Raomar woke when Brianda gasped, rolling away from him to scramble to her feet.

  “You’re safe…” he managed, as she scanned the cell, consciousness slowly taking over from instinct.

  At the sound of his voice, she looked toward him, her hands dropping to where her sword and dagger usually hung. Her gaze snapped around as Broderick’s bitter tones followed.

  “For the moment.”

  Again, she shifted focus, noting the lordling’s still form, and then letting her gaze dart round the cell, taking in the straw, mattress, and bucket, before drifting to the door. Her hands moved from her empty scabbards to where the pouch should have rested at her belt.

  They roamed over the empty space.

  “Son of a motherless goat,” she muttered, and went to check the door anyway.

  The resulting rattle brought no response, and she risked looking into the corridor. When nothing happened, she frowned, then returned to where Raomar sat, her eyes taking in the blood seeping through his tunic.

  “That should be covered,” she said, crouching beside him, her hands going to the bandage around her own waist. “And I don’t think I need this, anymore.”

  Raomar watched as she unwound it, not surprised to discover the skin beneath unblemished. Enshul had shown mercy…and the guards had given him enough time to send the healing where it was needed.

  “Show me,” she said, then stopped, pulling her hands away as though she’d been burned. Her face colored. “I’m sorry, Gui—”

  Raomar clapped his hand over her mouth to stop her from completing the word, and she blushed harder.

  “Rau,” he told her, “And you are?”

  “Bri,” she replied, following his example and giving a shortened version of her name. “Where are we?”

  “In Duke Joseph Hartender’s personal dungeon.” Again, Broderick spoke, and she glanced toward the boy.

  He’d rolled onto his side, propping himself on one elbow as he stared vacantly in her direction.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “Not really,” Brianda replied, a puzzled frown on her face.

  Raomar reached out to touch her arm, wincing as he did so.

  ‘Blind,’ he mouthed, touching two fingers to his own eyes.

  “Are you sure?” Broderick persisted.

  “Of course, I’m sure,” Brianda snapped.

  The boy shuffled into a sitting position, tilting his head from side to side as though listening for something else.

  “What is it?” Brianda asked.

  Broderick frowned.

  “The other one,” he began. “Is… Is he still here?”

  “Yes,” the girl replied shortly. “Who are you?”

  “Me?” the boy answered.

  “No, of course not you,” Brianda retorted. “Your fornicating shadow!”

  Raomar saw the boy draw back, his jaw dropping at the girl’s snarl. After a minute, the young lord pulled himself together and answered.

  “I…My name is Broderick Chandera,” he replied. “I’m the youngest son of Kerick Chandera, lord of—”

  “Criochole…” Brianda finished, cutting him off. “What are the odds…”

  “Criochole,” Broderick confirmed. “What odds?”

  The girl hastily shook her head, forgetting he wouldn’t see it. “Never you mind.”

  Broderick frowned. “No. Why… How do you know of Criochole, or who is lord of it?”

  Brianda glanced around the cell, wondering if someone was hidden and listening. She didn’t want to admit she was the one who’d stolen the documents…not here. Later, perhaps, when they were out.

  She took note of the heavily barred door and the stone walls.

  If we get out, she amended.

  The lordling stirred restlessly, and Brianda waited for him to insist on an answer.

  “Rau?” he asked, sounding slightly bewildered. “What did he mean when he said I was lucky I didn’t know what you really were?”

  Raomar sighed. He’d been wondering when the boy would cotton on.

  “He meant you wouldn’t like me because I’m kevarag,” the guildmaster replied.

  Broderick scrambled back, staggering to his feet, one hand reaching out for balance, while the other reached for a blade that was no longer there. When he discovered his empty belt-line, he dropped to one knee and went for the dagger sheaths in his boots.

  Unable to see, he lost his balance and would have fallen to one side, if Raomar hadn’t gripped his shoulder and pulled him upright. Stooping so the boy could hear him, he spoke.

  “Boy, if I’d been meaning you harm, you’d be feeling it by now,” he said, sounding beyond weary as he added, “You can’t believe everything in the legends.”

  Broderick shrugged free of the guildmaster’s hand, staggering sideways to get out from under his touch. Raomar let him go, nodding approval when Brianda steadied the young lord.

  “It’s… It’s not the legends,” the man snarled. “I’ve faced your kind, before.”

  “Tree cats?” Raomar asked mildly, watching him flinch away.

  Thinking of his clan’s range, he remembered Criochole lay in the south-westernmost part of Deverath, where the overgrown banks of the Wildejun River met the unclaimed lands beyond. It was possible his clan…or, perhaps, the Sky Falcons…raided those lands.

