"Antari?" Matthias hisses. The Antari is lucky he spoke as his hand made contact, because Matthias had been poised to attack.

He reaches out and his palm finds the wet sleeve of the Antari's coat. It's damp and sticky, and Matthias realizes he can smell it. The sharp iron scent of blood.

"I can't even see the way I came," he grumbles, keeping his voice low at the mention of evil, eyes darting around, though he can hardly see a thing. "Is this your blood? Is someone after you?"