The sfarran officer rose, tight-lipped at this clumsiness. His hand went to the holster of his addy-gun. Kael rammed a fist to his middle and slid sideways, his harp still in his hand. With a backward lash of his arm he drove the harp's heavy crown into his temple.
The blow knocked the harp from his hand. He scrambled after it, where it lay on the cobblestones. His fingers missed as he snatched at it and swept across the strings. At the harsh, discordant sound that rose into the air the sfarran officer who had been reaching for him fell awkwardly to the stones, sprawling lifelessly.
Other sfarri were falling too, as if the breath of life had been blown from them. They lay here and there beside the fountain, like dead men.
Kael stared dumbly, hearing the shouts of the people of Clonn Fell falling back from the lifeless sfarri.
Then he whirled and slipped in among the crowding merchants and farmers, pretending that he was driven by stark terror.
A moment of wild, flurried movement, and he was free, darting behind a wooden wagon toward the heavy drapes of a carpet stall. Flaith was shrinking back, also losing herself in the milling mob.
Kael saw her, dove toward her.
She cried out, "What was it? How'd you do it? What killed them?"
"I don't know! We have no time to play guessing games!"
He caught her hand, dragged her into an alleyway where the massive stone walls of ancient buildings towered high above them. The dark shadows they cast lay like shielding hands that shrouded them in sudden darkness.