  The fact Criochole still stood was a testament to its defenses…or perhaps the fact it was being allowed to thrive before being harvested. If the latter were true, then his people were also defending it…although he thought that would come as poor comfort to the young lord.

  “Then it is a good thing I am not like the rest of my kind,” Raomar told him, stalking close enough that the lordling stumbled back from his presence. He stopped when he hit the wall behind him, and Raomar put his face an inch from Broderick’s letting the man feel the warmth of his breath on his skin.

  Broderick froze. “H…How so?” he demanded, and Raomar gave a low throaty chuckle.

  “You are still alive, for a start.”

  Broderick dropped his head. “Not for much longer, if the duke has his way,” he muttered.

  “So, what does he want with you?” Brianda asked, as much to distract him from Raomar’s looming presence as to learn more of his situation.

  Broderick glanced toward her voice, his face full of bitter resignation.

  “He wants to brand me the son of a traitor and take my lands,” he replied.

  “And how, exactly, does he plan to do this?” Raomar asked, and Broderick lifted his face toward him.

  “He says he has proof,” he answered softly. “A…a letter from my father giving refuge for agents of the exiled king. He says…”

  The boy’s voice caught and he paused before continuing.

  “He says he’ll take that with us, when he brings me before the king.”

  “And when does he plan to do that?” Raomar wanted to know.

  Broderick slumped against the wall, letting himself slide down its rough stone surface until he reached the floor.

  “Today.” Utter defeat threaded his voice.

  “Did he show you this letter?” Brianda demanded.

  Broderick shook his head. “No.”

  Brianda crouched beside him. “And would this letter have had the Criochole seal?”

  “If it was from my father, then yes, it would have had our seal.”

  “And, if the duke lost the letter and couldn’t prove his claim?” Brianda pressed.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Broderick shrugged. “I might get to live…but the chances of him not having the letter are slim. Not even he would dare waste the king’s time like that.”

  “If he didn’t have the letter, would you also get to keep your lands?” Brianda asked, and Broderick gave her a startled look.

  He still sounded defeated when he replied, “I don’t know. The accusation has already been made…and my family has already left the city. I would have to endure the king’s judgement.”

  “Well,” Brianda said, sitting against the wall beside him, “at least you’ll get to live…”

  “Are you saying he has no proof?”

  “I’m saying he no longer has the letter,” Brianda told him, leaning her head against the wall. “At least you might get to live…”

  Raomar took a chance and slid down the wall to sit next to the boy. This time, Broderick didn’t flinch away.

  Soft applause sounded from the corridor outside, and they all struggled to their feet, Raomar and Brianda helping Broderick stand between them. The door opened and the duke stepped inside.

  “Oh, very good,” he said appreciatively. “Very, very good.”

  His guards moved swiftly into the room in his wake, two with crossbows raised. They quickly found positions that let them cover the captive three as their master advanced and two other guards came alongside him.

  “Take our guest upstairs,” the duke ordered, and snapped his fingers. As the second pair of guards seized hold of Broderick’s arms and pulled him toward the door, Kale and the soldier who’d stitched Raomar’s stomach entered the room.

  Kale stalked over to Raomar and laid the flat of one palm against the kevarag’s chest, pinning him to the wall. The dagger in his off hand, he held poised and ready to strike.

  “What’s this about?” Raomar asked, casting an anxious glance at the girl.

  “Nothing that concerns you,” Kale snapped, as the other guard closed in on Brianda, seizing her arm in a vice-like grip and pulling her further down the wall.

  As soon as she was what the duke deemed a suitable distance from the kevarag, he strode over to stand before her.

  “Who sent you?” he demanded, towering over her, his fists curling in menace.

  Brianda kept her eyes on his face, not trusting herself to keep the guildmaster safe. It was obvious from the way he was being treated that their captors had no idea of who he really was…and she shuddered to think of what would happen if they ever found out.

  Instead of answering, she drew herself as tall as her five feet, six inches allowed and looked him in the eye. “I’m not at liberty to say, Duke Hartender.”

  Raomar watched as the duke leaned in until his face was an inch from Brianda’s. He saw the girl flinch as Joseph’s hand gripped her injured wrist.

  “Your master, wench!” the duke snarled, his arm going rigid as he applied pressure.

  Brianda gasped.

  “Not…at…liberty…” she managed, her knees starting to give. She gasped, again as he twisted, and Raomar worried that Enshul’s mercy might not hold. Who knew how strong the newly knitted tendons were?

  The duke ground the tip of his thumb into the point Raomar had stitched the night before, and Brianda gave a strangled yelp of pain. The sound of a scuffle came from outside the cell.

  “Leave her alone!” Broderick cried, and there came the sound of fists against flesh. “Let me go!”

  The duke ignored him, applying more pressure.

  “Are you sure you can’t remember who paid your fee?” he asked.

