The young bard sighed in frustration, but he had no argument to counter Arilyn’s logic. He nodded and turned aside, only to step right into the unsteady path of a stocky, dark-haired man. There was no time to dodge: they collided with a heavy thud.

The dark, smoky scent of some unfamiliar liqueur rolled off the man in waves. Danilo caught him by the shoulders to steady him, then pushed him out at arm’s length-after all, one could never be too careful. The man was unfamiliar to him: a southerner, certainly, with a beak of a nose under what appeared to be a single long eyebrow, a vast mustache, and skin nearly as brown as a gnome’s. He appeared harmless enough. He carried no apparent weapons, and his rich clothing suggested a bored merchant whose only thought was to wash away the dust of a long road with an abundance of strong spirits.

“Are you quite all right?” Danilo inquired politely. “Shall I summon your manservant to help you to your room?”

The man mumbled something unintelligible and wrenched himself free. Dan watched him stagger off, then glanced back for a final look at Arilyn and did an astonished double take. She had fallen back into the shadows between two small buildings and dropped to one knee. There was a throwing knife in her gloved hand, held by the tip and ready to hurl.

“I know that man,” she said by way of explanation as she tucked the knife back into her boot. “Worse yet, he knows me. He was in the assassin’s guild with me, in Zazesspur.”

Danilo swore fervently and joined Arilyn in the shadows. Together they squeezed back into a narrow, gnome-sized alley. “Well, at least this confirms that we are on the right path,” he said in a low, grim tone. “I suppose it could be mere happenstance that a hired sword from Zazesspur shows up at this particular time, but it’s my observation that true coincidence is a rare thing-except in Selgauntan opera, of course…”