Free Downshadow by Erik Scott de Bie Page B

good she felt against him, Shadowbane looked at the injured wizard, who was breathing regularly, then at the burned shadows on the wall and wondered what might have done that. Could that wizard lass have managed such a spell? It didn’t seem likely, if her band had fled from the displacer beasts.
    He considered the dwarf and Lorien’s shadowy defender. Rath’s ring had only scared the creature away, not harmed it. And where had that shadow come from?
    Too many questions, and he couldn’t decide which to ask.
    Shadowbane’s ears perked up, and he became aware of footsteps coming toward them. “Lady Lorien?” came a distant, male voice.
    “Oh, shush! She’ll just hide from you.” The voice was feminine, closer, and familiar.
    “Shush, both of you!” came a quiet command.
    Time to go. Shadowbane pulled away, but Lorien caught his hand.
    “You saved me, and for that I am grateful,” she said. “If I cannot give you a kiss, as the tales demand, then”—she pressed a small, pink
    scroll into his belt—”my temple is holding a revel a few nights hence, and I should be honored if you would attend.”
    “Lady,” said Shadowbane, but she put a finger to his helm, over his lips.
    “It is a costume revel,” she said. “Famous heroes of the old world and the new—come as yourself, if you will. The invitations have no names, so even I will have no way of knowing you, saer.” She smiled. “Your secret is safe.”
    Shadowbane wasn’t sure what to say. He put his hand over hers.
    Then, when he heard a gasp from behind them and reached for his empty scabbard, he realized he hadn’t reclaimed his sword from the shadows.

SEVEN
    Araezra hated these sorts of assignments, down in the dark and dank. But the Watch had been doing less and less duty in the sewers and Undermountain, leaving it to the more highly trained—and paid— Guard. She was serving the city, in a way, though she really wished nobles wouldn’t get these crazy ideas and go vanishing down into the underworld alone where the Guard had to go fish them out.
    She and Talanna trudged along the musty corridors of Downshadow, along wirh two other guardsmen, Turnstone and Treth. Best that Kalen hadn’t come—he’d have been out of his element, and Araezra worried about him in these situations. It wasn’t his spirit or his heart, but his body—his illness, after all, didn’t permit much in the way of peril.
    Not that Turnstone or Treth made her feel much better in a desperate battle. Gordil Turnstone was a wise and stolid guardsman, but well past his prime. His hair and great mustache were white from decades on the streets. Bleys Treth, on the other hand, was a skilled—if overeager and quick to draw—swordsman, but he’d seen well over forry winters. He’d been a hired champion in his youth, called “the Striking Snake” for his speed, and still retained some of his youthful charm and dash, but all the smiles in Faerűn didn’t make up for age.
    Araezra and Talanna were the youngest and most vigorous of the four. Talanna wore her light “chasing” armor, styled for running and leaping. Her long sunset hair was unbound, in contradiction of Waterdeep fashion, for two reasons, both to do with Lord Neverember. For a first, he liked to point her out to dignitaries by her red-burning curls. Second, he liked to see it tumble when they flirted, which they did shamelessly.
    Araezra was glad to have the shieldlar at her side. She valued
    Talanna’s company and her martial skills—in spite of her oft-rambling tongue. As at that moment, for insrance.
    “Honestly, Rayse, you should be more careful who you wink those lovely black eyes at,” Talanna said. “The men of Waterdeep can take only so much, you know.”
    Araezra groaned. Talanna always thought her choices could be better. Not that Talanna ever advised prudishness in romance—only selectivity.
    “I welcome your words, but I shall keep my own counsel as regards affairs of my hearr,” she said.
    “Heart?