Vincent paced in circles, while Forzenay remained stretched out on the flat straw mat, staring up at the marble ceiling. Stripe’s feet were positioned away from the wall as he repetitively lowered then lifted his body to and from the wall, and Kidder gripped the iron bars and stared forward, employing what he called a mind over matter exercise. “How’s that going?” Vincent asked dryly.
Stripe grunted. “Almost at five hundred.”
“Not you. Mind over matter.”
The heavy dungeon door squeaked open and several men were heard approaching. Vincent stopped pacing. Forzenay stood. Stripe pushed upright and shook out his arms. Kidder did not move or react.
“You’re invited to dine with Folworth tonight,” one of the guards announced.
Kidder finally relaxed. He glanced back at Stripe. “We’re invited to dine.”
“I don’t have a thing to wear,” Stripe returned worriedly.
“Is it a holiday?” Forzenay asked the guards. “We’ve lost track of the days.”
The door to Forzenay and Vincent’s cell swung open with a screech. “No holiday,” a guard barked. “Let’s go.”
As Vincent walked past the armed guards, he noticed the manner in which they gripped their weapons with white-knuckled tension. Their reputation had never been such a liability, he thought wryly.
“Keep some distance between them,” one guard commanded another.
Vincent heard the second cell door open and a guard warned, “Don’t try anything.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Kidder replied. “I’m hungry.”
Despite the strain, Vincent cracked a grin. They were led to the main level, which was considerably warmer and he felt his muscles respond to it. He had not fully realized how cold he was. “What did you say the occasion was?” he asked.
“Shut up,” the guard closest to him snapped.
The knot in Vincent’s belly warned they were at a crucial juncture. This was no casual invitation. Either they would be set free or they would be murdered.
“In there,” a soldier said.
Vincent segued into a dining hall where a long table was set with food and drink and at least two dozen men sat waiting for them. Denyson Folworth, positioned at the head of the table, stood and lifted a goblet of wine as if salute. “Come in. Sit. There are places for you there,” he said, gesturing to the empty, set places.
Vincent moved to one of the four open places. Either let go or murdered, he thought again. The knot in his belly indicated the latter, but why invite them to dine first?
“Sit, sit,” Folworth urged pleasantly.
Vincent sat as did the others, all of them still looking around the room at the men in attendance. Warriors, every one.
A heavy hush filled the air. “Before we begin,” Folworth said, “an explanation and a toast.”
Every eye was on the four of them, Vincent realized, except for Livingston, who was seated to Folworth’s immediate left. His gaze was directed at the table directly in front of him. His expression was stoic, his posture rigid. He had made assurances they would be treated as guests and that they would have their weapons returned. Livingston did not care for the way things currently stood; that much was evident. Not that it mattered a great deal.
“I have certain ambitions,” Folworth began slowly. “In fact, I believe I have a destiny to fulfill. And, it has come to be known that a few men could conceivably stand in the way of that fulfillment. A famous seer, perhaps even a wise man, conveyed that you are some of the few.”
“No offense intended,” Stripe spoke up, “but I’d rather drink than listen. Is the wine poisoned?”
Folworth smiled, which seem to give leave for other men to do the same. A few even chuckled. Livingston, Vincent noticed, did not have the slightest reaction. Was his conscience causing him discomfort?
“Yes, it is,” Folworth replied pleasantly.
Vincent jerked his gaze to Folworth.
“Ah. Then I’ll listen,” Stripe said casually, causing another titter of amusement.
“So we are invited to sup so that he might poison us,” Forzenay remarked. He looked pointedly at Folworth. “Were there not easier ways?”
“Not really,” Folworth replied. “Besides, we have great respect for you. It is also a way to pay tribute.”
“Thank you,” Vincent replied dramatically.
A few of the men around the table smiled at the unexpected humor, despite the heavy tension in the air. Vincent was aware, of course, as were the others, of the guards who had silently filed in behind them.
“And if we decline?” Kidder asked.
“The men standing directly behind you will run you through,” Folworth explained. “Although you are cordially invited to eat first. We really would enjoy hearing some of your exploits.”
Vincent glanced back and saw at least eight men with blades at the ready.
“There are only four of us,” Kidder remarked.
Folworth chuckled. “The wine is actually quite delicious, the poison painless. And you may eat while you’re able. It’s not a bad way to die.”
“There are worse,” Stripe agreed. He looked over at Folworth with a hard expression. “We’ve seen them.”
The humor disappeared from Folworth’s face. He sat and reached for his own goblet before speaking again. “So, what is your decision, then? How will you die?”
Kidder made a face. “Remind me. Was in our beds when we’re old men one of the choices?”
“I told them they would have their weapons back,” Livingston said quietly. In the still room, it was heard clearly by all.
“Yes, but that was before you knew my wishes,” Folworth said through gritted teeth, not bothering to look at Livingston.
