The Way of Caine ,The Warcaster Chronicl - By Miles Holmes Page 0,43

to catch his breath in ragged gasps, and looked the way he’d come for signs of pursuit.

Near as Caine could tell, it was just the two of them now. Montague was headed for the bright lights of the busy avenue, lined with taverns, carriages and foot traffic of all sorts. Caine leveled his pistol, stepping forward along the eaves, hoping once more for a leg shot to slow the man down. As he went, he failed to notice the small stove pipe underfoot. He was suddenly falling, the street yawned three stories below. Flailing, he kept his balance, but went down on a knee, a gasp in his throat. As he did, the unmistakable whoosh of another bolt flew in the place his head had been only a second ago.

He had not lost his tail. Not at all …

Caine cracked three shots in the direction the bolt had come before diving for a brick half-wall. He saw a shadow move from across the roof and with it the whistle of another bolt. The thing caught him by the coat as he dove, but no more. His own shot had cracked the stone facing of the wall behind the man, and he heard a hiss of anger as brick shards showered him. He glanced at the bolt protruding from his coat. He recognized the undamaged barb as Iosan, very rare. Very dangerous.

So that’s Zeke. The bastard’s some sort of elf mage hunter, he thought.

His pursuer might be in cover, but at least he had come out of hiding. He must think I’m done, Caine smiled grimly. Caine could just make him out at this range. He squinted to see the Iosan nock another bolt while leaning against his own brick half-wall. This was a fight he could win, as he saw it. He’d just have to get it over with quickly. Risking a glance over the side of the building, he saw Montague on the main street, approaching a taxi carriage. He glimpsed numbers stenciled on the side of the taxi.

“Two-nine-three-three,” he whispered.

Then promptly swore in shock. Up and over the side of the wall, McCoy climbed the fire escape only a few yards away. Getting his bearings, the trollkin turned and looked around. As he found Caine, he smiled his ugly snaggle-toothed smile. Caine groaned. He was about to get caught on both sides.

Zeke didn’t seem much pleased by the development either. From his cover, he shouted out at the arrival of his colleague.

“McCoy! I have him!” he cried out from behind cover.

McCoy grinned, hauling his hammer over his shoulder. “I think not!” he roared back. “This little one put a bullet in me. Two maybe! I will split his head over the affair.” The trollkin laughed deeply, brandishing his hammer to readiness. Caine was only a few strides away from the monster, and totally exposed. He raised a Spellstorm and fired. Three shots now found the trollkin, tearing into his midriff. Dark blood stains appeared in the silk white shirt and vest, but just the same, he only grunted, stepping forward as though walking into a strong wind. McCoy only smiled amicably at Caine as he came on, his hammer rising once more. Caine looked at his pistols hopelessly, then back up at the advancing Trollkin.

Across the rooftop, his colleague Zeke was undeterred. “Ten crowns you don’t touch him before I get a blade in him?”

“You’re on,” McCoy shouted back, only three strides away from Caine. He dared a glance back to Zeke, and found the elf was at once clear of his cover. His shadowy figure had become a fluid dance of movement, almost impossible to track. On and on he came, leaping and tumbling over the intervening obstacles. Somehow as he tumbled, a long curved blade had already made its way to his hand.

Caine nearly let panic take him. On one side, a rampaging monster, hammer ready to strike. On the other, the relentless Iosan hunter was ready to strike with blade and crossbow.

Death on both sides.

Caine’s mind raced. Focus shots one way, get taken from the other. Flash away, maybe, but lose the mark and certainly not get far enough to lose this pair.

No.

It had to stop. He just needed more time to think.

Caine recalled the Khadoran raid, and the lesson it had taught him. The path he’d found, that special magic that led him to the place between seconds. He was tired now, so very tired, but he could find it again. He had to.