Jarl felt a tremor run through her. Ghost-silent, he led the way along the building; then, after a moment's pause, ran on swiftly to an ancient Fantay structure.
The shadow-group ahead was breaking up spreading out in a thin black line of menace.
Tight-nerved, Jarl drew Sais to the right, parallel to the skirmish line, along the crumbling Fantay spire ... then on through the burrow-like workings of spider men of Rhea, past flat-roofed habitat of the llorin.
They came out into another alley.
But ahead, here, too, he caught a glimpse of motion, the hint of a far-flung raider cordon.
They tried again, by another alley—the one down which Jarl had come when he left the carrier. He almost imagined he could make out the ship's slim silver form far off in the vastness of the port, in spite of the obscuring night.
But again, between them and the sprawling ramping-place, stood sinister figures.
Jarl rested his shoulders against the wall of a rambling fala hostel. He felt old beyond belief; incredibly weary. His muscles ached with tension.
Sais touched his arm. "Jarl...." Her voice was a ragged whisper.
He sucked in air. "Wait here a moment."