tongue together as if they were part of the same word. Like Daine’s captive, the man was little more than a silhouette in the darkness, although he wore some sort of opalescent breastplate that shimmered in the light of the moons.

“Where are your friends?” Daine said, keeping his eyes on the grass. “Surprises make my hands twitch. I think this lady will be much safer if they show themselves.”

“You show your heart,” the shadowy figure said, “speaking of peace, but threatening death.”

“I do that when people try to kill me and my friends. If the others don’t show themselves now, you’ll see what that’s like.”

There was a pause. Daine had the sense that the man was staring at him—but it was too dark for him to see the stranger’s face. Putting on his best scowl, he traced a line across his captive’s neck with his black dagger.

“If that’s what you want …”

“Halt!” The man did sing, then, or spoke in a language Daine didn’t know—though something about it seemed hauntingly familiar. The other two figures appeared, both closer than Daine had expected; they must have been creeping up in the darkness. One held a pair of daggers; the other carried a long chain, similar to the weapon of a Darguul chainmaster, but lighter. “You will die with her.”

“Not a lot of alternatives, and I never planned on dying alone.” Daine took a few more steps back, trying to keep the woman between him and his enemies. “I’d be happier if no one died tonight.”

“You say again, but you travel with others.”

“So do you.” There was an object in the stranger’s right hand, held at his hip—a weapon, probably, but just out of sight.

“North, you travel. To the glass city.”

“If that’s what it’s called, sure, that’s the plan. The jungle’s a dangerous place at night. Perhaps you’ve heard about that.”

The two warriors flanking Daine had not moved; they might just as well have been shadows. The speaker slowly raised his hand, revealing a curved, dark object with three prongs. “Perhaps you speak truth. I cast away the weapon.”

“Good. Get your friends to drop theirs, and we might be able to have a real conversation.”

The slender man didn’t drop the weapon—he threw it, sending it whirling through the air, but while Daine was surprised, the throw was well to Daine’s left—a warning shot, at best.

“What was—”

Before Daine could complete the sentence, the world went white as something heavy smashed into the back of his head. There was a sharp pain in his neck, replaced almost instantly by a cold, spreading numbness. Daine tried to tighten his grip on the woman, but his hands seemed to have plans of their own; even as he tried to get his arms to move, the silver chain flashed in the moonlight, snatching the dagger out of his grasp. Then he was on the ground, the numbness spreading across his body. There was a wooden object lying in the dirt next to his face—a wheel formed from three curved spikes. Did it … curve back? He thought.

That was his last thought for some time.

Pierce and Lei were on the ground when the strangers appeared.

Following Gerrion’s suggestion, they had gone to study one of the massive stone pillars supporting the pavilion while Gerrion, Lakashtai, and Daine climbed onto the plaza. The column was more than ten feet across, and covered with worn inscriptions. Lei was examining the faded words and muttering to herself. Pierce was watching the treeline, bow in hand, and so it was that he saw a wall of weeds and vines silently explode, as if caught in a whirlwind.

Pierce caught the briefest glimpse of the four figures in the shadows of the trees, but he didn’t wait for them to emerge. He stepped back into the narrow space between the pillar and the elevated plaza. Instinct said to ready an arrow, but he held back long enough to grab Lei’s shoulder and pull her along. She glanced up in surprise,