3
Riann awoke to the sensation of a white-hot poker driving through his abdomen. No, make that several hot pokers, he thought hazily. Several hot pokers were stabbing into him, and the earth shook around him, as if the world were about toend.
“Oi, Wellion,” a harsh voice said in the Common Tongue. “He’sawake.”
The voice was like a bucket of ice water, jolting Riann back to reality. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was not being jabbed by hot pokers, but strapped to the back of a large, unfamiliar horse, whose canter aggravated his bruised or broken ribs. Strange men on horseback surrounded him, all wearing a green and black cloth tied around their upper arms, armed to the teeth, and possessing an air of savagery about them that sent chills down Riann’sspine.
“Bandits,” he spat out, and tasted the coppery tang of blood on his lips. The memories were finally comingback.
“Aww, he remembers us.” The man who had spoken moved closer and pinched Riann’s cheek with his grimy fingers. “Howsweet.”
“Leave him, Baldrich,” a cold voice said from Riann’s right. “Stay on the alert, and stop pawing at theprisoner.”
Baldrich curled his lip, but fell back, much to Riann’s relief. Craning his neck, he turned toward the sound of the other voice. The man who owned it was tall and muscular, about Riann’s size, and wore dark leather armor that, while scuffed, was a bit finer than what the other bandits sported. He had thick, curling chestnut hair and piercing green eyes that were fixed on Riann, as if he had been watching him like a hawk the entire time and did not intend to let him out of hissight.
Riann sneered at the bandit, whom he assumed to be the leader. “You’re the one who knocked meunconscious.”
The bandit gave him a cruel smile. “Wellion Traize, at your service.” He gave a mocking bow, or at least what passed for a bow when mounted on ahorse.
“I have no doubt you’re at someone’s service,” Riann muttered. “But it is notmine.”
Wellion frowned. “You talk too much,” he said, his hand going to one of the daggers strapped to his broad chest. “I’d suggest keeping your tongue tucked safely inside your mouth, unless you’d like to loseit.”
Riann glared at him, but shut his mouth and turned his gaze away. Looking around as best as he could from his position, he counted around twenty bandits in the group. Twice the size of the group they had fought with earlier in the day, but they sported the same green and black armbands. Riann had thought, when they’d first attacked him, that these men were seeking revenge, but now he wasn’t so certain these men even knew the other bandits had perished. They were clearly both part of a largerorganization.
“Fjordlander,” Wellion said, interrupting Riann’s train of thought. He turned to see Wellion still staring at him with that suspicious look on his face. “Tell me what you are doing in Carliss, in ourterritory.”
“I don’t even know whatyourterritory is,” Riann said, choosing not to point out that Wellion had ordered him not to speak. He was determined to give the bandits as little information as possible—it was only a matter of time before they heard of the female mage and her band who had killed their men, and once they connected Riann to Tariel, they would killhim.
Wellion clouted him on the head with an armored fist. “I know a fellow warrior when I see one,” he said as Riann’s head rang from the blow. “Don’t pretend as if you are some mere thug. Where are you from, and what is your business in theselands?”
“I’m a former knight,” Riann growled, which was true enough. “I was foolish enough to set my sights on the wrong woman, and had to flee the castle of the lord who employed me. After that, I lost my horse, and have run through most of my coin. I have been traveling on foot for the past three days, searching for a village or farm in hopes that I could findwork.”
Wellion stared at him for such a long moment that Riann began to grow nervous. Could he tell that Riann’s story was a farce? The first half was true enough, but the second bit was false. The bandit’s eyes gleamed with an intelligence that the other men did not seem to possess, and Riann worried that if he sensed something was amiss, he would sniff out the truth like a bloodhound, and lead the bandits straight back to Tariel and theothers.
“We do not allow strangers to roam these lands, not even ones who are merely passing through, as you claim,” Wellion said, his voice clipped. His face was surprisingly hard to read—a perpetually surly expression made it hard for Riann to tell if the bandit was annoyed with him, or the world in general. “You will be brought to my father, Baron Valen Traize, who will decide your fate. Unless someone is willing to pay a large ransom for your life,” he added with a cruel twist of his mouth, “it is likely to be a quickdeath.”
Riann clenched his jaw as anger surged through his veins. But he held his tongue, knowing that anything he said would only invite more punishment. He was too badly hurt to try to break free of his bonds, and besides, he wanted Wellion and his band to keep moving farther from Tariel. He could tell from the bond that she was still exactly where he’d left her. He hoped that meant she’d decided not to come after him, though knowing Tariel, he doubted she would be content to let him go. It was more likely that she was waiting for firstlight.
The group made camp for the night, but these bandits did not make the mistake of putting him out of their sight, as Sir Jerrold had. Riann was bound hand and foot and laid out on the ground right in front of the watch, who kept one eye on him and the other on their surroundings. The watch changed several times throughout the night, and Riann’s hope for a chance to escape never presenteditself.
Eventually, in the small hours of the night, Wellion came to sit by him. He surveyed Riann with those icy green eyes. The color, visible in the light from the flickering campfire, reminded Riann of hoarfrost clinging to the first leaves of spring, just before the sun’s rays melted them away. He wondered if there was anything that penetrated that frostyfaçade.
“You need to sleep,” Wellion said as he leaned against the massive tree he sat beneath. “We’ve a long ridetomorrow.”
“What do you care?” Riann asked. “If I’m to be slaughtered like a pig, what does it matter whether or not I’m wellrested?”
“I said that it was the most likely outcome, not that it was the only outcome,” Wellion said. “My father likes to take slaves sometimes. If he decides he wishes for you to serve him, you’ll need all the strength you can get. He is a…demanding taskmaster.”
Riann glared at him. “You’ll excuse me if it’s difficult to get comfortable. I am lying on broken ribs.” Now that they had stopped moving, they were beginning to heal some, but the pain was stillexcruciating.
Wellion suddenly lunged for him, clamping his big hand around the back of Riann’s neck. “Sleep,” he growled, digging his thumb into the spot just below Riann’s ear. Blackness eclipsed his vision in an instant, and before he could even open his mouth to cry out in dismay, he wasout.
