* * *
“Damn!” Crit hissed. The news had come down the hill with the swiftness only bad news could manage; but Straton said nothing at all. Straton headed out the barracks door and whistled up the bay, which came; of course it came. It made trouble in the stables, it cleared the stable fence like a gull in flight, and nothing held it. It came to him in this early dawn, and he went to the tackroom to get what belonged to it.
“Where are you going?” Crit asked him, meeting him outside as he came out into the dusty yard, his right hand hauling the saddle, the treacherous left unburdened with anything but the bridle and the blanket. Crit was careful with him nowadays, uncommonly patient, a perpetual walking on eggshells.
“Town,” Strat said. He cultivated patience, too. He saw Crit’s analytical look, the inevitable reckoning what small house lay on his way. And he had not thought of that till he saw Crit think of it; then it got its claws into his gut, and the thought began to grow that of powers in Sanctuary which ought to be warned, which might exert a calming influence on the town-
-damn, she had contacts in all the right places. With Moruth the beggar-king; with the rats in the very walls when it came to that, the rabble that was most like to take the slaughter uptown very hard indeed. Zip arrested. That would not last long. Best he be arrested till someone had a chance to talk sense to him.
Likely Walegrin.
“Stay off riverside,” Crit said, and laid a hand on his arm, delaying him a moment. In months past that would have gotten a shrug-off, at best a surly answer. But Crit was fighting for Strat’s soul, and Strat had gotten to know that, in a kind of fey gratitude for a friend with a lost cause, or at best a cause that was not worth the effort Crit spent on it. I’m crippled, dammit, you got me back, you risked your damn neck pulling me out, but you have to get another partner, Crit, one who won’t let you down in a pinch, and you know it and I know it. The fire’s dying and I’m not going to be again what I was, when I get the twinges I know that. Tomorrow I’ll tell you that. When we’re out of this damned city I’ll tell you that. And you’ll tell me I’m a damned fool, but neither of us is. Time we split. Leave me to fend for myself: you don’t have to go on carrying me, Crit.