“Ashes?” whispered Marguerite. And then, louder, “Ashes!”
“What?” The artificer turned. “Marguerite?”
“You’re alive!”
“I could say the same about you!” The artificer swung around and caught Wren and Marguerite up in a bear hug.
“But what happened?” asked Marguerite, when they had finished hugging and a few tears had been shed and wiped away. “How did you get here?”
Ashes grinned up and down at them. “The usual way. I walked. At least until I found someone with a farm cart, and I bribed him to take me to the next town.” She waved an arm at the innkeeper.
“And I’ve been sitting here, recovering from my bruises and trying to figure out what to do next.” She peered over their heads. “I see the snarky one, but where’s the pretty one?”
Davith, for once, didn’t issue a sardonic rejoinder. He dug his hands in his pockets and looked away.
Marguerite took a deep breath. “He’s still up there,” she said. “And there’s a demon with him.”
Ashes was quiet for a long moment. “Shit,” she said finally. “I can’t fix that.”
“I’m not sure anyone can.” Marguerite rubbed her forehead. “How did you get away?”
“Oh, that.” Ashes looked vaguely embarrassed. “Pure cowardice, really. As soon as the Red Sail fellows got shot, I knew that somebody else had joined the fray, and I was pretty sure they weren’t going to be friendly. Figured that maybe we’d crossed into the territory of someone who didn’t like visitors. Lots of the clans up here don’t, you know. And since I was already up against the wagon, looking for my gear—had some notion that I might have something explosive enough to make them think twice—I just dropped flat and wedged myself into the wreckage and pretended to be a corpse.”
She gestured toward her head. “The blood helped. Head wounds always look spectacular.”
“And they thought you were dead,” breathed Wren.
“Yep. One nudged me in the ribs, but I stayed limp, and thankfully they weren’t interested in making sure. After they marched you all off, I worried someone’d be back to loot the bodies, so I made sure I wasn’t there for it.” She smiled sheepishly. “And so I’ve been sitting here for the past
half-day, trying to figure out how to stage a rescue. Which fortunately you didn’t need, because about all I could come up with was using a beer wagon full of black powder to take down a wall, and I didn’t have that much black powder, which meant I needed a load of horse piss, which someone wasn’t willing to provide.” She glared at the barkeeper, presumably for his failure to stock large quantities of urine behind the bar. The man smiled weakly, clearly glad that someone had come along to distract the terrifying old woman.
“It’s the thought that counts,” said Marguerite.
“Not with explosives, it isn’t,” said Ashes, and on that point, Marguerite had to agree.
“YOUR TASK IS SIMPLE ENOUGH,” said Wisdom, tapping a spot on the map. “The steading here has been raiding us for the better part of a year. They take our sheep and sometimes our children. I want them eliminated.”
Shane raised his eyebrows. “And you think I can do this singlehandedly?”
“I have faith in you,” the demon said. Shane didn’t know if it was unconscious of the irony or simply chose not to acknowledge it. “There are perhaps two dozen people there. Only the warriors need to die.”
“If there are only two dozen, why haven’t you stopped them before?”
Wisdom laughed softly and went to the window. “Come here.”
Shane approached warily. The demon pointed down, into the courtyard below, where a half-dozen people were drilling with swords. Erlick walked around the perimeter, shouting orders.
Shane looked the troops over with a practiced eye. Three of them were boys who probably didn’t need to shave yet. One was a man who might be the boys’ grandfather. The only two who might have crossed swords with him and lived for more than a moment were two middle-aged women with their skirts tied around their legs.
“Behold my army,” said Wisdom, with a grand sweep of its arm. “Inspiring, are they not?”
“The prison guard—”
“Bruno. The only other man of fighting age here. He can see about ten feet in front of him, so long as the light is good.”
Shane stared at the demon. “But when you captured us—”
“Archers. Nine of them, mostly under fifteen or over fifty, and Rory, born with a club foot, who cannot run. They also fill our stewpots with game.” It smiled down at the troops and if it had been human, Shane would have believed there was fondness in its gaze. “Shortbows only. We had two crossbows in the entire keep. Now we have three, thanks to your pursuers. Though they killed Sebastian in the process, and put one of my best archers out of commission until her arm heals.”
“I’m sorry,” said Shane, almost absently. My god. Wren and I could have taken this entire keep by ourselves. Hell, I could probably still take it by myself.
Something tugged inside his chest and he looked up sharply. Wisdom raised its eyebrows at him.
“Don’t forget me,” it suggested.
“No,” said Shane. “I won’t.” He looked back down. “How did this happen?”
“This holding was in decline for years,” Wisdom said. “Then a rival clan descended on it. They slaughtered all the warriors and many of the rest. Then they took what they wanted and left.” The demon folded its arms across its chest, looking back down into the courtyard. “I found them a few days later. The survivors would not have lasted the winter, but I walked my host down to the nearest large town and jumped to a merchant. Then I drove all his stock here and told them that it was a gift from Wisdom.” Its teeth flashed. “I did that three times. By the time I arrived in this body, calling myself Wisdom, the people were feeling very well-inclined toward me.”
“So you killed three innocent merchants,” said Shane.
“One was a cheat and a liar, and one was going to die soon no matter what I did. The third one…
yes. I regret the third one, I admit. He was a fair man and he did not deserve to have his mind torn in half. But these people also did not deserve to starve.” The demon stared broodingly out the window.
“It is hard to be a god, and to make a god’s choices.”
“Do you actually regret it?” Shane asked. “Can you?”
“Does that surprise you, champion?” Wisdom looked at him unsmiling. “We pour ourselves into our hosts like whiskey into a barrel. You are not surprised when the whiskey tastes of the barrel, or the barrel smells of whiskey, are you?”
“Souls seem more complicated than whiskey.”
Wisdom barked a laugh. “Don’t tell Erlick that. He was a distiller before the raiders killed his family. But yes. First we must learn the lessons of physical bodies. Most of us are caught by your paladins then. If we live long enough or come back often enough, we may begin to learn other lessons.
I know sorrow and regret and grief. And responsibility to my people.”