experienced mage.
Ansily had been pulled partially out of the way when his wand activated, and the moment she stirred Tyndal dropped the tool and ran to her side. She was rubbing her neck where the Censor had grasped it, and Tyndal put his hand over hers as he searched her for injury.
“Are you well?” he asked, concerned. She nodded dumbly, her eyes wide.
“You . . . you . . .”
“Not now,” he cautioned, his heart pounding and his eyes stealing to the still body of the Censor. “We have to move – there’s still one of them out there!”
“I know!” she squeaked, getting to her feet as quickly as he could . . . and showing off far more leg under her skirt than she perhaps intended. Tyndal cursed himself for thinking of pleasures at a time like this, but the kiss Ansily gave him when she did make it to her feet told him he wasn’t the only one so stirred by the excitement. “Where to?” she asked him, her pretty eyes alight.
“Just follow me . . . and try to keep up,” he said, taking her by the hand and pulling, hard. She followed without resistance. He stopped just long enough to retrieve his mageblade, grateful to have at least some sort of weapon again. The pitchfork had been a handy trick, but it was the last in his bag.
But once he was properly armed, his confidence returned. He was no warmage, but he knew how to stab someone in the darkness. Lespin was somewhere down by the docks but his sound-to-flame spell was dissipating. But so was the spell using the fog to conceal from magesight. Tyndal allowed the last of the power to both to fail, and looked down the slope with the wizard’s perspective . . . and saw no one.
“Remember that story you told me?” he asked. She nodded. “We’re going to go to the docks and get to a boat. Then I’m going to put you ashore and Lespin can chase me from here to the Mindens, and leave poor Talry behind.”
“Tyndal! Don’t be stupid!” Ansily hissed. “That was just a stupid story! If we can get back to the Four Stags . . .”
“On foot? He’d be on us by midnight. And I’m not eager to go back into that stable for a while. The river is the best way to put miles between us and trouble . . . and trouble and Talry. The Censors won’t bother the bakers if they’re chasing me, a known threat and fugitive . . .”
“Then let’s go!” Ansily said, pulling the hood of her mantle over her head. Tyndal was startled. He honestly expected more of an argument. He nodded in return, then took her hand with his left while his right brandished his un-named blade. Bravely, foolishly, but decisively he began the descent of the slope through the thick river mists of Talry.
Even with magesight the footing could be treacherous, and try as he might the sound of their footsteps seemed to echo like thunder. Yet no one challenged them. Closer and closer they came, skirting the south side of the road, moving from building to tree to rock, ever watchful for the Censor. By the time Tyndal and Ansily made it to the top stone step of the quay, the apprentice felt jubilant. He spied the two crates they had hidden behind just a few days before, and motioned toward them. Ansily nodded, and they padded as quietly as they could down to the dock, the mist so thick they could barely see even the outline of the crates.
“We can catch our breath and start looking for a boat from here,” Tyndal whispered, as they crammed themselves between the boxes. He began peering from between the cracks to see which fisherman or bargeman had left a boat tied, rather than carried to the docks. He suddenly felt very soft hands on his face.
“Tyndal,” Ansily said, in the quietest of whispers, “you saved my life! ”
“You tried to save min—” he began, when his lips became involved in other pursuits. Why did women think about things like this when they could be dead at any second? he asked himself, vainly, as