struggling against Azaces. Caina had never seen Nerina display this much emotion before, her eyes wide and wild, her face flushed. “You have my husband! Let me go, let me go, let me go!”
“The woman makes accusations,” said the Immortal, amusement entering the dead voice.
That was very bad. Caina knew how the Immortals found their amusement.
“Forgive my servant, most noble soldier of the most divine Padishah,” said Caina in a disguised voice, offering her most florid bow. “As you can see, her mind has been addled by overuse of wraithblood. Honestly, I do not know why I employ her.” Caina reached into her belt, drew out some coins and one other object from a belt pouch. She held out the coins in her left hand, palming the small sphere in her right hand. “Please accept this small remuneration for your trouble, most noble soldier.”
“A bribe?” said the Immortal. The amusement sharpened. “You think to offer a soldier of the Padishah a bribe, little man?”
“Of course not,” said Caina. “Merely a small token of my esteem for the noble warriors of the most divine Padishah.”
“You have my husband!” said Nerina. “Let…”
The Immortal stepped forward, his steel-clad fingers clamping around Nerina’s jaw. Caina tensed. She knew the terrible strength of the Immortals, and if the Immortal felt like it, he could have ripped off Nerina’s jaw like a man opening a peanut.
“The eyes of a wraithblood addict,” murmured the Immortal. “She has gone mad, I fear.” He tilted her head from side to side. “But she is pretty enough, if overly scrawny.” The glowing blue eyes shifted to Caina. “She shall amuse us on the road until we tire of her.” He raised his voice. “Kill both the men. The shorter one, take his coins and stuff them down his throat before you kill him. Let all Istarinmul see what happens when a man tries to bribe an Immortal.”
The other four Immortals reached for their scimitars. The Immortal holding Nerina’s face shoved, and the push sent Azaces stumbling several steps. Azaces could not draw his sword without putting down Nerina. The big Sarbian was a formidable fighter, but even he could not take five Immortals at once.
“Eyes!” shouted Caina, drawing back her right hand.
Azaces closed his eyes and looked away, one hand clamping over Nerina’s face. Caina flung the small clay sphere in her right hand. The lead Immortal’s skull-masked face turned towards her, the clay sphere shattering against his helmet, and Caina squeezed her eyes shut.
An instant later the liquid inside the clay sphere erupted with a brilliant white flash, blinding even in the glare of the sun. Caina had found the materials to make smoke bombs in the Sanctuary of Istarinmul’s Ghosts, but she had altered the formula to generate less smoke and more flash. Smoke had its uses, but so did the dazzling flash, which proved its worth when the Immortals rocked back with cries of fury, their armored gauntlets coming up to shield their eyes.
“Go!” said Caina, spinning and opening her eyes. “Follow me!”
“Take them!” roared the lead Immortal. Already the other Immortals in the Bazaar were stirring, their attention drawn by the shouting. Unlike the first five Immortals, they had not been dazzled by the smoke bomb. “The men and the woman. Kill them!”
Caina sprinted down the street towards the Crimson Veil. Nerina still struggled in Azaces’s grasp, shouting Malcolm’s name, but Azaces’s grip did not loosen. He slung Nerina over one shoulder like a sack of flour and raced after Caina, Nerina’s head bouncing against his back. That probably hurt, but dying upon an Immortal’s scimitar would hurt much more.
Immortals raced after them, swords in hand, armored boots clanging against the street. Despite their bulk and the weight of their black plate armor, they began to draw nearer. Caina and Azaces could not outrun the Immortals, and they definitely could not outfight them.
So Caina would have to outthink them.
She dodged right and raced into an alley between two coffee houses. The air smelled better than the alley behind the Crimson Veil, the scents of roasting coffee and cooking bread coming to her nostrils. The clatter of running boots filled her ears, drawing closer. Caina turned again and came to another street, one lined by houses. The houses stood four stories tall, their walls covered in brilliant white plaster, most of them built around a square interior courtyard. Compared to the sprawling palaces of the Emirs’ Quarter these houses were modest, but they were palatial compared to