muscles. If he won’t permit this, then I will fight you and I promise you that I will find a way to die and anger him. Remember whose head will be on the chopping block, Rashlyn,” Gueryn warned.
There was a silence while the man he spoke to digested the import of his words.
“I shall speak to the King. But now you eat,” the barshi said, “lightly at first,” and he clapped his hands to summon a bearer with food.
“You will remain here until I release you. Consider yourself lucky, Morgravian. You have windows to look out of and a comfortable pallet to sleep on.”
“I want to be outside for periods and for that I’ll exchange your comforts for the dungeon.”
Rashlyn acted as though Gueryn had said nothing. “And you will be chained for the entire time you are in my care. Have no delusions, soldier. There is no escape, not even if you breathe the outside air.”
“I did it once before,” Gueryn said, more out of defiance than any real threat.
“With help. It will never be offered again.”
“Where is Lothryn?” he asked, and hated the sound of the other man’s cruel laughter.
“Nowhere where you can help him,” Rashlyn answered, delighted that he could hurt with words.
“Is he alive?”
The man barked a laugh. “Hardly,” came the cold reply. “Although it was a lot of fun dealing with him.”
Despite his lack of strength, Gueryn threw himself toward the small, dark man, and for the first time in his life Gueryn felt real fear, spine-tingling fright that made the hairs on his arm and at the back of his neck stand up.
Rashlyn had held his hand up the moment he heard Gueryn move and the soldier found himself pinned in midair. All of his wits were given over to the realization that something awesome and terrible had just occurred. Rashlyn was a sorcerer and had just wielded magic on him.
“I will make it hurt next time. Never try that again, Morgravian. If you’ve never believed, then believe it now: Magic exists. You and the rather strange position you hang in are testimony to that. Remember how this feels, Le Gant, for I can immobilize you for eternity like this if I so choose.”
Rashlyn removed the spell and Gueryn crashed painfully to the ground. He groaned, final and gut-wrenching despair taking over his mind as he began to grasp the full terror of what he was up against.
Chapter 5
Fynch was standing at the back entrance to the Forbidden Fruit.
Knave had followed his friend’s suggestion to remain hidden for the time being, but he had good vision from his quiet spot and could see the boy kicking at a stone, biding his time for someone to arrive who might speak to him.
Several women had hurried past and into the dark opening. It mattered not to Fynch. They did not strike him as being the sort of friendly target he was looking for. He trusted his instincts, knew someone would come along who would be the right one. It had been a couple of hours now. Winter was mild this year but still cool enough to chill his thinly covered bones. He must have looked cold, sitting on the fence stump, when the young woman arrived. She seemed in no rush and he had no idea if her full-length cloak covered a revealing gown. With no firm knowledge of how a brothel actually operated, his mind teased at such minor detail.
“You’ll catch your death out here,” she said, eyeing him from under her hood.
He recognized the Briavellian accent. So she was a local. “Yes, it’s right cold today,” he replied in a strong northern farmer’s dialect he had picked up from listening to some of the other lads at the kitchens of Stoneheart. He could pitch it perfectly, masking his own less distinctive southern accent.
“You’re far from home, boy. Morgravia?”
Bull’s-eye
, he thought. “That I am, madam. How sharp you are.”
She smiled. “Are you waiting for someone?”
Fynch nodded. “My sister.”
“Oh? And who might that be?”
“Her name is Hildyth. I’ve traveled many days to
There was a silence while the man he spoke to digested the import of his words.
“I shall speak to the King. But now you eat,” the barshi said, “lightly at first,” and he clapped his hands to summon a bearer with food.
“You will remain here until I release you. Consider yourself lucky, Morgravian. You have windows to look out of and a comfortable pallet to sleep on.”
“I want to be outside for periods and for that I’ll exchange your comforts for the dungeon.”
Rashlyn acted as though Gueryn had said nothing. “And you will be chained for the entire time you are in my care. Have no delusions, soldier. There is no escape, not even if you breathe the outside air.”
“I did it once before,” Gueryn said, more out of defiance than any real threat.
“With help. It will never be offered again.”
“Where is Lothryn?” he asked, and hated the sound of the other man’s cruel laughter.
“Nowhere where you can help him,” Rashlyn answered, delighted that he could hurt with words.
“Is he alive?”
The man barked a laugh. “Hardly,” came the cold reply. “Although it was a lot of fun dealing with him.”
Despite his lack of strength, Gueryn threw himself toward the small, dark man, and for the first time in his life Gueryn felt real fear, spine-tingling fright that made the hairs on his arm and at the back of his neck stand up.
Rashlyn had held his hand up the moment he heard Gueryn move and the soldier found himself pinned in midair. All of his wits were given over to the realization that something awesome and terrible had just occurred. Rashlyn was a sorcerer and had just wielded magic on him.
“I will make it hurt next time. Never try that again, Morgravian. If you’ve never believed, then believe it now: Magic exists. You and the rather strange position you hang in are testimony to that. Remember how this feels, Le Gant, for I can immobilize you for eternity like this if I so choose.”
Rashlyn removed the spell and Gueryn crashed painfully to the ground. He groaned, final and gut-wrenching despair taking over his mind as he began to grasp the full terror of what he was up against.
Chapter 5
Fynch was standing at the back entrance to the Forbidden Fruit.
Knave had followed his friend’s suggestion to remain hidden for the time being, but he had good vision from his quiet spot and could see the boy kicking at a stone, biding his time for someone to arrive who might speak to him.
Several women had hurried past and into the dark opening. It mattered not to Fynch. They did not strike him as being the sort of friendly target he was looking for. He trusted his instincts, knew someone would come along who would be the right one. It had been a couple of hours now. Winter was mild this year but still cool enough to chill his thinly covered bones. He must have looked cold, sitting on the fence stump, when the young woman arrived. She seemed in no rush and he had no idea if her full-length cloak covered a revealing gown. With no firm knowledge of how a brothel actually operated, his mind teased at such minor detail.
“You’ll catch your death out here,” she said, eyeing him from under her hood.
He recognized the Briavellian accent. So she was a local. “Yes, it’s right cold today,” he replied in a strong northern farmer’s dialect he had picked up from listening to some of the other lads at the kitchens of Stoneheart. He could pitch it perfectly, masking his own less distinctive southern accent.
“You’re far from home, boy. Morgravia?”
Bull’s-eye
, he thought. “That I am, madam. How sharp you are.”
She smiled. “Are you waiting for someone?”
Fynch nodded. “My sister.”
“Oh? And who might that be?”
“Her name is Hildyth. I’ve traveled many days to
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