"Who?" Hecht asked.

"Ogier and Aubero. Twins, would you believe? From back home. They had a letter of introduction from my uncle Orisim. I should've listened to my gut instead of figuring I owed family."

A nasty bumblebee whir silenced Ghort's lament. Like Hecht, he dove aside. He had heard the distinctive thunk! of a crossbow. He splashed and rolled and got behind the only available cover, a wooden pillar scarcely seven inches wide.

You see where that came from?"

"No." Piper Hecht had acquired similar shelter. Without getting filthy. His pillar was as thick as it was wide. A good thing, because one iron quarrel had bitten into the hard old wood already. "But your men are on to something."

Those Ghort had ordered forward rushed a doorway. They were professionals, all veterans of the Calziran Crusade and the fighting in the streets of al-Khazen.

Bolts continued to streak around and miss till one of Ghort's men got hit in the foot by a ricochet. His man Polo, who had been Hecht's servant at one time, crouched behind the Captain-General, wringing his hands and whining, not in terror but about the amount of work he was going to have to do after this was over.

"Put a stopper in it, Polo." Hecht had located the snipers, now. There were three of them. He didn't think Ghort's wayward bodyguards were among them. No doubt those two were headed north in a hurry, arguing about how to spend their bounties.

Hecht picked a moment when all three snipers would be rewinding their weapons, surged up to go to the attack. Polo grabbed his right arm, trying to keep him from exposing himself. Hecht lurched left, trying to break the servant's grip.

A bolt of darkness streaked down from the rooftop. Hecht saw the spellcaster in momentary silhouette. The bolt was the size and shape of a hammer handle, in infinite black. It would hit him in the chest. He flung his left hand up. His left wrist exploded in sudden, fiery agony.