Crack!

  The ringing slap startled Brianda to wakefulness. She tried to protest but her tongue felt thick in her mouth and the words came out garbled. Trying to sit up proved pointless, since she was already sitting, a large hand propping her against a rough wooden wall as the one that had slapped her caught her other cheek in the backswing.

  Pain brought tears to her eyes and Brianda tried to pull away. Her eyes flashed open, but then drifted closed again. Another slap brought another garbled shout, and she decided if her captor kept it up, he was going to get a dagger between the ribs.

  In answer to her protest, however, she was tipped to one side and her hands released. Pins and needles flooded her wrists as she was shifted upright, again, and then let go. This time, when she opened them, her eyes stayed open.

  She almost wished she hadn’t.

  The Northman was crouched two feet away, watching her intently. Brianda returned the favor, ignoring the sudden surge of fear as she made herself study the man.

  He was big—both tall and broad, his face craggy with weather and whatever journeys he’d taken. Green eyes stared into her own, and his hair showed the first signs of silver.

  Funny, she hadn’t thought of him as old, when they’d last met. She wondered if it was part of a glamor.

  Cautiously, she began to rub life back into her hands, and to look around the room.

  It was bare, and appeared to have been uninhabited for some time. It was also on a ground floor if the dust-covered stone beneath her was any indication. There was no fire in the hearth behind the guildsman, but light came from a candle set in a brass holder, going green with age. Sacking hung across the only window she could see.

  As she watched, it stirred, and the guildsman spun into a defensive crouch, dagger in hand.

  “Speak now, or die,” he ordered, and soft laughter greeted his words.

  Brianda reached for her dagger and found the scabbard empty, but the guildsman only glanced in its direction.

  “It’s a wonder they still call you a barbarian,” a woman mocked, sliding through the window and dropping to the floor. “You’ve more manners than most.”

  Not ground floor, Brianda corrected herself as the Northman relaxed, but basement.

  She sighed, taking in the newcomer’s features as she approached.

  She had a solid build, copper-brown hair and dark brown eyes.

  “You have something of mine, Grun,” she stated, holding out her hand.

  “I do.” The Northman drew a long dart from a belt pouch, and flipped it toward her.

  She caught it mid-flight, and then turned to the door.

  “Thank you,” the big man added, and she shrugged.

  “All part of the job,” she answered, laying her fingers on the door handle.

  The Northman watched her every move, looking like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t dare.

  Brianda wondered what that could be, but the Northman spoke again.

  “What was it?”

  “Sleep-tip,” the woman replied, looking back over her shoulder as though waiting for what might come next.

  “Slow working,” the guildsman noted, as Brianda decided now might be a good time to leave.

  The window wasn’t that far away.

  She gathered her feet beneath her.

  “Don’t go anywhere, Bonnie Briar.”

  Brianda froze. Only her master had used that particular name. He’d said it was because she made him happy when she was around. Her breath caught, and she lost her balance, falling unexpectedly onto her side.

  The woman frowned, then reached into her cloak. Drawing out a vial, she tossed it to the Northman.

  “Antidote,” she explained. “Get her on her feet, faster.”

  As if that was a good thing. What if they didn’t want her on her feet faster?

  The Northman put the lie to that as soon as he’d caught the vial. Snatching it out of the air, he shifted to kneel beside her, and hauled her upright. Brianda couldn’t help it, she flopped, rag-doll like.

  With a growl of frustration, the Northman propped her against his side, and uncorked the vial, supporting Brianda’s chin as he raised it to her lips.

  “Drink,” he ordered.

  Brianda opened her mouth, sipping at the vial as he tilted its contents into her mouth. They came out in a rush and she gulped them down, almost choking on them. The guildsman held her jaw closed until he was sure she’d drunk it, not letting her go, when she sagged back against him.

  The antidote clung to her tongue and throat, making her gag with its bitterness. It burned its way down her throat, before erupting in her belly and sending fire through her. Her vision exploded into white fuzziness and she screwed her eyes shut.

  When her mind cleared and the lethargy left her limbs, she opened her eyes, discovering she could see clearly, and that her hands had formed fists by her side. Twisting out of the Northman’s arms, she rolled into a crouch to face him.

