Sam had not stopped running, his legs pumping, though his eyes were locked on the horror before him. His mind was so numbed by the terrifying display of magic that he didn't realize he was heading straight for the Elf until it was too late. He barreled into the mage and they both went sprawling.

He pushed himself away, kicking at the other to untangle their legs. This Elf had just turned a living person into a puddle of slime. Sam had no doubt that he would gladly hand him the same fate.

The Elf had gathered his wits and was trying to stand. Seeing a fallen branch, Sam grabbed for it. Swinging as he scrambled to his feet, he struck the Elf in the head. The rotten wood of the branch shattered on impact. Fragments and surprised insects exploded in a cloud, sending the Elf staggering back, more confused and startled than hurt.

Sam turned and ran.

"Go ahead and rabbit, renegade. You're meat for the hunter." The mage began a spell chant. He spoke it loudly, obviously intending Sam to hear.

Sam risked a glance over his shoulder. The Elf had raised his hands above his head, a flickering nimbus of ruddy light forming into a sphere around them. The killer mage was readying a spell. Fear lent speed to Sam's pistoning legs.

Then he felt a strange surge inside. Somehow he knew the spell had been completed. Heat scalded his back as the trees around him washed in flame. The hot air seared his lungs and he fell, burning.

17.

The Mitsubishi Nightsky gleamed elegantly in the setting sun. The limousine's sable bodywork drank the light to form deep, distant reflections in contrast to the immediate glitter and shine of the chromed highlights. The rear door gaped to offer access to the cool, dark interior, a counterpoint to the oppressive heat of the day.

A woman and a man walked down the steps of the Jarman Building. Their manner and total indifference to the pedestrians passing between their corporate sanctuary and the luxury vehicle at the curb marked them as the likely owners of the Nightsky.

She wore a conservative suit of the most exquisite tailoring and materials. From the sparkling silver heels that gave a fine shape to her bared legs to the platinum chain glittering within her dramatic coiffure, she moved and breathed corporate success.

He wore a dark three-piecer and moved so smoothly that the suit hardly seemed to crease as he walked. The dark hair that framed his long-boned face might have emphasized the grimness of his saturnine features, but his obvious pleasure in the woman's company rendered him strikingly handsome. He was a dark counterpoint to her sparkle, but in every way a match to her corporate royalty.

Their expressions were relaxed as they laughed quietly at some private joke. Their eyes were only for one another and they seemed to be anticipating an evening of pleasure.

Hart slipped from the crowd to stand in front of the man. It was going to be her pleasure to ruin the start of that evening.

"Hello, Mr. Drake. Surprised to see me?" Drake pulled up. The woman shot him a glance that told Hart she had no idea what was going on. Not good, chica. You should know your bedmate better than that. "Well, Mr. Drake?"

"You are exceptionally resourceful, Ms. Hart. Why should I be surprised?"

Hart shrugged off his smooth reply. "I guess I'll just have to be satisfied making Ms. Mirin nervous."

The woman shifted her searching look to Hart, who carefully ignored the penetrating appraisal. Hart and the woman had never met, but the Elf knew Mirin would not care how Hart knew her name. She would rather be wondering what else Hart knew about her. Let her. As long as Mirin was confused, her uncertainty would restrain her.

"Young woman . . ."

"Arcstore it, Ms. Mirin," Hart said, earning a sharp, angry look for her interruption. "I am not here for conversation with you. So keep out of it. I also suggest that you not initiate any suspicious gestures. It could cost you your life. I have friends in high places." In reply to Mirin's scornful smirk, Hart added, "One of those friends has a high-powered rifle trained on your head. That person is an excellent marksman. And well aware of your capabilities."

"Is he fast enough?" Mirin said contemptuously.

Drake placed a hand on his companion's arm. "Let's humor Ms. Hart, Nadia. To the best of my knowledge, she is a woman of her word and scrupulous in reporting her arrangements. There is no need for violence at this time.

