Slate scratched her chin. “I figure we’ll follow the trade road to the army blockade and see what they can tell us. Possibly we’ll find out something about the second group on the way. The Captain’s sent word to expect us. It’s possible they’ll know a route through, or be able to clear us one. At the very least, they’ll have more up to date intelligence than we will.”
“And then?”
“We wing it.”
Caliban put up an eyebrow. He was watching her face in a way that made Slate vaguely uncomfortable.Well, I did just outline a plan that’s nothing less than suicide…
Any further conversation was drowned out by a loud thumping on the door. Caliban got up and drew his sword again. Slate sighed.
It was Brenner, with his arms full of metal. Caliban pulled the door open just as he had lifted a foot to kick at it again.
“Where’d you getthat?” said Slate, quite astonished, as the assassin dumped a pile of armor in the middle of the room with an unholy clatter.
“I mugged a paladin.”
“You didnot.”
“Fine, but it would have been easier. Took days to find this stuff. I was afraid it wasn’t going to come in before we left.”
Caliban reached down into the pile and tugged a piece loose. It was a shoulder guard, embossed with the stylized closed eye of the Dreaming God. He turned it over in his hands, his expression unreadable.
“This is temple armor,” he said.
Brenner grinned. It wasn’t a kind expression.
That was meant to be a painful gift. Damn Brenner, anyway.Slate stifled a sigh.Oh, well, they can work it out themselves. I suppose it doesn’t matter if they kill us or we kill us, at this point.
“I am not allowed to wear this any more,” the paladin said, almost to himself.
“Well, I’m not going out again,” said Brenner, pouring himself a shot of the whiskey. “Hey, this is the good stuff!”
“Gift from the Stone Bitches.”
“Bless their vicious little hearts.” He clinked his glass against Slate’s.
Caliban crouched in the pile of armor, picking each piece up and setting it down carefully, his fingers lingering over the metal. It didn’t look as heavy as Slate had expected—chain and leather, rather than shiny metal plate.Perhaps that’s just the ceremonial armor. Hmm.
There was a heavy chain with a silver disc on the end. The closed eye gazed out sightlessly from the center.
“It’s stolen, if that makes you feel any better,” said Brenner cheerfully.
Caliban snorted, running the chain through his fingers. “That seems about right…gha, ha, ngha…” He coughed, and covered his mouth with his hand.
“Try it on,” said Brenner, his eyes bright with malice. “See if it fits.”
“I’m sure it does. You got the clothing well enough.” His lips twitched. “Have you ever considered giving up killing people and becoming a tailor?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And?”
“I don’t like people unless I’m stabbing them.”
Slate snorted and kicked him under the table. Brenner grinned and took another shot.
The knight glanced at them with ill-concealed contempt. Slate huffed.Fine, if you’re going to be like that, see if I feel sorry for you.
He started pulling on the armor. It took longer than Slate would have expected. Her mother used to dress the same way, one piece at a time, layered for battle.
