Gardens of the Moon

The girl glanced at the turban and shrugged easily. “That was to be part of my costume for the f?te,” she said. “I've since found a nicer one.”



“What,” he hissed, “do you want with me?”



Fear showed momentarily on her face at his desperate outburst, then she smiled. “I wish to know why a thief who succeeded in stealing all my jewels should now be returning them. That isn't something thieves usually do.”



“With good reason,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He stepped forward then stopped as she jerked back on to her bed, her eyes widening. Crokus raised a hand. “Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you. Only: I want to see you better. That's all.”



“Why?”



He was at a loss for an answer to that. After all, he couldn't very well tell her he'd fallen madly in love with her. “What's your name?” he blurted.



“Challice D'Arle. What's yours?”



Challice. “Of course,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You would be named something like that.” He glared at her. “My name? None of your business. Thieves don't introduce themselves to their victims.”



Her eyebrows rose. “Victim? But I'm no longer a victim, am I? You've settled that by returning. I'd think,” she said slyly, “you're more or less obliged to tell me your name, considering what you're doing. And you must be the type who treats obligations seriously, no matter how strange they seem.”



Crokus frowned at that. What was she talking about? What did she know about how he looked at obligations? And why was she right? “My name,” he sighed, defeated, “is Crokus Younghand. And you're the daughter of the high born D'Arle who all those suitors are lining up to be introduced to. But one day you'll see me in that line, Challice, and only you will know where you last saw me. It'll be a formal introduction, and I'll bring a gift as is correct.” He stared at her, horrified by his own words.



Her wide eyes held his, emotion bright in them-emotion he'd no hope of understanding-then she burst out laughing. She immediately clapped a hand over her mouth, then jolted forward on the bed. “You'd better go, Crokus. Someone will have heard me. Quickly, and beware the trip-wire!”



Crokus moved woodenly to the balcony's sliding doors. Her laughter had been the final punctuation to all his dreams. He felt dead inside, except for a cynic's chuckle that might have been his own, given the odd look she threw him. Her blankets had fallen down around her, and once again she was naked. It astonished him in a distant way that she hadn't even seemed to notice.



A voice came from beyond the door leading to the hallway, indistinct.



The girl hissed, “Hurry, you fool!” Alarm bells jangled in his head, awakening him. He had to move, and fast. Crokus stepped over the trip-wire and opened the door. He paused to glance back at her, and smiled as she clutched the blankets to her neck.



Well, at least he'd won that much.



A knock sounded on the opposite door.



Crokus emerged on to the balcony and hitched himself up on to the railing. He looked down into the garden and almost fell. The guard was gone. In his place stood a woman-and, though she was cloaked, something about her triggered instant recognition. The woman from the bar, and she was looking right at him with dark eyes that burned him deep inside.



The door in the room opened and Crokus shook himself. Damn that woman, anyway! Damn both of them! He grasped the eaves above his head and swung lithely up and out of sight.



Kalam crouched motionless in the middle of the rooftop, a knife in each hand. Around him was silence, the night air tense and heavy. Long minutes passed. At times he convinced himself he was alone, that Quick Ben and the other wizard had left the roof; that they hunted each other in the sky overhead, or in the alleys and streets below, or on another roof. But then he'd hear something, a drawn breath, a scuff of cloth against leather, or a wisp of wind would brush his cheek on this windless night.



Then, before his eyes, the darkness was shattered. Two shapes appeared hovering over the rooftop. The assassin had found Quick Ben, attacking with a bolt of fire that seemed to stun the wizard, then swiftly closing the distance between himself and the dazed man.



Kalam surged forward to intercept. Quick Ben vanished then re-appeared immediately behind the assassin. The blue flash of power bursting from the wizard's hands struck the magic-wielding assassin full in the back. Clothes aflame, the man tumbled through the air.



Quick Ben whirled to Kalam. “Come on! Get moving!”



Kalam ran, his friend flying beside him. As they reached the roof's edge he turned for a last look. The assassin mage had somehow snuffed the fire from his clothes and was regaining his balance. At the far edge two of his comrades appeared.