There he let the girl called Kyla down. For the first time since their escape, he spoke to her: "We'll take cover now, for a little while, priestess. Wait here in the shadows for me till I can hide my dragon. It won't take long—ten samori, maybe."
Wordless, eyes inscrutable, the lovely Shamon nodded.
Haral flashed her a tense smile. Then, wheeling the hwalon, he rode back in the direction from which they'd come.
But the instant he was out of sight around the corner, he dropped from the saddle and waved up the Ulno to take the nightmare steed.
Another moment, and he was peering warily towards the spot where he'd left Kyla.
But already the slim young priestess had abandoned her post. She was hurrying away, instead—running off down the narrow, crooked street, just as he'd gambled that she would.
It was ever dusk in these cramped warrens, where the yellow sky showed only straight up. Now, too, the purple Ulnese night drew near at hand. Black rivers of shadow were taking form at the bases of the buildings.
Taking advantage of every unevenness and entryway and patch of murk, Haral followed Kyla.
The girl led him a dizzy chase through jumbled streets and alleys, a world of strange smells and sounds and dull-witted, blank-eyed, two-headed Ulnos. Twice, only the glint of her long, blonde, Shamon hair kept him from losing her.
Then, abruptly, she halted.