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very bad shape. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth. His skin was ashen. His breath caught in his throat from the pain. Turquoise and other stones rested on his chest and his forehead. The Grandmother hovered over him, muttering incantations and coughing in the smoke.
    A hand touched Ulaf’s shoulder. Turning his head, he saw Jessan squatting beside him.
    â€œAre you all right?” Ulaf demanded.
    Jessan nodded. He was bloody and disheveled, with oozing sores on his arms and chest. He must be in agony, but if so he kept his pain to himself. His lips tightened and compressed, his hand clenched, but he said no word of complaint.
    â€œWe have to get them out of here!” Ulaf said, gesturing to the pecwae.
    Jessan looked at Bashae, and his face darkened. “He is hurt badly. He can’t be moved.”
    Ulaf glanced around. Five battle magi had entered the tavern. They had the Vrykyl surrounded and were slowly closing in on him, herding him into a position where they could concentrate their destructive magic on him. The Vrykyl was trying to cast Void magic, but not having much luck, apparently, for no more magi went down. Ulaf was thankful to note that the battle magi were concentrating solely on their prey. None had so much as glanced in their direction.
    â€œJessan, listen to me,” Ulaf said in low, urgent tones, knowing that the Trevinici was the only person the pecwae would heed. “These people aregoing to bring down the wrath of the gods on that fiend. If we don’t get far away from here by the time the magic goes off, we’re all dead!”
    Jessan glanced at the magi and the Vrykyl and gave an abrupt nod. “How do we get out? They have blocked off all the exits.”
    â€œI’ll deal with that. You guard Bashae and the Grandmother.”
    Ulaf stood up, placed both hands on the wall, and began to chant. He was an experienced magus, but there was always a horrible moment of doubt for any magus, for with every casting there was the possibility the spell might fail. He added a swift prayer to the gods along with the magic and gave a heartfelt sigh of relief when he felt the wall beneath his fingers start to crackle.
    He glanced back over his shoulder, saw Jessan conferring with the Grandmother. She shook her head. Jessan said something more. She looked at Ulaf, bleak questions in her eyes. He made a helpless gesture that said, “We have to get out of here!”
    The Grandmother gathered up the stones that rested on top of Bashae with a flick of her hand.
    â€œBashae,” said Jessan, “I’m going to pick you up. This may hurt—”
    â€œJessan,” Bashae whispered, struggling to speak. “The knapsack!”
    â€œIt is safe. Ulaf has it,” said Jessan.
    â€œLet me see it!” Bashae gasped.
    Ulaf pulled the knapsack out from his shirt, held it up.
    Bashae sighed, relieved. “That’s good. I need to talk to Shadamehr, Jessan. Quickly. Before I die. Can you take me to him?”
    â€œYou are not dying,” Jessan said angrily. “Don’t talk. Save your strength for getting well.”
    He lifted his friend gently, trying not to jar him. Bashae moaned. His body shuddered. He went limp, his head lolled back on Jessan’s arm.
    â€œHe is not dead,” the Grandmother said in a trembling voice. “He has fainted. That is good. He will not feel anything now.”
    Jessan rose to his feet. Pallid from his own wounds, he staggered when he stood.
    â€œAre you all right?” Ulaf asked.
    Jessan’s tight lips pressed together even tighter. He grunted an assent.
    Ulaf turned back to his work. The chanting behind him was rising in volume and intensity. It wouldn’t be long.
    â€œStand back,” Ulaf warned.
    Flinging the knapsack over his shoulder, he adjusted it securely, then backed off a few paces in order to get a good run at the wall. He braced himself for the impact, which would be bone-jarring if his