On an impulse, I run toward the burning building, shifting Alvar's body beneath my arm to cover him as much as I can with my cloak. I need a fire and now, thanks to Jet, there is one. This will be a lot less risky than the smelter, I hope.

As I sprint out onto Dockside, I see that I am the first person to arrive at the fire. To my right, toward the port center, I see others approaching at a run. To the left, the way is empty. Behind me, I hear the sounds of shutters being thrown open and voices calling out.

I run to the door that we left partially open earlier and peer inside. The remains of the burning wagon are scattered around the room. The incendiary device must have been placed on the wagon. I don't see Jeamo's head. The heat is incredible, but I have to do this. Taking a breath, I rush into the burning building.

I set Alvar down against a burning wall. His wet clothes begin to smolder immediately. I turn and run back toward the door, the hot air searing my skin. I hear a creaking, snapping noise and dive out the door, rolling away from the building. As I come up to my knees coughing, there is a loud crash behind me. I turn to see that the ceiling above the wagon room has collapsed. The body of the ogre half-breed falls with it, rolling sideways so that the ogre's massive, bloody head ends up in the doorway, staring out at the assembling elves. The attention of the arriving onlookers is diverted to the dead monster in the doorway and I begin to rise, checking to make sure my clothes aren't burning.

I feel a hand under my arm, helping me up. I turn to see an elf dressed in the rough attire of a dockworker, eyes full of concern.

"Why did you go in there? Are you crazy? You almost got killed!"

"I saw a boy in there," I lie. "I wanted to save him. But it was too late." 

The dockworker shakes his head sadly. "That was a hero move. I'm sorry you didn't get to him in time. Yours?"

"No," I reply. "No. Not mine."

I turn away from the elf, away from the fire, and start walking through the growing crowd. No one else even looks at me. When I get to the alley from which I emerged, I hear another explosive boom and turn briefly to look at the conflagration. More of the building has collapsed. Human watchmen are shouting orders, directing the gawking elves to get buckets and prevent the fire's spread to other buildings. They recognize that there is no saving the warehouse.

Good. That means Alvar will receive a proper elven pyre. And what remains of Jeamo's studio of horrors and incantations will be fully and finally destroyed. No more elven women or children will face the terror of the twilight sleep or the thousand cuts of his blood-painting knives. But given what happened at Calmorien's place, I am sure there are more sorcerers running amok in Elftown. I will find them. And if they are responsible for Alvar's death, I will kill them, human or not. Patrician or not.

I lower my head like a supplicant before his god's altar. "May you find the forest, Alvar," I whisper. Then I slip back into the alley. It is time to disappear for a few days.