The crowd -- try to keep them from jostling her -- who is here? Ambergold ... yes. Ambergold has healed his Rainsilk, has brought her back from the brink of death. Now in the hands of a healer she holds her sword....

"Put it away," Bladesong orders. "Grab that human, Wright. You can fight all you want after Rainsilk is safe in the tunnels and Wright is safe with me."

Moving on, not bothering to see if she does it; he knows she can, thinks she will. She owes him no allegiance but the shared terror of being prey, being hunted like he is and like his gentle mate. Hunted for their difference. He holds Rainsilk close to him, wrapped in his own cloak, ducking, running. Humans everywhere, screaming somewhere up above. Time, time -- how much time has gone by? He has no more sense of it. The colors of the crowd's clothing blur into a numbing hallucination.

Gunfire. Someone is shooting into the crowd; someone is shooting out of it. Where is Moonshell? His mate's fearsome mother can take care of herself. Run. Run. The sewage plant. The stench. The maze of corridors. The great door, opening. Hands -- Silverstorm, their daughter. Swiftspear, their grandson, their dead child's child. Swiftspear takes Rainsilk from him, still weak from her torment, still beautiful to him, ethereally pale. Turning -- Ambergold has followed, sword unsheathed. Two trolls behind her, carrying a struggling Wright.

His daughter clutches at him, trying to speak. Fury. Fury. Let me go. It's my right.

Shove the human against the wall, driving my fingers into throat as his face goes dark with terror. This raw fear is what he saw in Rainsilk's eyes while he tortured her with knives made white-hot in forge-fires. My father's ancient sword lusts for his blood. Rip his trousers open with the tip of the blade and let it dive, seeking. The human filth is emasculated. Someone is screaming. Terrible sound.

Silverstorm again, curse her ... shut her out....

The human's doubled over now, mortally wounded, his hands trying futilely to stop the river of blood. My eyes see red with it. For so many days of planning my revenge I have dreamed of doing it slowly. Now I jerk his head back and take his scalp, my trophy. Cut his throat with the backstroke and drop him to bleed his life out on the filthy floor. Never hurt her again. No one.

I hear the sword clang as it drops from my nerveless fingers. Leave it there, daughter....

My knees hurt when they strike the floor.

Oh 'Silk, it's so dark, my beloved.