her luck wasn't to be that good. Now she'd have to make him alone.
“Ah, well. What's one more injured thief? Safer streets, yes?”
Olgun pointed out that she really didn't need any more enemies in the Guild, but since she was already quite well aware of that, she ignored it. Instead, she said, “Going to need some extra speed and a boost here.”
The next obstacle Remy and his companion would have to clear was a street, not an alleyway, albeit a narrow one. It was a tricky jump to make, but not too difficult, certainly not for men with their training and experience.
Just as the two of them neared that edge, Widdershins's run turned into an impossible sprint. Inhumanly steady on the rickety roof, hair and hood flying behind her in the wind of her own motion, she closed the distance in a matter of heartbeats. When her quarry leapt, she was only steps behind them.
She felt Olgun's presence beneath her, propelling her up and out with her last step so that she soared through the open air, higher and far faster, than the others. She tucked her knees tight to her chest, giving herself just enough room to pass over the head of Remy's companion.
Then, still in midair, she kicked down hard with both feet.
The not-quite-weasel screamed at the sharp impact on his shoulders, the bone-shaking jolt as he was suddenly propelled downward. Shins's kick did not, of course, substantially alter his forward momentum, so that same scream ceased just as abruptly as he slammed face-first into the wall just below his intended landing point.
Neither that impact, nor the subsequent fall, should prove fatal, but when he finally woke up, he was going to seriously envy his friends back in the alley, who had merely been stabbed a few times.
Given the Guild's recent activities and behavior, Shins found herself remarkably guilt-free regarding the whole endeavor.
Thanks to Olgun's divine boost, Shins landed on the far roof a fraction of a second ahead of Remy. It was more than enough, especially since his brain still hadn't fully processed what was happening. The young woman dropped into a low crouch and spun, one leg extended, sweeping the larger man's ankles out from under him even as they had just begun to touch down. The taskmaster toppled forward—no, more than toppled, practically pivoted in space, so that he slammed to the roof face and chest down, his legs protruding over the edge. Shins gave him a helpful nudge with the toe of her boot; not enough to send him over, just to make him slide, forcing him to clutch at the rooftop with both hands to keep himself from a painful plummet.
He could, of course, have hauled himself back up—Remy was nothing if not a powerful man—had he not looked up to find the tip of Widdershins's rapier hovering about two inches from his nose.
“As I don't actually have any plans to stab you tonight,” she told him, “I'm going to be very put out if you impale your face on my sword. Talk about rude.”
“Well,” he wheezed, wincing at what she had to assume was a spreading pain in his ribs, “I wouldn't want to put you out, would I?”
“Exactly! It's so nice to understand one's colleagues.”
“I'm sure. When did you get back in town?”
Widdershins's gawp of disbelief was only partly exaggerated. “Really? That's the question you want to lead with under these circumstances?”
Remy started to shrug, then froze as he slid a few more inches back with the gesture. “I don't figure threatening you's gonna do me any good right now—though you are going to regret this—and you're going to tell me what you want when you damn well feel like it, anyway.”
“Fair.” Widdershins dropped to her haunches, her blade still steady. “I think you know my first question.”
He didn't even bother to equivocate. “Yes, Lisette's back. And yes, she's in charge now.”
“What happened to the old Shrouded Lord?”
“Gods only know. I…. Look, if this is going to be a long talk, can I pull myself up? My arms hurt.”
“I guess you'd better make sure it's not a long talk, then.”
The taskmaster growled at that, but they both knew it was empty.
“The Shrouded Lord?” she prompted.
“Yeah, don't know. She says he's dead, but…she's avoided talking about who was under the mask, and she gets pissy—pissier—if he comes up in conversation. So maybe he's not as dead as she wants.
“Might as well be, though. He's out, and she's already purged most of the