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shall…”
    Caina took three quick steps to Nerina’s side, opened the lid of the trapbox, and looked inside. Several pouches of ancient Maatish coins lay at the bottom of the massive box, loose coins and gems scattered amongst them. There was a bundle of old papyrus scrolls, which Caina would destroy if they lived through this. In their midst stood a foot-high statue of a man wearing a linen kilt, a staff topped with a solar disc in his right hand. Instead of a head, he had a stylized scarab.
    It was an idol of Anubankh, the Maatish god of necromancy. 
    “Enough!” roared Tarniar, flinging out his hands, and Caina felt the surge of arcane power. 
    His three shadows rolled across the floor, whipping back and forth like serpents. One coiled around Admete, who screamed as the coil of darkness lifted her into the air. Azaces charged in silence, but Tarniar gestured, and his second shadow lashed towards the towering Sarbian. It lifted him into the air, the shadow holding him easily.
    The final shadow rolled towards Caina.
    Tarniar’s sorcery was not like the psychokinetic blasts of an Imperial magus, the transmutations of an Istarish Alchemist, or the wind and water of a Kyracian stormsinger. He commanded the shadows of the netherworld, its spirits and creatures, and forced them to do his bidding. 
    And Caina knew how to make herself unseen to those creatures. 
    She reached under her cloak and yanked, letting her shadow-cloak fall around her, and pulled up the cowl to cover her head. The shadow-cloak was a wondrous garment, blacker than a starless night and almost weightless. It merged and melded with the darkness around Caina, granting her far greater ability to move unseen. It also shielded her thoughts from divinatory spells and mind-altering sorcery.
    A useful side-effect was that it rendered her invisible to spirits of the netherworld.
    The shadow stopped a few paces from Caina, hissing and whispering. Nerina took several hasty steps back, her blue eyes filled with concern as she stared at Azaces, while Azaces and Admete struggled in the grip of Tarniar’s other two shadows.
    “What is this?” said Tarniar. “How did you do that? You are another sorcerer?” He didn’t recognize the shadow-cloak, which was good, since it meant he didn’t know that she was a Ghost. 
    “Let them go,” said Caina. She saw Nerina reach into her loose coat, saw her produce a small crossbow loaded with a steel dart. The dart’s head had been darkened with poison. 
    “Or else?” said Tarniar.
    Caina looked into the trapbox, at the idol of Anubankh. Still she felt no sorcerous power from it, and a suspicion grew in her mind.
    She nodded to Nerina.
    The locksmith raised her bow and squeezed the trigger. The weapon shuddered and spat its dart at Tarniar. His third shadow rose off the floor in a black wave and caught the dart in midair, ripping it to splinters. 
    “You think mere weapons of steel and wood can harm me?” said Tarniar, sneering behind his beard. “I, who command the shadows of the netherworld? Enough! Surrender or I shall kill you all.”
    Caina stooped and snatched up the idol. The thing felt lighter, far lighter, than a statue of gold should. 
    “Let them go,” said Caina, “or I’ll destroy this.”
    “Fool,” said Tarniar. “You cannot destroy an object of such power. Not before I stop you, anyway.” His third shadow crawled closer, like a hand groping across the floor of a darkened room. “Then you’ll wish that you had surrendered to me.” 
    Caina looked at him, at the idol in her hand, and then back at Tarniar.
    Suddenly she realized that he was a fool. A powerful fool, a dangerous fool, but a fool nonetheless. He had made a tremendous mistake, a mistake that Caina could exploit.
    Assuming he didn’t kill her first.
    “Tarniar,” rasped Admete, her voice tight with fear. “Let them go. They didn’t have anything to do with me. Just let them go, and I won’t fight. Do whatever you want to