"Ms. Hart, perhaps you would care to step inside where there are fewer ears?"

Hart smiled, too, aware that fewer ears meant fewer eyes if he really did want to start trouble. "I think not."

"On the stairs, then. Away from the mob. Just you and I."

Mirin seemed ready to object, but Drake forestalled her with a slight shake of the head. For Hart, he had nothing but smiles. "Would it be satisfactory for Nadia to wait in the car? I am hardly likely to offer you violence on this public street, in plain sight of all these people."

That was what she was counting on. "She can go. As long as she cooperates, she will be safe. My friend has explosive bullets and a convenient angle to place them into your limo."

"I don't like threats, Ms. Hart," Mirin stated softly. There was clear menace in her tone.

"And I don't like having to make them. You aren't involved in this yet. We'll all be happier if it stays that way."

"It's all right, Nadia. Ms. Hart and I have had a simple misunderstanding. There will be no trouble."

Mirin's expression made it clear that she already thought there was trouble.

"Go on. I'll be along in a moment."

Mirin acquiesced. Hart started up the steps without waiting for Drake. She stopped halfway up and turned. The sun had slipped out of sight, and the shadows had crept down to where she stood. She shivered, more from nervous anticipation than from the cool breeze that skirted the darkened face of the Jarman Building.

"Now, what is this really about?" Drake asked as he joined Hart. The light tone he had used in Mirin's presence vanished, replaced by a businessman's poker face.

"I think you were trying to avoid completing our contract."

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't really care about your reasons, though I've got a pretty good idea what they were." Drake said nothing; he merely favored her with an inquisitive look. He was cool. Too cool to be innocent, she decided. "I was still there when the Tir Tairngire border patrol hit. They used a mage to cover the sound of their Yellowjackets. There was a full squadron; more than enough for a few second-rate shadow-runners and a couple of runaway corporates. They were looking for trouble and expecting to find it. When Sloan panicked and opened fire on them, the patrol blasted us with everything they had. Pure devastation. I could have been killed with the rest."

As expected, Drake's expression changed to one of concern, but he showed no surprise. "Perhaps you should talk to Tessien about that. Creatures of its kind have a reputation for untrustworthiness."

"I did talk to Tessien. It said that you met it in Portland, saying that plans had been changed and I was headed back for Seattle."

"You must decide who you will trust, Ms. Hart."

"I already have," she said, locking eyes with him.

"I see," he said coolly. "I will have a compensatory bonus added to your account."

"That will patch some of the larger holes in our agreement."

"Do you require additional patches?"

"That's not my style, Mr. Drake. I'm a pro. I can keep my mouth shut without special incentives."

"See that you keep silent on our association."

"Look," she said hotly, "you had your shot and you missed it. That was business and I understand. Now I'm telling you that you don't need to silence me. I won't talk because I've got my professional pride. And the same professionalism lets me ignore what you tried to do. Let's call it even."

"As you wish, Ms. Hart, we shall let the past lie." His smile showed his gleaming, perfect teeth. "But let us not part in anger. You have impressed me with your fire and integrity. I wish to continue to retain your services. Say, 25,000 nuyen per month. Call it a retainer."

"I told you that I don't take hush money. You want my services, you pay the usual rates."

"You are a most unusual woman, Ms. Hart. I begin to believe that you will hold to your self-imposed standards of conduct. Now, are we on working terms again?"

She held out her personal comp to him. He smiled in assurance that he had regained the upper hand as he slotted his credstick and made the funds transfer. To demonstrate her trust, Hart ran a confirmation of the transfer as soon as he returned the comp.

"Your money's good."

"Good as gold, Ms. Hart."

"Better," she said hefting her comp before slipping it back into her bag. "Gold's too heavy."

As she stared down the stairs, Drake's hand shot out to grasp her arm in a painful grip. He fixed her with a stern look. "You are sure that there is no evidence at the site of our Renraku switch."

She dropped her gaze from his eyes to his hand, waiting until he released her before answering. "The van with our other guest was rigged to explode, per your orders. If there is anything left, they'll probably assume that it was just one more runner."

