Once more, in dead silence, he moved forward, skirting the pool of greenish glow that marked the hostel's entry. Cat-footed, taut, he made his way along the wall towards the port, the shadow-figures.
Only then, without warning, a spear of light lanced through the darkness. An energy-bolt splintered stone bare inches from his shoulder.
He dived back by instinct; landed running.
In the same instant a cry went up—the wild hunting-cry of Bor Legat's raiders.
Jarl caught Sais' hand and dashed for the corner of the building.
From behind them came a pelting rush of feet, a babble of fierce, life-thirsting voices. The night blazed with the fire of raider weapons.
Barely in time, they made the corner. Panting, they lunged on into the maze of alleys.
But then, ahead of them, rose other voices. New figures loomed; new weapons flamed and echoed.
Jarl catapulted Sais into an entryway. Savagely, he kicked at the door's lock.