  Brianda whimpered, hunching in on herself and, with a snarl of disgust, the duke released her hand and headed for the door.

  “Mind your tongue, boy!” he roared, “Unless you want to lose that, as well as your sight.”

  Kale glanced over his shoulder, watching as his fellow guard followed the duke. When the pair had reached the door, he bounced his hand against Raomar’s chest.

  “Stay!” he ordered. “Don’t move, until the key turns in the lock.”

  Raomar gave a single short nod, his gaze darting to where Brianda knelt on the floor, cradling her arm.

  “I don’t care how much she weeps,” Kale snarled. “If you move, you’re dead.”

  He gestured toward the crossbowmen.

  “They have orders.”

  “Understood,” Raomar told him, and Kale lifted his hand.

  When the kevarag didn’t attempt to shift, the guard backed carefully away, not turning until the last crossbowman had left the cell. Raomar still didn’t move. He waited until Kale turned the key in the cell-door lock and walked away, the crossbowmen in tow…and only then did he move to Brianda’s side.

  He’d barely reached her before the key sounded in the lock, and the door opened.

  This time, the duke didn’t enter. He just looked around the door. His lip curled into a derisive smile when he saw Raomar loop an arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  “Touching,” he sneered, then his face hardened. “I will be back for you this afternoon,” he told Brianda. “By then you should have remembered your master’s name.”

  He turned to Raomar. “And you,” he added in cold tones, “should have remembered where we really met.”

  Without waiting for either of them to respond, the duke pulled the cell door closed between them, turning the key once more. Raomar felt Brianda flinch as the lock dropped into place. She tensed as the duke’s footsteps echoed through the corridor outside, and Raomar pulled her close.

  He listened to the duke’s footfalls slowly fade, and pretended not to notice when the first sob ran through her. She cried silently for a few minutes, then rapidly pulled herself together. Even when the tears stopped, she stayed, leaning against his side and not saying a word.

  They sat that way for a long time, listening to dark. There was a guard outside the cell. They could hear the occasional movement as he changed position, or walked the front of the cells, but nothing more. Raomar was almost certain there was only one.

  They were still staring into the dark, when Raomar felt Brianda tense. Slowly, he lifted his arm, giving her room to move. She shifted slightly, getting her feet underneath her, but she didn’t move away, nor did she ask what to do.

  Raomar moved into a crouch, ignoring the twinge across his gut.

  Enshul… he thought, wishing the goddess would listen.

  His ears strained for the sound, again. It had been there…but it hadn’t…like…footsteps.

  Taking a long, slow, breath, he held it and listened, again.

  Footsteps, yet… He was sure he’d heard someone else moving, their steps distant and overhead, as though the floor above was timber. Raomar couldn’t be sure. It was like he was listening to a sound that was barely there.

  A shout filtered down the stairs, and the cry that came after ended abruptly. A soft thump followed, as if something heavy was lowered most of the way to the floor and then dropped. Footsteps raced overhead, no longer trying for silence, and the guard outside stirred.

  Raomar rose out of his crouch.

  “Guard!” he shouted, as much to distract the man as to cover the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  It almost worked. The man banged on the door.

  “Quiet in there!”

  “Guard!” Raomar shouted, again, and again, the guard banged on the door.

  “I said—” His reprimand ended in a strangled gurgle, his armor rattling as he fell to the floor.

  Raomar listened to the guard choke through his last breaths, and tried to hear past the sound. As the guard breathed his last, as soft ululating whistle whispered through the dungeon. Raomar breathed a sigh of relief, and answered it with a series of short breathy peeps and was rewarded a single sharp sound.

  Moving closer to the door, he waited.

  “Rau?” Dart’s whisper reached him, just as a small breeze tickled his ear.

  “In here,” he replied, as Alessia’s voice whispered his name.

  “Raomar, show me where you are and I will come fetch you.”

  “How?” he asked, ignoring Brianda’s questioning look.

  “Show me,” Alessia responded, “Look, around.”

  Raomar did as she bid, only to have her stop him.

  “Stop. It’s too dark. Kneel down where you can see the floor…a pattern in the stones…anything.”

  “How about the bars on my cell door?” he asked, letting the irony come through in his voice.

  “Stand back,” Dart’s voice came through the door. “I’ll get Grunwol to open the door.”

  “Grunwol?” Raomar asked. “I thought you were the expert!”

  “Not right, now, I’m not. Guard had no key,” Dart replied.

  Someone shouted an alarm overhead.

  “Winter’s deep!” Grunwol muttered.

  “Shadow’s bane!” Dart spat in chorus.

  “Give me a light!” Raomar ordered. “Hold it up to the grate.”

  Neither of those outside asked why. There was a brief scuffle of movement and light spilled through the bars.

