Dolgan's eyes rolled. He staggered, fell to his knees, bleeding, coughing, and . . . grinning? Cale controlled the disgust that rushed up his throat and smashed the hilt of his sword into Dolgan's temple. He groaned and crashed to the street. Cale turned around to help Riven with the easterner.
"That one lives, Riven," he said, because Dolgan certainly would not.
The little easterner responded quickly to Cale's sudden appearance. He maneuvered himself against the alley wall so that he could face both Riven and Cale without exposing his back.
Not waiting for Cale, Riven lunged forward and unleashed a flurry of slashes. Preternaturally quick, the little easterner danced left, ducked below a cross slash, and stabbed low with his falchion. The blow nicked Riven's forearm near the elbow. The assassin grunted, slashed high, and managed to open a slit in the easterner's shoulder.
Cale started to rush in on the easterner's blade side, his own sword gripped in both hands, when a voice from behind cut through the melee like a razor.
"Cease now or the halfling dies!"
Cale stopped in mid-stride, blade held before him. Riven and the easterner, not more than a pace and a half apart, stopped too but kept blades at the ready. All eyes turned to the speaker.
The half-drow and Vraggen stood at the mouth of the alley. The half-drow, smiling and dressed in a flamboyant green silk shirt and cloak, held Jak by a handful of his red hair. With his other hand, he held a long sword at the halfling's throat.
"I don't know how they saw me, Cale," said the halfling.
"There are many things you don't know," Azriim said, and he gave a hard smile. "Now, speak again and you die."
Jak bit his lip and said nothing.
Beside the half-drow, dressed in a gray cloak and skullcap, stood the dark-eyed wizard. He held an iron wand in his left hand.
For a moment, everyone simply stared at everyone else. The only sound in the alley was that of the combatants' respiration and Dolgan's gurgling. Cale glanced down at Dolgan in contempt. He was surprised the man was still alive.
Vraggen broke the silence. "The globe," he said, his voice a low hiss.
Cale made eye contact with Jak. With his eyes, the halfling indicated his hand, then signaled in handcant, I'm ready.
Cale understood.
"The globe," Vraggen repeated. "Or your friend dies right now. Followed by your other friend ..."
Riven scoffed at that.
"... followed by you."
"It's gone," Cale said. "I destroyed it."
He could think of no better lie on short notice.
The wizard sighed with impatience and said, "A lie. Azriim."
The half-drow jerked Jak's head back to expose his throat. The halfling grunted. His fists clenched. The half-drow's—Azriim's—forearm tensed.
Decide quickly, Cale, said Azriim's voice in his head.
"It's in my pack," said Cale, low and dangerous.
Azriim stayed his hand and looked to Vraggen.
"Of course it is," said the wizard with a smug smile. He tapped his wand in his palm.
"Here," said Cale as he slowly unslung his bag, catching Jak's eye as he did, and he fished out the burlap sack containing the half-sphere.
The wizard's eyes blazed as Cale peeled back the cloth to unveil the half-globe. The half-drow gave a satisfied smile. For a moment, Azriim's sword arm relaxed. Cale saw the tendons slacken.
Jak burst into action.
In a single motion, the halfling grabbed the half-drow's blade with his left hand—grimacing as it sliced open his palm—and held it at bay while he lifted his foot slightly, drew a small punch dagger from a boot sheath with his right hand, and used a reverse strike to stab the half-drow in the thigh. Azriim howled and clutched at the wound with his free hand. Jak ducked under the half-drow's attempt to muscle his sword into the halfling's jugular and tumbled away, leaving Azriim holding nothing more than a clump of his hair. Jak regained his feet in an instant and brandished the dagger.
Pressing his bleeding hand against his thigh, he said, "C'mon, you drow bastard!"
Azriim's mismatched eyes burned. Ignoring the bleeding thigh wound, he brandished his blade and advanced on Jak. The halfling, hugging the opposite wall of the alley, backed off toward Cale.
Cale started to step to Jak's aid but stopped. He didn't want leave the sphere unguarded.
Just behind Cale, the easterner unleashed slash after slash at Riven. Riven parried his blows and answered with his own sabre cuts. Their exchange brought them both within arm's reach of Cale, who stood over the sphere, looking this way and that. In the meantime, the wizard leveled his wand.
Things were going bad fast. Cale stopped the combat the only way he could. Gripping his blade in both hands, he held it over the half-sphere. Shadows danced in the air between the half-sphere and the steel.
"Stop, or I'll destroy it right now!"
He raised the blade, and for a heartbeat, all motion in the alley stopped. Vraggen's eyes went wide. He continued to point his wand at Cale but held up his other hand, palm outward.
"Do not," he said, as though he was in a position to give orders. "Do not, Cale."
Jak took advantage of the pause in the combat to back farther away from the half-drow and nearer to Cale. Azriim eyed him throughout.
"This is the blade that split it in half, mage," Cale said. "I'll turn it to shards this time."
"I'll kill you slowly if you do," Vraggen said.
Cale heard the worry behind the mage's bravado. Vraggen wanted the half-sphere badly.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps I'll split you groin to gullet. Either way, you'll not have what you want."
Vraggen's jaw tightened. His fingers whitened around the wand. A halo of shadows swirled around his head. Cale could fairly see his mind churning.
"Destroy the globe and the guard from Stormweather Towers will die. Painfully, I promise you. Will you be able to live with the knowledge that you caused him so much pain?"
The mage spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that Cale knew the threat to be no bluff. Azriim looked to Cale and chuckled.
Cale would have torn out his tongue if he could have. From behind, Riven, breathing heavily, said, "Bugger these whoresons, Cale. Do it."
He lunged at the easterner—a bluff designed to elicit a start. The easterner didn't move a muscle, merely eyed him coolly.