“True. But I gave my word.”
Folworth glared at him. “Would you care for some wine, Leif? I notice you didn’t partake.”
Livingston looked back at Folworth, his face impassive. “I would not, but thank you for the offer.”
Vincent noticed the shift in attention and the immediate rise of the level of tension in the room. All eyes were now focused on the conversation at the end of the table. He felt a tap from under the table and jerked. Something was set in his lap. Slowly, he reached for it. A dagger! But who—
“Honor is important to some of us,” Leif stated.
The atmosphere had quickly grown thick and uncomfortable. Livingston was apparently well thought of and he was causing a riff.
“You’ve made your position clear,” Folworth seethed. He was no longer bothering to conceal the animosity in his face.
“Have I?” Livingston asked. He was suddenly on his feet, his dagger pressed to Folworth’s throat. “I’m not so certain.”
“Have you gone mad?” Folworth hissed. “You are surrounded!”
A guttural cry from directly in back of them made every man jump back or up out of his seat. Vincent whirled around, brandishing the dagger that had so magically appeared, and saw some of the men behind them crumple. From behind them, dressed in the same plum-colored uniform as the rest of the guards, Graybil swung his sword into the next man.
The few unharmed guards jumped back and prepared themselves to engage him, but not only Graybil came at them, but also Forzenay and Stripe, who had weapons. Vincent and Kidder turned to ward off attackers from the front, but the roomful of men stood amazingly still. It seems they were less sure of their position with Livingston having abandoned their cause.
“We are leaving,” Livingston announced, as he forced Folworth to move toward the door. “No one is to follow.”
“Really, Leif,” Folworth said through gritted teeth. “You impress me. I didn’t think you had the gall for this little checkmate. But will you really give up everything, your life, your reputation, for these assassins?”
“I do not believe I’ll give up my reputation,” Leif replied. “I’m a man who values honor. That has not changed. Now, go.”
“Under the table,” Graybil said urgently, directing it to Vincent.
Vincent ducked to look under the table and discovered a young man was strapped to the tabletop. “That can’t be comfortable,” Vincent said as he slit the leather straps holding him in place.
“It’s not,” the young man grunted. He fell with a thud.
“Can you move?” Vincent said, as he offered a hand.
The young man quickly scooted out and jumped to his feet.
“Let’s go,” Forzenay said.
The room was filled with tension as the eight men backed out.
“You’ll be stopped,” Folworth warned.
“If so, you’ll be dead,” Livingston replied. “And so will Nadia.”
Who Nadia was, Vincent did not know, but Folworth had a definite reaction to the threat.
In the corridor, they ran forward. Livingston and Folworth were in the lead and the rest followed.
Vincent nearly jerked to a stop when he saw Ammey ahead. She was standing beside a lovely auburn-haired woman. Ammey smiled with joy and relief and he thought his heart might actually burst.
“Nadia,” Folworth exclaimed, as he was forced past her.
She refused to look at him. She looked pale and impassive, but not hostile. Not under duress.
“Did you get the horses?” Livingston called to Ammey.
“Yes!”
Vincent was antsy with curiosity. How had she come to be there? How had any of them? And who had swayed Livingston? The servants they passed drew back in fear and surprise, and the few guards they passed reached for the hilt of their swords, but then changed their minds. Outside, eight large stallions were saddled and loosely hitched.
Stripe mounted first and reached a hand down to assist Nadia. “Can you ride?”
She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted effortlessly, positioning herself behind him. “Probably better than you.”
Graybil and Josh hurriedly mounted. Vincent mounted and Ammey came directly behind him, wrapping her arms around him. He leaned back against her, hugging her arms against his chest, even as she leaned into him.
Forzenay held his dagger to Folworth’s throat at Kidder searched him. “No weapon.”
Livingston mounted.
“Here,” Ammey called. She pulled away from Vincent’s grasp to toss Forzenay a length of rope.
Kidder tied Folworth’s hands in front of him, and he and Forzenay forced him to mount. Livingston took hold of his horse’s reins and rode out.
“Go,” Forzenay shouted as he and Kidder and mounted the last horses.
They rode hard, looking back frequently, but there was no sign of riders following. They cleared the city walls and continued southward. Dusk fell and still they rode. When distant campfires were spotted, Livingston reined his horse to a stop, also stopping Folworth’s. “Dismount,” he ordered Folworth.
Vincent doubled around and circled them.
Folworth threw his leg over the horse’s head and jumped off. He turned slowly, half expecting a sword in his face, but Livingston had not drawn.
“You will die for this,” Folworth swore.
“Come after us, and she dies,” Leif warned, repositioning the reins of the spare horse around his hand.
“Harm one hair on her head and—”
“Yah,” Livingston yelled, kicking his horse into a run to catch up with the others. Vincent and Ammey followed. Her arms were tight around him, one hand resting on his chest, feeling every beat of his heart.
