We burst free into the beautifully open lane. There’s no time to breathe, though. Themahrspills out behind us, wobbling and shuddering until it’s broad as a bull again. Screams split the air. Other pedestrians flee into houses, storefronts, emptying the lane until it’s just us, themahr, and the handful of poppy-eaters too far gone to know they should run.
The creature pays them no mind, blue eyes still fixed on Emeric and me.
“What does it want?” I wheeze.
Before Emeric can answer, it charges.
I bolt for another alley, Emeric on my heels. Lähl’s a labyrinth of sharp corners and tight passages, and if we can’t lose themahrthrough the latter, we’ll try the former.
Hollow, smoking hoofbeats chase us down the alleyway. We careen around one turn, then another. Crashes follow in our wake as the beast slams into walls and scuffles to keep its feet.
A sharp jab of juniper spikes my breath. I don’t know the source until I run past Emeric, who has slowed to a stop. He’s uncorked a small vial, and as I hang back, he dabs a drop of silvery oil to his lips.
Then he rattles off another string of words and flicks a hand at the alleyway. Lines of silver light blaze up the walls like matched streaks of lightning. A moment later, themahrveers into sight—
—And stumbles to a halt once it runs between the lines. The magic splinters into a net, forcing the beast to its knees. It lets out another glass-breaking scream as it thrashes.
“Huh,” I rasp, walking closer. “Well. Now what?”
Emeric catches my shoulder, and his face says something’s wrong. “That,” he says between ragged breaths, “should have banished . . .”
With a furious sobbing wail, themahrforces itself back to its feet, the light-threads straining.
“Banished?” I back away. “I’d call that a stern warning at best.”
“Thenyouget rid of it!” Emeric retorts. “At least I’m trying—”
One of the light-strings breaks with a twang.
We reach an immediate unspoken agreement to table this debate, and break into a sprint once more.
Thenachtmahr’s roar follows us through alley after alley, growing louder the deeper into Lähl we flee. I can see the edge of the High Wall looming closer. It’s herding us that way, where there are no tight corners to outmaneuver.
Then, as we tumble into another muddy open lane, I trip into something that lets out a cascade of jingles. We hit the muck with a unanimous grunt.
Emeric hauls me back up, but not fast enough. Themahrerupts into the street.
Like before, the bystanders scream and scatter. All save for the heap of a woman I crashed into, who’s staring around glassy-eyed as she sits up.
A chorus of bells punctuates the movement.
And thenachtmahrwhinny-howls, then retreats a few steps.
I look from the woman to themahrand back. She’s a ringer, a burnt-out streetwitch, decked out in bells at her wrists, her ears, a wreath around her neck. Each one is the mark of another pinch of witch-ash she should have left alone. Too much at once and you start to seeeveryLow God, everygrimling, the way I see Death and Fortune, until your mind heals. If it can.
They wear bells because the sound drives most spirits away. And from the way thenachtmahris tossing its head, the bells are no friend to it either.
“I need to borrow this,” I tell the woman, then lift the jingling wreath from around her neck. Themahrshies away with every ring.
I give the bells a hard shake. It rears back on its hooves, screaming. Windows up and down the lane spiderweb with cracks.
“That’s . . . something,” Emeric says grudgingly. “Will it go away on its own?”
Before I can answer, a loud, cold peal of bronze hammers down over the street. The hour-bells are sounding from the Göttermarkt.
Themahr—splits.
No,splitsisn’t quite it. It’s like double vision, only themahrbreaks into not two identical shapes but untold ones, like a herd of ghosts. Then they all spin back into the solid horse-form again. It’s bleeding silver-blue smoke from its teeth.
