“Give me some more of Gunter’s cooking, and I’ll give you some music of my own,” another man shouted. Gunter, whose cooking was renowned, but his priggish attitude loathed, raised a forefinger and shook it at the mercenary. He got a finger right back, and it wasn’t the forefinger. The men around him howled with laughter, and soon a chorus of bodily noises sang in Gunter’s direction.
“I think the king should be treated to such skillful musicians,” Alyssa said, laughing in spite of her quiet mood. This earned her a chorus of cheerful agreements.
“A sign of a good leader,” Theo said, sitting on the other side of Yoren. “You inspire love in men, Alyssa. Good things surely await your rule of the Gemcroft estate.”
“A rule I may never have,” Alyssa said, the naming of her father’s house souring her smile. “But while the sun is setting and the moon rising, let us speak of more certain and happier things, such as the opening of another cask of cider!”
The mercenaries roared, and when Theo nodded in approval, they cheered.
“They wouldn’t be so boisterous if they knew what I had planned for them on the morrow,” Theo said, lowering his voice for just the three of them.
“They would,” Yoren said, “but only after an extra round of drink or two. Keeping them in the dark is cheaper.”
Theo laughed, and Alyssa laughed along, her mind racing. So far she knew little of what the two men planned. When one of their servant boys returned from the city with news that Keenan had moved the Kensgold to outside the walls, neither had been upset. In fact, they had seemed almost overjoyed.
A young woman slipped through the men, doing her best to ignore the few comments she received and the occasional grab at her body.
“Milord,” she said, bowing to Theo. “The two women are here.”
Theo sighed.
“Send them on over.”
The woman bowed and then hurried away. A minute later two of the faceless stepped into the light of the great bonfire. Neither bowed to Theo Kull upon arrival.
“Welcome back to my camp,” Theo said. “Next time, please introduce yourself to my guards, not the serving women. Shadow-walkers or not, I’d prefer you to follow protocol like every normal human being.”
“Your women argue less,” said the one on the left. Alyssa recognized her sharp voice as Zusa’s. “They also hold their tongues. Safer for all involved.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Theo said, his voice hardening. Neither faceless woman reacted.
“Why are you here?” Alyssa asked, hoping to move the conversation along. She liked having the women nearby. Even though they took pay from the Kulls, they didn’t feel like a part of them. Perhaps she just enjoyed the company of someone not owned by Yoren and his father.
“We fear for Alyssa’s safety,” said Nava. “We must take her into hiding. Pelarak wants her imprisoned in the temple.”
“We’ve paid you properly,” Theo said. “Alyssa stays here with us, regardless of what your little priest says.”
“Not wise to tempt Pelarak,” Zusa said. “You are a mouse dancing before a lion.”
“Only the skull of a lion,” Yoren corrected. “And dead things don’t dance.”
Zusa laughed.
“Pelarak will make you dance,” she said. “Your bones are his toys. Your blood is his drink. Either flee or hide. Here is not safe. Give us Alyssa.”
Alyssa dared hope she could go with them. She’d forfeit her entire wealth for just one night away from Yoren and his fists. How she wished to sleep without fear of him rousing in the middle of the night, hungry for what only she could provide. With the faceless women, she would have safety.
“This is not a discussion,” Theo interrupted. Alyssa felt her hopes dash to pieces. “I will not hand over…”
A horn sounded from the north, followed by shouts. Armed intruders were at the edge of camp. Alyssa looked toward the noise. When she turned back, the faceless women were gone.
Yoren stood, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. Theo grabbed his son’s wrist to stop him. All around them, mercenaries put down their cups and drew their blades.
A moment later, a man in leather armor came running from the north, sword in hand.
“Milord,” the man shouted. “He refused to wait, or give us his name. He killed Geoffrey, and he wears the armor of…”
He stopped when he realized the man had already arrived. The other mercenaries formed a ring around the intruder. The great bonfire burned between him and Theo.
“Greetings, tax collector,” the intruder said. Alyssa might have thought him handsome if not for the cold look in his eyes and the looping tattoos across his naked face and head. Just looking at them made her stomach queasy. He wore dark platemail, the skull of a lion emblazoned in white across his chestpiece. Fresh wounds marked his body.
“Greetings,” Theo said. “Though I’d prefer you call me by my name. Do the paladins of Karak know nothing of respect?”
“No less than the men of Riverrun,” said the paladin. “I am Ethric, and you are Theo Kull. Consider our pleasantries exchanged.” He pointed his giant sword at Alyssa. “I’ve come for Lady Gemcroft. Is this her?”
Yoren drew his sword and stepped in front of her. Before returning to Veldaren, Alyssa might have felt humbled by his chivalrous nature, but now she felt like a beautiful gem being squabbled over in the marketplace. Again she wished for the faceless women. Their offer of safety and hiding seemed all the more desirable.
“You will not touch her,” Yoren said. “Alyssa is in our safekeeping. Karak has no claim on her.”
“And you do?” Ethric asked. “Only a fool would believe himself above the desires of a god.”
“She is my betrothed,” Yoren said. Alyssa felt like vomiting.
Ethric looked to his left, then to his right, pointedly dismissing the men.
“Cover your steel, boy, or I’ll put your blood on it,” Ethric said.
“Be gone from my camp,” Theo said. “I dismiss you. You are not welcome here.”
Ethric laughed.
“I am never welcome. Last chance. Hand her over.”
“Kill him,” Yoren said.
Alyssa let out a sharp cry at the sudden eruption of blood. The two nearest mercenaries fell back, deep gashes in their chests. Their armor did nothing to slow the blade. Ethric pivoted to the side and cut down another man, his finely-crafted and god-blessed sword shattering the mercenary’s cheap iron weapon. Two more died attempting an attack, their swords clanging uselessly off Ethric’s platemail or sailing wide from an impossibly fast parry.
“Cease this!” shouted a feminine voice, with such volume and authority that both sides obeyed. Nava walked into the light of the fire, her daggers drawn and dripping shadows.
“I wondered if you would show,” Ethric said, taking a step closer and holding his sword before him. “Pelarak has ordered the disbandment of your order. You must return to the temple immediately.”
“Alyssa is under our protection,” Nava said. “Be gone, and tell Pelarak we no longer follow his command, only Karak’s.”
Hands grabbed Alyssa’s wrist. Startled, she turned to shout, but a wrapped palm covered her mouth.
“Quiet,” Zusa whispered. “Like a mouse, now follow.”
N ava crossed her daggers before her chest as Ethric took a step closer.
“I hoped you would say no,” he said. “I cherish the honor of killing another heretic. Eliora is dead, you whore. Your kind dies tonight.”
If Nava was upset, she did not show it. Slowly she swayed her body side to side. While Ethric watched, she cut just above her elbow and let the blood drip down onto her cloak. Like a drop of dye into clear water, the red swirled and spread across the black cloth.
“Blood for blood,” Nava said. “I’ll bury you in my cloak.”
She lunged across the fire. Her cloak whipping around her like a funnel, its length suddenly twice that of her body. When Ethric swung, his sword clanged off as if he’d struck stone.
