at Giffen’s betrayal. Would she seize any opportunity to slide cold steel into Giffen’s belly? “Yes.”
“Now we have direction,” he said. “And what do you have to accomplish your task? Do you have an army with which to recapture Klaar? Generals to do your bidding?”
The old man acted like he wanted to plant an idea in her head one second then disabuse her of it the next. But of course he was right. “I have nothing. Just myself.”
“That’s more than you think.” He stood slowly, joints popping and creaking as if he’d been sitting there for centuries.
He gestured, and Rina followed the gesture with her eyes. Strange syllables fell out of the old man’s mouth, tickling her ears and then vanishing. The old man flicked a pinch of some fine powder into the air. Halfway across the chamber, a small fire sprang to life beneath a large brass tub.
“The water will heat soon,” he said. “You must bathe.”
“But …” She looked down at her clothes, back at the old man.
“Don’t be silly. Modesty is a peasant’s virtue, Duchess. Besides, I am old and harmless.” She thought she saw a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
“Why a bath?”
“Because I’m going to give you a gift,” he said. “And we must prepare you to receive it.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Perranese warrior had just enough time to turn his head, his eyes popping wide as Alem slammed into him. They went down hard, and the warrior’s chin caught the edge of the barrel near Tosh’s hiding place.
With Alem’s weight on his back, the warrior’s head was forced back sharply. There was a sickening snap, and the two of them went down in a heap.
Tosh sprang from his hiding place, tossing the horse blanket aside, a short dagger in one hand, ready to fight, but the Perranese warrior lay lifeless, eyes wide open, mouth agape. Tosh nudged the body with the toe of his boot. “Damn, kid, you’ve killed him.”
Alem sat up next to the dead warrior. He rubbed his side, winced. Flying through the air and slamming into a fully armored man had bruised a few ribs. What had he been thinking?
“Guess I owe you one,” Tosh said. “But his pals could come back any moment, and finding us here with their dead captain won’t go well for us.”
Alem lurched to his feet, grunted, one hand holding his ribs. It hurt like blazes, but he prodded his side with tentative fingers and didn’t think anything was broken. “Pick one of the mares in back and saddle it,” Alem told Tosh. “I’ll be right back.”
“Kid, I told you already. There’s no way we can ride out past them.”
Alem ignored him and limped across the room to the stable master’s tiny room. It wasn’t much. A cot. A stool. A small iron stove for cooking and warmth. Alem crawled under the cot, pried up the floorboard where old Nard the stable master kept the little strongbox. Alem wasn’t sure how many coins might be in it. Probably not many. When visiting nobles lodged their horses in the stable, they would often flip the stable master a coin to pay for extra oats, replace a lost horse blanket.
Nard’s going to be pissed when he finds his money missing .
No, Alem realized. He wouldn’t. Nard was dead. He was old but in good health and they would have shoved a sword into his hand and sent him to the wall. He would be dead like so many others.
Alem bashed the strongbox against the iron stove until he sprang the cheap lock. He spilled the coins out onto the cot and counted them. Fourteen copper coins, but the real score was the two silver pieces. From his belt he took his small leather purse, which contained only a single copper, one he’d been hoarding for months. He added the coins from the strongbox and retied the purse tightly to his belt.
It struck him that he was making a life decision. This would be a pivotal point in his very small, very predictable existence. First, he’d need to live through the next twenty minutes. The clang of crossing swords no longer
“Now we have direction,” he said. “And what do you have to accomplish your task? Do you have an army with which to recapture Klaar? Generals to do your bidding?”
The old man acted like he wanted to plant an idea in her head one second then disabuse her of it the next. But of course he was right. “I have nothing. Just myself.”
“That’s more than you think.” He stood slowly, joints popping and creaking as if he’d been sitting there for centuries.
He gestured, and Rina followed the gesture with her eyes. Strange syllables fell out of the old man’s mouth, tickling her ears and then vanishing. The old man flicked a pinch of some fine powder into the air. Halfway across the chamber, a small fire sprang to life beneath a large brass tub.
“The water will heat soon,” he said. “You must bathe.”
“But …” She looked down at her clothes, back at the old man.
“Don’t be silly. Modesty is a peasant’s virtue, Duchess. Besides, I am old and harmless.” She thought she saw a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
“Why a bath?”
“Because I’m going to give you a gift,” he said. “And we must prepare you to receive it.”
CHAPTER TEN
The Perranese warrior had just enough time to turn his head, his eyes popping wide as Alem slammed into him. They went down hard, and the warrior’s chin caught the edge of the barrel near Tosh’s hiding place.
With Alem’s weight on his back, the warrior’s head was forced back sharply. There was a sickening snap, and the two of them went down in a heap.
Tosh sprang from his hiding place, tossing the horse blanket aside, a short dagger in one hand, ready to fight, but the Perranese warrior lay lifeless, eyes wide open, mouth agape. Tosh nudged the body with the toe of his boot. “Damn, kid, you’ve killed him.”
Alem sat up next to the dead warrior. He rubbed his side, winced. Flying through the air and slamming into a fully armored man had bruised a few ribs. What had he been thinking?
“Guess I owe you one,” Tosh said. “But his pals could come back any moment, and finding us here with their dead captain won’t go well for us.”
Alem lurched to his feet, grunted, one hand holding his ribs. It hurt like blazes, but he prodded his side with tentative fingers and didn’t think anything was broken. “Pick one of the mares in back and saddle it,” Alem told Tosh. “I’ll be right back.”
“Kid, I told you already. There’s no way we can ride out past them.”
Alem ignored him and limped across the room to the stable master’s tiny room. It wasn’t much. A cot. A stool. A small iron stove for cooking and warmth. Alem crawled under the cot, pried up the floorboard where old Nard the stable master kept the little strongbox. Alem wasn’t sure how many coins might be in it. Probably not many. When visiting nobles lodged their horses in the stable, they would often flip the stable master a coin to pay for extra oats, replace a lost horse blanket.
Nard’s going to be pissed when he finds his money missing .
No, Alem realized. He wouldn’t. Nard was dead. He was old but in good health and they would have shoved a sword into his hand and sent him to the wall. He would be dead like so many others.
Alem bashed the strongbox against the iron stove until he sprang the cheap lock. He spilled the coins out onto the cot and counted them. Fourteen copper coins, but the real score was the two silver pieces. From his belt he took his small leather purse, which contained only a single copper, one he’d been hoarding for months. He added the coins from the strongbox and retied the purse tightly to his belt.
It struck him that he was making a life decision. This would be a pivotal point in his very small, very predictable existence. First, he’d need to live through the next twenty minutes. The clang of crossing swords no longer
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