  He kept his hand curled around her bicep and met her gaze, the sight of his eyes and his white-blonde hair making her flinch. It was all she could do not to run, to make herself face him, and remind herself that this was not the Northman that haunted her sleep.

  His eyes were green, green not blue. Not blue. This was not Gravarik, whose eyes were a perversion of the summer sky.

  Brianda closed her eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath. When she opened them again, again, he was still watching her and the woman was nowhere to be sensed or seen.

  “The guildmaster is waiting,” the Northman stated, his grip tightening. “If you try to leave before we get there, I will remove your hands. Understood?”

  The expression on his face left her no room for doubt. Brianda swallowed, then nodded.

  “Understood, guildsman.”

  Instead of letting her go, his grip tightened again. He slid his hand down her arm, stopping when he came to her wrist.

  “Do you?” he asked, pulling her hand toward him and pinning it against the floor.

  “Yes!” Brianda couldn’t help the note of rising panic. She pulled against him. “Yes, I understand.”

  Her hand didn’t budge an inch. She twisted, trying to pull free.

  “We’re going to meet the guildmaster,” she told him. “I understand.”

  He drew the dagger at his belt. “Do you really understand?”

  Seeing the blade rising above her pinned wrist, feeling the unyielding strength that pinned her arm to the floor, Brianda gasped.

  “Please…” she begged, hearing the tears in her voice and despising herself for it. “No, please, I…”

  A sob hiccupped through the words and for an instant, she was no longer in a basement in Deverath, but back in the mountains, with another Northman holding her wrist. She fixed her eyes on this one’s face, caught again by the difference in his eyes.

  They were green, not blue. Green. The color of grass and safety, not the blue of danger and dragons…and ice and pain…and the guild had gone to the trouble of capturing her, a meeting with the guildmaster was promised. They would surely not cripple her before that…

  She kept her eyes on the guildsman’s face, trying to ignore the blade, hoping…

  The dagger descended, its blade coming to rest over the base of her hand. Brianda trembled, but didn’t try to pull away.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  It’s just a test, she told herself, just a test.

  “Just a test, just a test…” whispered through the air, her mantra escaping the confines in her head.

  The guildsman chuckled and then released her wrist…although the dagger’s edge continued to crease her skin. It took all the control Brianda had not to snatch her hand from beneath the blade. When the dagger lifted, she made herself remain, as still as stone.

  The guildsman flipped the dagger so that he held the blade.

  “Here,” he said, extending it toward her. “Take it.”

  Accepting the weapon from his hand, Brianda saw it was her own. She slid it back into its sheath with shaking hands, watching as the Northman rose to his feet. He offered her his hand.

  “I had to be sure,” he explained, as she took it and he hauled her to her feet. “Come.”

  Releasing her hand, he headed out the door, breaking into a swift and silent lope as soon as he hit the street beyond. Brianda scurried to catch up, matching her stride to his so she ran at his heels.

  He didn’t look back, but his warning rang in her ears, and she could still feel the phantom touch of the dagger at her wrist. The thought of running the other way didn’t even cross her mind. This was part of the testing process—and her master had said that every guild had one. The question was how many steps there were in this guild’s process.

  Their run took them down backstreets that she recognized as being part of the merchant’s sector. Those streets looked different, now they weren’t crowded with delivery carts being loaded and unloaded and runners dashing from store to customer or customer to store with special orders.

  They smelt better, too, since the street sweepers had had time to do their jobs.

  Brianda followed the guildsman closely, tired from the long day of running, but not willing to give up. Their footsteps, as soft as they were, echoed off the shop doors and walls, but no one parted the curtains of the homes above the stores. At this time of night, most figured it was better not to know.

  Still, there was movement on the roofs above them, and she was sure she’d caught sight of someone taking cover in the shadows of a loading bay. Before she could draw the guildsman’s attention to it, however, he slowed.

  Brianda slowed with him, doing her best to get her breathing under control so she could listen as he was. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, and heard the sounds that had him coming to a halt and drawing his sword.

  He pivoted slowly, his eyes scanning the shadows, stepping around her so that she was always at his back. Brianda appreciated the show of trust and drew her own weapon. For a moment, it was tempting to plunge it into the man’s kidney and bolt for the city walls, but the time for that had passed.