Drake's toothy smile returned. "And none of the dupes who were supplying the cover for our operation survived? A wounded captive could say too much."

"Last I saw of the man, the Tir mage had fireballed him. The woman went up when the patrol torched a van. The others are all history as well."

"A satisfactory solution. From your report, that Renraku salaryman seemed rather too perceptive in his questions. Had he remained alive, he might have intrigued the wrong people with his tales. It is far better that all witnesses be dead."

All but me, Hart thought. But I'm still on the payroll, right? Safe enough as long as I have some value or until you get what you're after.

"I will allow no one to compromise the plan," was the last thing Drake said.

18.

Sam was surprised to find himself alive.

The flames had flared all around him, igniting the trees and his clothes. He had passed out from the pain and must have fallen, tumbling down an unseen bank into the sluggish stream where he now lay half-submerged. The water must have put out the flames. He was scratched and bruised from his tumble and scorched from the fire, but alive.

He could not have been unconscious long. He heard a voice that must belong to the Elven mage that had burned him. The Elf was probably so sure of his powers that he hadn't bothered to check on Sam. Sam strained to make out the words.

"I've downed the tusker and one norm, Grian."

"Roger," came a reply fuzzed with the static hiss of a radio transmission. "Both vehicles burning. We've got three probable kills, but the clearing's in flames and we can't land there to confirm."

"Want me to do a ground sweep?"

"Negative. You know the procedure, Rory. Nobody goes into an unsecured zone without backup. Besides, you've been pumping a lot of power."

"Null perspiration, Grian. I'm fresh enough. These gutter scum weren't as tough as the briefing indicated. I won't have any problems."

"One more time, Rory. Head back to the rendezvous point. I'm bringing the flight down there. We link up, then we all go in together."

"Don't you think I can handle them? I am a noble class sorcerer."

"That's not the point, Rory. They already winged me. I don't want anymore casualties. Meet us when we land."

"Understood," the mage said finally, but his next words were mumbled, obviously not intended for the other Elves to hear. Sam couldn't make them out either, but the tone was surly enough to guess the meaning.

Sam was suddenly terrified that the Elf might want proof of his kill. He began to pray that the mage would just leave, preferring to let others confirm his prowess. The night grew quiet as the helicopters moved out, their fading sound leaving the forest to its own noises. Once more the leaves rustled in the wind, but the animals, frightened by the noise and flames, were silent. Sam decided to follow their example. It was time for him, too, to be very still.

He waited.

Tense minutes passed and he tired of shivering in the water. He moved his arm, careful to avoid splashing or dripping water as he raised it before his face. The screen of his watch was dark. He tried the reset button, and the light feature activated only long enough to show him that the screen was misted on the inside. Useless. He flipped the toggle to release the catch, only to have the band snap in his hand, Reaching back to toss it away in disgust, he remembered that he was trying to be quiet. He slipped his hand underwater and let the broken timepiece sink to the streambed.

He waited some more, then dared to crawl back up the slope, his passage accompanied by the cracking and snapping of twigs and branches. Each sound increased his fear that he had not waited long enough for the mage to leave. When he finally poked his head above the bank, the mage was nowhere in sight.

The two Caravaners still burned, but the grass fires had mostly died. Kurt and Black Dog lay sprawled in death, along with pieces of Sloan. Hanae was incinerating in one of the vans. Of Roe there was no sign. Between him and the devastation in the clearing lay the pool of slime that had been Chin Lee.

He was alone.

In the distance, Sam heard the howling again. This time another, different howl seemed to reply. The sound made him realize how alone he was, lost in a forest somewhere within Tir Tairngire, a nation that had demonstrated its hostility to him. The forest would be home to many paraspecies that wouldn't mind making a meal of him. Thoughts of Griffins and Basilisks raced across his mind. And Dragons. Sloan had said that the Elves used Dragons as border guards. His recent close encounter with the feathered serpent made him realize that such a beast could swallow him in a single gulp.

