"Look, whatever you want, I'm sure we can work something out," Vahanian stalled. Running was out of the question, even if he could get past the guardsman's two friends. He doubted he could make it back to the inn. Shouting for help would elicit no response from the inn's patrons, who were too familiar with the nightly brawls to pay heed.

The guardsmen were trying to back him into one of the vendor's stalls, where they could exact their payment undisturbed. As Vahanian backed toward the melon vendor's table, he caught sight of the pendulous net of plaster fruit hanging overhead. If only, he thought, slowing his retreat to let his attackers get a little closer.

Using all the strength in his good leg, Vahanian jumped straight up for the net, slashing at it with his knife. As the heavy plaster fruit fell, he let his momentum carry him toward the table, and as he crashed onto it and slipped off the other side, he upended it, then scrambled for the small flat wagons stacked three high behind the table. Clutching one of the wheeled boards against his aching ribs, Vahanian dove, hitting the rough street with a bone-jarring slam that nearly blacked him out. The wheeled cart skittered toward freedom as his attackers struggled with the fallen netting and the hail of plaster fruit. Just a little farther, Vahanian whispered under his breath as he heard boot steps pound. Just a little farther.

He heard a cry behind him as one of the guardsmen gave a flying tackle, falling just short of the wagon but grasping both Vahanian's ankles, pulling him from the wagon. The second guardsman closed the distance, hauling Vahanian roughly to his feet and pinning his elbows behind his back. The red-haired guardsman stood before him, letting the staff rise and fall in his hands, his eyes hard.

"Not so easy this time, thief," the guardsman taunted, and the guard behind Vahanian yanked his arms back hard, eliciting a gasp as the cracked ribs protested. "You're going to die tonight."

"Look, I've got money, I can settle this with you," Vahanian bargained as the guardsmen pushed him toward the darkened stalls. His heart thudded. The situation was rapidly moving from very bad to hopeless. "I got cheated on the rubies myself. It was an honest mistake." Snatching an escape out of a dicey situation was his specialty, but this time, no opening presented itself. As they moved toward the shadows, Vahanian feared the guardsman's prediction was quite likely to come true.

"Too late, thief," the guardsman replied tone-lessly. "We've had a bad week and you're going to help us work it off."

Vahanian felt a cold rush of air from the shadows, saw the blur of motion instead of the thing itself as something snatched the guardsman on his right and dashed his burly frame against the wall like a child's doll. The other two guardsmen wheeled, swords in hand, to face darkness.

"What kind of trick is this, Vahanian?" the red-haired guardsman cried, searching the darkness in a battle stance.

The rush of wind and the sense of a presence blurred the night again, and the guardsman to Vahanian's left gave a dry wail of terror. There was silence, then boot steps as a dark figure emerged from the shadows, holding the dead guard by his crushed throat with an eerie effortlessness.

"What demon are you?" the red-haired guardsman shouted at the darkness, his voice cracking with terror. The figure continued toward them, until the moonlight illuminated his face.

It was the flaxen-haired man from the tavern.

Vahanian felt elation at his rescue die in a cold lump in his stomach. Nothing human could heft the guardsman by one hand. Cut off from the street, the man was wild-eyed with fear, his sword shaking in his hand and his pale skin ghostly white in the moonlight.

"Stay back, whatever you are," the guardsman menaced with the sword, voice quivering. "This sword was blessed by a priestess. It's good against magic, so stay back now, I'm warning you."

The blond man tossed the second guard aside. A cold, jaded amusement hinted at the corners of his thin lips as he moved relentlessly toward the last guardsman. Vahanian, blocked from escape and knowing himself to be easy prey in his present condition, stepped deeper into the shadows, hoping the blond man would be sated with a third kill.

The guardsman slashed frantically at the blond man, warning him away. Still, the stranger advanced, until with a lightning quick rush he snatched the blade from the guardsman's hand. Eyes wide in terror, sobbing for his life, the red-haired man fell to his knees. The blond man stood before him, his aristocratic face emotionless. Then the stranger reached out one thin, impossibly strong hand to grasp the guardsman by the collar and lift him to his feet, bringing him into his arms. The doomed man fell silent and Vahanian watched in horror as the blond man's lips drew back, revealing sharp, unnatural teeth. In a few moments, the feeding was over, and the vayash moru dropped the dead guardsman like a discarded crust. The flaxen-haired man turned to the darkness where Vahanian hid.

"You are safe now," the man said, with the hint of an accent that Vahanian could not identify.

"Yeah?" Vahanian stepped from the shadows into the moonlight, knowing that he stood no chance against this adversary.

A cold smile touched the stranger's lips. "My name is Gabriel," he said, with a self-assurance Vahanian somehow only expected to find in an immortal. "I have a message for you from the Sisterhood." He licked his lips. "I thought I might find you in the tavern, but the press of... bodies... became uncomfortable for me. When I chose to wait for you outside, I overheard the guardsmen's plan. It became necessary for me to... intervene."

"You have a message for me?"

"Martris Drayke must not cross into Dhasson. Dark magic waits for him there. What you seek from the north will meet you on the journey. He must not cross the border."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Vahanian put on his best wagering face, no small feat considering his heart was hammering so hard he could barely breathe.

Gabriel smiled, a cold grimace that made his teeth far more apparent than Vahanian preferred. "Yes, my mistress informed me you could be difficult."

"And who might that be?" Vahanian returned, managing to get a measure of bravado into his voice.

"I am the servant of the Dark Lady," Gabriel replied, without a hint of sarcasm. "As are you."

"The only goddess I serve is Luck." Gabriel's eyes held a cold amusement. "Perhaps. Or maybe, you know Her by another name." He paused, an unreadable expression in his eyes, and his tongue darted at the last flecks of blood on his lips. "Now go. And ride a well-used trail. I am not the only one who can smell blood in the darkness."

"Yeah, sure," Vahanian replied uneasily. "Whatever you say." He glanced away to assure himself that his horse still waited at tether, and when he looked back to where Gabriel had been, the blond man was gone. Vahanian shivered. Tonight was too close a call he thought as he limped toward his horse. Apparently, he had seriously underestimated the stakes in this game.