circle, its flat side holding the archway entrance. Along this same wall, to either side, were narrow passageways. Ratboy had likely fled down the one to the left, and Leesil saw the elf standing on the right side, cranking a metal wheel. The man flipped a lever, locking the mechanism used to open the gate.

The walls reached up to four times the height of a man. High in the curved wall, a wide chute spilled a steady but light fall of water to the chamber floor. The smell of brine thickened here, and Leesil guessed this place was beneath the salt mill, where excess seawater was pumped in to flush the sewers.

"We're going after him," he said to the elf. "Are you coming?"

Chap began softly growling at the mouth of the left passageway, and the elf watched him with a puzzled expression that made Leesil briefly follow his gaze.

"You are alike," the elf said. "You care for only one thing—to kill the dead. Why?"

Leesil had no time for this. Ratboy was escaping yet again.

"Because they prey upon the living," he answered quickly. "No one else will… can hunt them, so we do."

"Humans," Sgaile said, as if spitting out something foul to the taste. "They feed on humans, are spawned from them. That creature serves his purpose in thinning the blight upon this world. These humans have even failed to remember their own folly that brought the world to the edge of death in their long-forgotten past."

"Then why didn't you kill me, a half-human?" Leesil asked in spite. "Why did you come after me at all?"

"An error of judgment was made—we do not kill our own," the elf said with difficulty, though his study of Chap made Leesil believe there was more to it.

"Slaughter, you mean," Leesil retorted. "That's what you do, just like these monsters." And he pointed down the passage Ratboy had taken.

"Is this why you abandoned your parents—to hunt the humans' dead?"

Leesil tensed. What did this elf know of his past?

"I left because my life was a horror, and I could no longer do as Darmouth forced me. I know they both were executed because of me."

"I care not what happened to your human sire," elf replied. "But Cuirin'nSn'a is a traitor to her people and their future. She will never again teach another our ways. And it matters little if you choose to waste yourself in such meaningless pursuit."

Chap snarled and lunged at the elf, and the man backed away two steps. But Leesil was only barely aware of this. For a moment he couldn't breathe.

Father had called mother Nein'a, and that was close to the name the elf had spoken.

Chap lunged again with a snap of teeth, backing the elf against the wall. The anmaglâhk looked at Leesil as if he were something unpleasant that couldn't be discarded.

"I came to you for one reason," he said with reluctance, not letting Chap slip from his field of view. "To tell you that you must never step in our way, or our shared blood will not save you from the fate of a traitor."

Leesil waved Chap back, and the hound retreated several steps. The elf moved away from the wall, sidestepping toward the sloped passage.

"What is your name?" Leesil asked.

"Sgailsheilleache a Oshagairea gan'Coilehkrotall," he replied, as if challenging Leesil to even try to repeat it. "Sgaile, if that is easier for you to speak, though it gains you nothing. I am not known to anyone you will ever meet."

He stepped partway down the slant before looking back.

"You were my task, but you are no threat to us. You are anmaglâhk, but not yet a traitor. Go your way and do not interfere with ours."

Sgaile turned and disappeared into the sewers.

Chap's growl pulled Leesil's awareness back. The hound stood at the narrow passage down which Ratboy had fled. Leesil was about to follow but stopped and faced down the slope.

Sgaile's words rushed together in his mind and spread an anguish that nearly made him cry out. He ran down the slope, footfalls splashing in the open tunnel, but the elf was gone.

We do not kill our own… She will never again teach another our ways.

If the elves wouldn't kill their own but still punished a traitor…

Where was this Cuirin'nen'a—what had truly happened to his mother?

Toret ran, arms swinging wildly, barely clutching his short sword.

Elves—cursed elves everywhere.

He turned with the flow of water, heading toward the bay.

The quarrel wound in his head still seared, and the elf's wire had cut