Chin Lee's assault gun lay nearby, lost and forgotten when the Ork got hit by the Elf's spell. Sam stared at it. Its metal parts were dark, looking cold even though faint reflections of flames danced on its surface. The ergonomically designed plastic stock and grips hinted at a seductive ease of use. Its sleek metal parts spoke of deadly efficiency. The assault gun was a weapon designed to kill people, yet Sam had vowed never again to touch such a thing.

The wolf howled once more.

He remembered the Barghest that had attacked Sally Tsung. He would never forget its terrifying howl and slavering jaws. The beast's baying had frozen him and the others where they stood. The wolf's howl did not have that power, but it was chilling nonetheless. Sam had no magic to destroy a beast as Tsung had done.

What could kill people could also kill animals. He walked over and picked up the weapon. The weight surprised him, for Chin Lee had waved it around so easily. At least it had a strap, which he slung over his shoulder as the Ork had done. He would carry the weapon in case of attack by some ravening paranimal. But he wouldn't to use it against people. That he promised himself.

Sam looked again at the clearing. If he stayed to bury his former companions, the Elves would return and catch him. Choosing his direction blindly, he turned his back on the scene and began to walk. He wondered how far he would get before the Elves came back.

Sam started to run as soon as he heard the first rustling in the undergrowth. He hadn't seen anything, but neither had he waited around to look. Now he couldn't hear anything over the sounds of his own passage. The assault gun bounced against his shoulder and back, bruising the skin even through his tough coverall. Already he was winded, panting hard for every breath. He should have gone running more often with his dogs, or otherwise exercised to keep himself in better trim. Now he was running for his life and paying for his indolence. He wanted to stop, to breathe, to rest, but did not dare. They were behind him somewhere. They wouldn't rest, so he couldn't.

A root snagged at his feet, forcing him into a sideways lurch. The assault gun dragged at him, pulling him off balance. He staggered and crashed into the bole of one of the forest giants. The tree was unimpressed and he caromed off, losing his balance totally. He toppled over backward to land painfully, the gun's magazine and stock digging into him even before his head rocked back to rap against the barrel. Dazed, he rolled over and tried to stand. Nausea swelled in his stomach and his head pounded. His vision narrowed and he fell heavily. The gun's barrel wedged against a root, and he sagged over the weapon like a limp sack as his vision dimmed.

Lord, not now, he prayed. They'll get me.

His body had no strength. It was weak, exhausted. But he could not rest until he was safe. He needed to know if the Elves were tracking him.

Sam tried to get up but the world spun, then went dark. The next thing he knew he was rushing back along the path he had just taken. Here and there some twisted tree or rock outcropping looked familiar, but he saw no signs of his pursuers. Had he lost them? Was all his running in vain?

His questions were answered as he looked out onto the clearing where the Elves had killed Hanae and the runners. He watched from the edge of the trees, the leaves shadowing his position and the bushes screening him. The scene had an unreal quality, a dreamlike distance as though it were continually receding at his approach. Everything was gilded with a faint, silvery light, yet the moon was cloud-hidden at the moment. A band of Elves roamed amid the ruins of two strangely insubstantial Caravaners, one of them still burning. All but one of the Elves wore uniforms bearing badges whose symbols spoke of protection and guardianship. Sam surmised that they were Tir Tairngire border guards. The Elf not in uniform stood apart from the searchers. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, he seemed to radiate power. He was familiar somehow, and Sam concluded that this must be the Elven mage that the radio voice had named Rory. Other than these seven Elves, Sam detected no other living persons in the area.

"What's the story, Grian?" the mage asked the tall Elf who approached him.

"One deader in the burned-out van. Bran says the skeleton looks to be female and there are indications that it's the renegade from Renraku. Aidan scraped a couple bones out of the other van, so it looks like we got the second woman, too. The three in the open all match the runner descriptions, and the Ork you got accounts for all the males except the Renraku guy."