  Instead, she listened to their hunters closing, their furtive broken steps betraying each one’s location. Those came not only from the street around them, but from the rooftops, as well. Cloth rustled, and rats squeaked and skittered away in panic.

  As she set her back to the guildsman’s Brianda heard the soft hiss of blades being drawn.

  “Guildsman?”

  The shadows answered for her. They moved out of the dark, coalescing into human form, but cowled and cloaked so their features were hidden. Weapons glimmered with reflected lamplight as they advanced.

  It had to be a test…for her. What was it her master had said? Deverath had only one guild, which was unusual for a city its size. Most cities had four or five large guilds, who were highly territorial, but had interconnecting rules of trade. Below them were a myriad of smaller groups, some subsidiaries of the bigger ones, others operating in the cracks in between.

  No, she decided. It’s a test…it has to be a test.

  Deciding there was nothing to be gained by running, Brianda settled into a stance ready for combat. Drawing her dagger, she settled it between her fingers and waited.

  A shadow darted forward, and Brianda responded with a swift flick of her arm. She sent the dagger hissing through the dark. The shadow cried out, dropping its blade and stumbling back.

  Brianda scanned the remaining shadows, trying to anticipate which one she’d need to defend against, first.

  Laughter whispered softly from the dark.

  “First blood to Bloodbriar,” a voice stated, and a chill swept over her.

  Bloodbriar… It was her father’s name…her elven father’s name, and one both her master and her mother had kept secret from the world at large. But how?

  Brianda glanced toward the voice, but her prime concern were the other attackers. They had paused at the voice, but were now advancing. The voice’s source was not the greatest threat, and she would deal with it later.

  That was what she thought, until she heard it shift from amusement to a chant. The air around fizzed with energy, and Brianda leapt to one side.

  “Caster!” she shouted, not sure if the Northman would react in time.

  The spell struck as she leapt clear, but Brianda hit the cobbles and rolled into a second dive, one that took her past the closest shadows to a wall. She rolled to her feet and turned. Without the guildsman, the wall was her next best chance.

  She looked for him, catching sight of his large figure. Their smaller attackers had him surrounded, and more converged on him from the dark. His sword swept back and forth, glittering as it parried and thrust.

  He was reversing toward a wall of his own, but it didn’t look like he’d reach it.

  Brianda contemplated making a break for the city gates, then decided against it. Firstly, because this probably was a test…and, secondly, because she’d made a commitment and the conditions hadn’t been met.

  She stepped away from the wall, parrying a thrust in her direction and sliding closer to the guildsman’s enemies. Soon, she was fighting on two fronts, but holding her own and blessing her master’s insistence she learn how to fence.

  She was so focused on her opponents, that she failed to hear the growth of a second chant. Her next attack brought a shout of pain from one of the Northman’s opponents. He pivoted to face her and their blades met in a savage clash.

  Another of their attackers turned away from the Northman, and Brianda found herself facing three.

  Maybe I didn’t think this through…

  Cloth tore and pain seared her side. A fourth attacker had flanked her, stepping out of the shadows to strike her from behind. Brianda pivoted, lashing out as she turned. Her sword sliced across the top of her new attacker’s arm, biting deeply into their flesh.

  It was a minor victory, and Brianda kept moving, diverting the slash into a parry as one of her other attackers tried to take advantage of the distraction. She registered the chant as it reached a crescendo and she turned her opponent’s blade, before trying to block another attack.

  Their blades clashed. The air fizzed around them, and he danced back, grinning. Brianda went to follow…and found she couldn’t.

  The chant died and the air grew tight around her. Her muscles locked and she couldn’t move an inch. Her opponent stepped forward, blade raised, and more of their assailants closed.

  Fighting the spell didn’t make any difference. No matter how hard she strained against it, the magic wouldn’t give. It locked her muscles tight, holding her at the mercy of her attackers. Sweat broke out over her skin, and she grunted with the effort.

  Once again, laughter whispered out of the dark. It was followed by a short, sharp whistle. That stopped her attackers in their tracks, and they glanced toward its source. A second whistle followed, and they sheathed their blades, exchanging hand slaps and brief smiles, before disappearing down the street and into the alleys and shadows.

  A familiar large shape came into her field of vision, and she moved her eyes trying to get a better look. He said nothing, just laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and turned her to face the dark mouth of a loading bay. A hand gesture followed, directing her gaze.

