Returning my palm to the barrier, I sweep it up and down as I walk over to him. It occurs to me, as I examine the height and breadth of the gate, that the unevenness on the surface is concentrated in a band that is somewhere between the chest and the upper arm reach of a grown man. Clearly, efforts to break through have focused in this area, though there are pockmarks farther up, too.
“What created this,” I murmur.
“It’s ancient.” He puts his own hand on the pane. “And there has been plenty of trying.”
“So you’re in a hurry, then. To go south.” When he doesn’t reply, I glance over at his grim profile. “What about heading around the other way?”
“I already attempted that. Rushing storm runoff, and a mud bog that if it were water could be boated across, but as it is, everything’s impassable at least for days.”
He nods to his horse, and that’s when I notice the muddy hocks.
“Then you’ll be returning to the Outpost?”
Merc shakes his head. “No, I shall be getting through this.”
“By will alone, I presume.”
“As I said before,”—his tone becomes sharp—“if you have a better idea, by all means, woman, have at it.”
He bows and sweeps his arm forth with mocking gallantry, and then he walks off for his horse, stabbing the broadsword into its holster on his back. When he arrives at his saddle, he shoves the various rolls and packs around, and takes off a bladder. After a stout drink, he turns to me, and doesn’t meet my eyes.
In fact, he hasn’t looked at me properly since my arrival.
“And if you don’t get through it.” I glance around. “Were you camping out here?”
He glowers at the barrier. “Is that your plan?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“I figure you’ll be wanting to get back to the pub.”
“No, my way is only forward—”
“Your friend in the top hat must be heartbroken.”
My brows go down, and the next thing I know, I’m marching over to him. “Hit it for me, will you?”
When he seems confused, I point at the gate. “I’d like to see you fail at something. It will cheer me up, and be far more fun than arguing with you over a man I haven’t touched.”
Now he looks at me properly, and we just stand there, glaring at each other.
“Let me guess,” he mutters as he’s the one who breaks the eye contact. “You want me to use my head for the job.”
“Certainly would give it something to do for once.” As he slants a look over at me, I shrug. “Or use your sword. The sword will be less painful, of course.”
“Will it,” he mutters as he unsheathes his weapon once more. “There are advantages to concussive events, loss of consciousness among certain company, for example.”
“Must you flatter me. I’m blushing.”
Merc curses his way back to where he was when I arrived. Through gritted teeth, he says, “Step back, sometimes there are shards.”
Sinking down into his thighs, he winds back with the broadsword over his shoulder, and I can’t help but admire the form of him. He ripples with muscle and power as he bends back and then hurls the razor-sharp blade at the milky white—
Gong!
All my concentration focuses on the barrier as I look for any changes in the surface. After the sound fades, I nod toward him.
“Again.” I step forward and put my hand on the pane. “Please.”
