I must have looked unenlightened at his source of amusement.

“We did shots at every sarcastic remark,” Riston clarified.

Vegard grinned. “We got so drunk.”

The archmagus stepped up to the podium. The other speakers had used notes; Justinius Valerian used his brain. As to sarcasm, his speech had plenty to go around. The old man spared no one. The loudest cheers from the student section came after snarky comments aimed directly at them. The worse the abuse, the louder the cheers. I smiled. They were probably doing shots down there, too. The students loved him.

I wasn’t the only one taking advantage of an upper-floor window as a vantage point. Nearly every window of houses, shops, and businesses around the main square were filled with spectators. The window directly across from ours had been empty.

It wasn’t anymore.

Oh hell.

The archmagus’s voice faded into the background as Banan Ryce gave me a casual salute.

Banan Ryce was commander of the Nightshades. Nightshades were elves—they were also assassins, kidnappers, blackmailers, or whatever they had been given enough gold to do. I knew Banan; he’d met me. Let’s just leave it at that.

Thanks to my Saghred-enhanced skills, I knew that Banan’s salute was more than a greeting for me; it was a signal, and his people in the crowd below responded. Some moved into position; others were already where they needed to be to do whatever it was they were going to do. I knew exactly which ones were there at Banan’s bidding as surely as if they had a bright red spot painted on top of their heads.

I stood. “We’ve got trouble.”

I felt Vegard and Riston’s power flare behind me. It would be way too little, far too late.

Vegard tried to shield me, with both body and wards. “Where?”

I didn’t let him do either. “Everywhere. At least thirty Nightshades. They’re all over the square and they’re moving. That’s Banan Ryce in that window there. You know him?”