  “Alessia?” Raomar asked.

  “Hold tight,” she answered, and the breeze was gone.

  Another shout overhead, echoed the first, and feet pounded the floor above. From outside the cell, a door slammed.

  “Hurry up,” Dart hissed. “This isn’t going to hold them, forever!”

  What isn’t? Raomar wondered.

  He heard the sound of metal against metal, and quickly identified the swift click and clatter of lock picks. A thunderous crash temporarily drowned them out, and Raomar wished he could just magic the lock open. If the duke hadn’t confiscated his god-link, he’d have done so.

  Magic tweaked the hair on the back of his neck, and Brianda gave a hiss of surprise. Glancing at the girl, he saw her hands move over the places she usually stowed her weapons. He also saw what had startled her.

  A small globe of light had appeared in the center of the cell. As he watched, the light slowly grew bigger and more solid.

  “It’s Alessia,” Raomar told her, drawing her a little away from the light to give it room to grow.

  He divided his attention between the cell door and Alessia’s arrival. When the wizardess was a solid figure in a pool of light, he nudged the girl forward.

  “Move,” he ordered. “She hasn’t got all day.”

  “Truer than you know,” Alessia confirmed, her voice sharp. “Now, hurry.”

  “We have two more,” Raomar told her, gesturing toward the door.

  “Then tell them to hurry,” the wizardess ordered. “The duke could trace the spell if I leave it much longer.”

  She’d barely finished speaking than Grunwol gave a soft exclamation of triumph and pushed the cell door open.

  “Dart!” he called, holding the door open until the shadow woman had slipped past him.

  As soon as she was through, he hastily closed the door, and hurried to Raomar’s side, wrapping an arm around the guildmaster’s waist and helping him over to Alessia.

  Outside, there was another crash and the sound of splintering wood and shrieking metal.

  “Hurry!” Alessia urged. “I can’t hold the spell for much longer.”

  Grunwol hesitated, and Raomar tightened his grip on the Northman.

  “There. Is. No. Time,” he growled, and Grunwol let him draw him into the circle of light.

  As soon as they’d crossed the edge of the circle, Alessia continued her chant, her hands weaving in the final gestures of the spell. The sound of more wood splintering was followed by the thunder of bootsteps in the corridor outside.

  Grunwol pushed Raomar behind him and moved so he was between the guildmaster, the wizardess, and the door. The first of Duke Hartender’s guards slid into the doorway and was raising his crossbow when the light hardened into a globe around them.

  A savage oath followed them as the light flashed and the cell and its advancing guards disappeared. For a moment, all that existed for Raomar and those around the wizardess was the inside of a pearlescent sphere and those traveling inside it.

  Alessia spread her arms, her eyes wide as they followed something beyond the globe. Raomar saw her take a breath and hold it. He completed a slow count of five and tensed, relaxing only when the wizardess released her breath and brought her hands down in a sweeping motion.

  The light around them flared, and then began to fade.

  “We’re here,” Alessia announced, “and safe until nightfall, although I’d appreciate it if you’d stay in this room until the sun has set.”

  “You mean you want us to keep out of sight,” Dart confirmed in a throaty whisper.

  “Exactly,” Alessia told her. Fatigue roughened her voice. “There are too many eyes and ears awake at this time of day, and this room is warded against tracking spells.”

  Her gaze shifted from Brianda to Raomar.

  “Some of you are also in need of a healer.”

  Raomar lifted a hand to where the god-link normally hung…and found nothing.

  “You’ll need to send for one,” he informed her. “I…”

  His voice faltered, and he sighed.

  Dart fumbled at the buckle on her belt pouch. Sliding her hand inside, she began searching its contents.

  “Here,” she said, pulling something from it and extending her hand. “Guard upstairs was wearing it.”

  When Raomar glanced down, he saw the soapstone weaver resting in her palm.

  “Lady Dart,” he breathed, reaching out and enclosing her hand in both of his. “I am…forever…in your debt.”

  The shadow lady scowled at him.

  “Take your god-link,” she snapped, her voice sharp, “and don’t be too grateful. You’ve yet to hear what I’m going to ask in return.”

  Raomar smothered a smile, wincing as he lifted the link’s leather thong over his head.

  “I will temper my gratitude according to your price,” he promised, “but, for now, let me be grateful for your rescue…of it and us.”

  Dart’s face softened in response, and she looked away, focusing on securing her pouch. Alessia saved her from having to find a reply, by speaking.

  “There are bedrolls over there,” she said, pointing at the neatly stacked row of bedding. “I suggest you rest while I look to your injuries.”

  “Since when are you a healer?” Raomar challenged.

  Alessia gave him a mysterious smile. “You’d be surprised what I’ve learned in the years since our adventures ended.”