  Brianda flicked her eyes from the guildsman to the squared-up patch of darkness. At first there was nothing, then she registered movement. Black shuddered against the shadows. Dark blue shimmered through it, and then separated to reveal another figure.

  Slender and tall, it was hidden beneath a dark blue-black cloak. As it stepped forward, it pushed the cowl back from its head revealing sharp-edged features that sent fear coursing through Brianda’s limbs. Her cry choked in her throat, and the newcomer lifted his face toward her.

  Amber eyes regarded her from his finely-chiseled face. Elven features, sharp as a tree-thorn cat’s, showed clearly beneath a skin blotched in green and brown. A mane of hair the color of pale straw glowed softly in the moonlight, two vivid streaks of blue marring its golden gleam.

  The sight had Brianda struggling against the magic binding her with all her strength.

  Kevarag! Kevarag, kevarag, kevarag! The warning screamed through Brianda’s mind like an alarm, stories fleeting through memory, but something else rose, too, her master’s voice.

  “Enshul, goddess of night and shadows,” he’d said, “blesses those who win her favor by touching their heads and turning a lock of their hair blue.”

  “She does?”

  “She does…and she denies them the ability to conceal it, marking them as her own. It is both a sign of protection and possession, for who would interfere with a goddess’s claim?”

  Brianda remembered chuckling at that. “And who would try to harm what is hers?” she’d added, winning a rare smile from her master.

  The blue streaks caught her eye and held it.

  Favored by Enshul, one part of her head thought, and was countered by the other. Beast elf.

  Brianda didn’t know if she wanted to flee or fight. Sweat beaded her face as she tried to break free of the spell enfolding her.

  “Be still.” The elvish words were accented by a darker tongue and she flinched. The priest…guildmaster? Whoever he was, he glided closer, and Brianda’s instincts turned to flight.

  “Be still,” the kevarag told her, in soothing tones. “If I’d meant you harm, you’d be feeling it by now.”

  This much was true. She knew it was true, but it was hard to stop fighting to get free, hard to reject her mind’s demands to run. She kept her eyes on the guildmaster’s face, flinching as he allowed himself a slight smile, then switched to Common.

  “Grunwol,” he said, addressing the guildsman. “You will bring her to the guild hall and await me there.”

  “Master.” The guildsman bowed his head.

  A soft gasp echoed through the dark, and guildmaster and Northman snapped their heads toward it.

  “Mika.” Again, the guildmaster’s voice was quiet…and, yet again, it carried an order.

  Brianda listened as the man concealed in the shadows shifted to face him.

  “Master?”

  “Bring yourself and Aral. Come within the hour and I will tend those wounds.”

  “Master,” the guildsman acknowledged.

  There was relief and gratitude in the man’s voice and Brianda watched the shadows thin as those filling it moved away.

  The guildmaster stepped back into the loading dock’s shadow. For a moment, Brianda was sure she saw him pause and lift a hand in her direction. She couldn’t be certain, but he vanished between one breath and the next, and the spell around her was gone.

  The Northman caught her as she wobbled unsteadily. His hand curled around her bicep, stilling her instinctive lunge into flight. Brianda gasped, pulling against him for a second, then realizing what she was doing.

  She froze, pulling in several long breaths in an attempt to calm herself.

  A familiar laugh whispered softly out of the darkness and was swiftly gone. When only the night remained, the Northman released her arm.

  “Remember,” he told her, nodding toward the sword she held in one hand.

  It reminded her she’d thrown her dagger, and she wondered if she’d be able to get it back. She couldn’t even remember if it had hit its target. A quick scan showed it wasn’t on the ground.

  Brianda nodded shortly, sheathing her sword, and trying not regret the empty scabbard where her dagger usually sat. Her hands shook, and she hoped the Northman hadn’t noticed.

  Perhaps the guildmaster would be better than Sussurianakshan… Perhaps.

  He can hardly be worse, she told herself, as a shudder ran through her. Very little could.

  “This way,” the Northman ordered, stepping into the loading area and leading her into the narrow alley concealed in its shadow.

  Trapping her fear behind a will of iron, Brianda followed. What had her master said?

  “If you cannot escape them, join them. We’ll figure out where to go from there.”

  That’s all very well and good, she thought, but what am I to do, now you’re dead?