Their captors took the horses belonging to the Sail’s people, and recaptured the remaining mule.
The warrior that Shane had stunned was put on one of the horses, since he was still too groggy to
understand what was happening. Everyone else was pulled into a line and marched across the field.
Their destination was the knot of buildings that Shane had noticed earlier. Well, I suppose technically they did help…after a fashion.
He looked back over his shoulder. Marguerite and Davith were uninjured. Wren was moving like she’d taken a blow to the ribs, but wasn’t bleeding. The enemy crossbowman met his eyes and gave him a crooked what-can-you-do smile of acknowledgment.
“Here now,” said the leader, “look where you’re going.”
“Sorry,” said Shane, but as his captor tugged him back into line, a single thought pounded in his head.
Where the hell is Ashes Magnus?
MARGUERITE WAS FAIRLY certain that this was not going down as one of her best days. Her shoulder ached from the fall off the wagon, her head ached from how badly everything had gone, and her heart ached from the fact that she had dragged her faithful paladins into this mess.
It would have ached even more, except that Ashes had somehow gotten away. She was pretty sure the artificer wasn’t dead, but somehow, in the confusion, she just…wasn’t there. Marguerite was actually quite impressed. Seventy-plus years old, best pace a slow amble, and the woman had vanished while everyone was still flailing around wondering where the arrows were coming from.
Now, if I could just convince these people to talk to me… They couldn’t be bandits, surely? Half of the archers weren’t old enough to shave. And they had been kind to the horses and the remaining mule as well. Not that being a bandit makes you automatically cruel to animals, granted.
They were led across the green sward toward a knot of buildings on a hillside. Marguerite paid attention to placing her feet more than their destination—the ground-wight was still devouring a dead man somewhere behind them—and didn’t look up until she heard Shane grunt.
On the far side of the hill, a stone keep had been tucked into a rocky outcropping. It had the piecemeal look of a building assembled and added to over the centuries, and it had clearly suffered some neglect over the years, but it looked exceedingly defensible and showed signs of recent repairs.
Not bandits. Bandits might take over a keep, but they wouldn’t patch the roof and replaster the walls.
Not looking at the ground cost her. A stone worked its way into her shoe and she stumbled. One of the archers jerked an arrow toward her, and she held up her bound hands as peacefully as possible.
“I’m not trying to escape. There’s a rock in my shoe.”
“Ah.” The archer lowered her bow, and then, to Marguerite’s mild surprise, said, “Right or left?”
and helped her get the offending shoe off and the offending rock out before getting her back in line.
Shane cast a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure that she was still there before continuing.
Wren did as well, and Marguerite saw her brow furrow.
“Wait, where’s A—”
Davith contrived to trip on a blade of grass and stumbled hard into her shoulder. Wren yelped and elbowed him. “Sorry,” Davith grunted. “Clumsy of me. Marguerite is right behind us, though. Since you were worrying.”
“…ah,” said Wren. “Yes, of course. Good to know.”
Marguerite could have kissed Davith, but suspected that it would be misconstrued.
Their captors led them into the keep, through a maze of narrow corridors, and up a flight of stairs.
Seeing the different textures of stone confirmed her opinion that the structure was the result of multiple architects, none of them on speaking terms. Claustrophobic staircases led to hallways where a pair of horses could have walked abreast. They had a brief glimpse of a large cobblestone courtyard, then went up a final flight of stairs into what appeared to be a great hall.
On the far end, in a chair that was rather less than a throne, was a tall, striking figure.
“Wisdom,” said the man leading them, and bowed his head.
FORTY-THREE
THE WOMAN in the chair was very tall and very thin, her wrists and ankles sticking out from her cuffs.
She did not look as if there was a single spare ounce of flesh on her body. Her eyes were very large in a narrow face.
“So these are the prisoners,” she said.
“Yes, Wisdom,” the leader of their captors replied. Marguerite felt Shane stiffen beside her. She turned her head slightly, but the paladin was still staring straight ahead, as still as a mouse under a hawk’s shadow.
The woman called Wisdom rose to her feet. Her motions were strangely fluid, as if she had more than the usual number of joints. She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, studying each of the prisoners in turn. Marguerite met her eyes squarely and said, “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding, Your…Wisdom?”
“Probably,” Wisdom agreed. She sounded rather amused by the possibility.
“We—that is, the four of us—were fleeing our attackers. We had no desire to trespass on your lands. We were running for our lives.”
“Mmmm.” Wisdom moved past, eyeing Shane with deep interest. His jaw was tight, his eyes absolutely blank.
“We meant no offense,” Marguerite said, staring at the side of Shane’s head. Come on, use the voice. Back me up here.
It was Davith who jumped in and said, “I don’t blame you for being angry, Your Wisdom, but I assure you, we’re harmless. Not terribly bright, but harmless.” Marguerite was certain that he was giving Wisdom his most winning smile.
“That’s a lie,” said Wisdom, still sounding rather amused. “You’ve got two paladins with you.”
How the hell did she know that? Marguerite flicked a glance at the two Red Sail operatives.
Have they talked? But when would they have talked? We haven’t been out of each other’s sight.
Unless Wisdom’s had her people spying on us.
“Then you know paladins don’t hurt the innocent,” she said, trying to salvage the situation. “And they certainly don’t raid villages or whatever you suspect us of doing. I promise that we mean you no
ill-will whatsoever.”
Now would be a great time to say something, Shane. Her eyes bored holes in the side of his head. Surely he could feel that?
“Ah yes, the…innocent.” Wisdom moved on to Wren, giving her the same intent examination that she’d given Shane. “How many of us are truly innocent, I wonder?”
Rat and Forge and Lady of Grass, if any of you love me, please do not let us have fallen in with a group of religious fanatics. Marguerite steeled herself and threw the conversational dice. “Truly, we are sorry to have disturbed your people. If there’s something that we can do by way of apology, please tell us. I’m certain that we can come to a resolution.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of that,” said Wisdom. She stepped back and gestured to the man who seemed to be leading their captors. “Erlick, take our guests to the cell. Politely.”
Erlick bowed, then turned back. “Come on, you lot.” He twitched the rope binding their hands together and led them back out of the room. Marguerite looked over her shoulder and saw Wisdom sitting back down in the chair, strange and supple as an eel.