Blood and Honor

“Hold her steady,” he finally said. Mordan held his left arm across her chest, keeping the rapier in his right. Holding the symbol of the Silver Flame in front of the woman’s face. Tarrel reached forward with his free hand and pulled out the stake. Mordan released her and stepped back.

Her eyes flew open, and her mouth twisted in a snarl, revealing sharp white teeth. She struggled, and then saw the Silver Flame. A riot of emotions played across her face: rage, fear, despair, and finally anguish. She gave vent to a great howl that echoed off the earthen walls. Tarrel backed off a couple of paces, still holding the Silver Flame in front of him. Breathing heavily, the woman tested the strength of the ropes that bound her hands. Tarrel stood by the winch that secured the other end of the rope.

“Lady ir’Mallon,” he said, sounding a great deal more assured than Mordan felt, “you might like to look down before you do that.” The woman shot him a glance of unmitigated hate, snarling like a cornered animal.

“That’s the Cyre River under your feet,” Tarrel went on, slightly louder. “And with this winch I can drop you right into it. I know you don’t like running water.” To illustrate his point, he let the winch slip a little. The woman’s lower body dropped through the trapdoor, leaving her waist at floor level and her feet inches from the sluggish river. She continued snarling.

“Oh,” continued Tarrel, “I almost forgot. That amulet round your neck stops you shapechanging, which is probably the next thing you’ll think of. You’re stuck in human form for now.”

The woman looked down at the silver moon pendant for an instant, then closed her eyes in concentration. Nothing happened.

“Now,” said Tarrel, “I’m—”

The woman cut him off. “I know who you are,” she said, her voice rasping and heavy with loathing, “and I know what you want. That’s why you couldn’t find me. I’m not going home. Kill me if you want, but I won’t let my family see me—like this.”

“Your father had a spell cast,” Tarrel went on. “A very powerful, very expensive spell. He was trying to locate your body so he could have it brought back to Thrane for burial. Instead, the spell showed you were in Karrlakton. Whether you go back to Thrane or not. I’m going to have to tell your father something.”

“No!” Brey shouted. “You can’t! The truth would kill him! Just leave me alone!”

“Easy—easy!” said Tarrel. “Now, my guess is that you’re on the trail of whoever did this to you. We can help you with that. It’s not strictly the job I signed up for, but I think it’s what your father would want. If he knew.”

Brey considered this for a moment. “No,” she said. “This is between me and them.”

Tarrel ran one hand through his graying hair. “You may want to think that over, my Lady,” he said softly, “because if I go back to Thrane now, your father’s just going to send someone else. Maybe another inquisitive. Maybe an exorcist. Or maybe he’ll come himself. You know he won’t give up.”

Brey’s head drooped onto her chest, which shook with sobs. When she raised her head at last, tears of blood were running down her cheeks.

“Untie me,” she said, her voice flat, “and we can talk. I won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt me.” Her eyes went from Tarrel to Mordan and back again.

Tarrel winched her back up through the trapdoor. “I’ll be keeping my Silver Flame close to me,” he said.

Brey made a sound that was neither a sob nor a laugh. “Keep it,” she said, “and may it bring you comfort and protection. As it no longer does for me.”

When her feet were clear of the trapdoor, Mordan closed it, then backed away with his rapier at the ready as Tarrel untied the young woman. Then the half-elf stepped back, with the Silver Flame in one hand and his wand in the other. Brey reached for the silver chain around her neck.

“I’d just as soon you kept that on for now,” said Tarrel, gesturing with the wand. “Just until we’re done talking.”

Brey shrugged and dropped her hands to her sides. “So who are you?” she asked, looking at Mordan. “And why are you looking for the same people that I’m looking for?”

“Just a war veteran looking for some soldiers who didn’t come back,” he said.

Brey examined her jerkin where the stake had pierced it. She dipped a finger in the blood and put it to her mouth.

“Worthy enough, on the face of it,” she said, licking her lips. “Do you know what they were doing?”

Mordan shook his head. “I was hoping you could tell me,” he said.

Chapter 8

The Fort

Vult 11, 993 YK

“Enemy!”

Captain Brey ir’Mallon turned away from the Cyre River. On the ridge above the floodplain, outlined against the pale gray sky, stood at least a score of Karrnathi lancers.

“Flame!” she exclaimed. “Corus, if you were asleep at your post, I swear I’ll—” But she knew her lookout was dead.