A half hour later, they rode into what was left of a military camp, and the blue-and-white checked flag of the free people of Azulland had never been a more welcome sight. Vincent dismounted and pulled Ammey down and into his arms. For long moments, they simply clung together. “I had such a terrible feeling that you were in danger,” he breathed into her hair.
“I’m alright.” She pulled back to look at him. “And you’re well?”
He smiled a wry smile. “They suggested we kill ourselves, but they didn’t hurt us.”
“Ammey!” a familiar voice called.
She turned and saw Dane running for her. She burst into a smile and braced herself just as he reached her and swept her off her feet.
“You’re still in one piece,” he rejoiced.
“I am,” she laughed. “Of course I am!” He set her down, but she still held onto his hands. “How is everyone?”
“They’re fine! They’re all fine.” He looked at Vincent with a smile. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“It’s good to be seen,” Vincent returned meaningfully.
“What happened with Corin?” Dane asked, looking from one to the other.
Ammey felt a pang of guilt. She had not even thought of Marko in days.
“He survived,” Vincent replied, moving a step closer to Ammey. “He’s healing in the mountains.”
“Dane,” Kidder said, moving in to clasp his hand. “It’s good to see you.”
“And you! So everyone is well?” Dane said, looking around to take in the entire group. “That’s wonderful!”
“We’re anxious for news,” Forzenay said.
“Well, let’s go get comfortable,” Dane offered. “Or as comfortable as possible. Are you hungry?”
“Yes,” Kidder replied. “We got pulled away from a lovely banquet before we got to partake of a thing.”
Dane was aware the comment was sardonic; he could tell by the expressions and exclamations of the others. He led the group forward.
“Where is everyone?” Forzenay asked.
“Mostly gone back home.” He glanced sideways at Forzenay wondering how much he knew or didn’t know. “Because it’s over. Again. Or for now.”
“Did you know that Denyson Folworth has taken over Nawllah?”
“Yes. My father and some of the others met with him and the man swears he doesn’t have designs on anything else.”
“He lies,” Livingston spoke up.
Dane came to a halt and turned to the man.
“This is Leif Livingston,” Ammey said.
“Yes. We’ve met. At the games in Qaddys.”
Leif nodded. “It’s how I knew who your sister was when I saw her.”
“What do you mean ‘he lies’?” Dane asked.
“He has designs. And, perhaps more importantly, he sees you, all of you, the Five, and the McKeafs as his enemy. That’s why he was going to execute you,” he said directing it to Forzenay. He looked at Graybil. “And he would have found you. He is a determined man, willing to do whatever he needs to do to have and hold all the power he’s been denied.”
“Did he mention my father?” Ammey asked worriedly. “Or is that a guess?”
“When I questioned the decision to execute the Five, he said the McKeaf would eventually have to die, as would those closest to him.”
“And your questioning,” Vincent said, “your noted objections, this was enough for your own death warrant.”
“He’d begun to view me as an obstacle, as well,” Leif replied.
“Welcome to being an outlaw,” Kidder spoke up.
“We’ll ride out at first light,” Forzenay said to Dane. “And I suggest you do the same.”
Dane nodded, his expression grim.
“And someone should keep a watch to the north,” Livingston spoke up. “I doubt they’ll come after us tonight, but—”
“Watch the north for riders,” Dane called to the men on guard duty.
“Yes, sir,” one called back.
Dane started them moving forward again, calling to another man for food and drink as they went. When they reached a round tent in the center of camp, he pulled back the flap. One by one, the group entered. It was close quarters, made smaller by a fire that burned in the center, the smoke exiting through a hole in the top. The only furniture was two crudely constructed tables, each with two chairs. “This wasn’t a camp built for comfort,” Dane remarked as he entered. “I’m afraid there’s not even enough chairs.”
Kidder, on the far side, sat on the canvas-covered ground with a dramatic sigh. “Trust me, this is good enough. It’s not marble.”
Stripe, having followed Nadia in, offered her one of the chairs. As she murmured her thanks, her gaze dropped to his scar a moment. Then she met his eyes again, unfazed. For him, it was an intensely sensual moment. Beautiful women almost always had a strong reaction to his scar. Usually, there was repulsion, and then they tried desperately not to look at it again. They either kept their eyes directly on his or avoided looking at him altogether. But not this woman. Not this beautiful, intriguing woman.
“Take it,” Forzenay urged Stripe, meaning the other chair at the table. Stripe accepted, marveling, as always, at how much Forzenay saw.
The others had moved in and around, most of them taking a seat on the ground. Livingston, one of the last to enter, sat in a chair, turning it to face the group and Dane did the same with the last. He looked at Nadia across the campfire and said, “Well, if no one is going to introduce us,” Dane said, looking at Nadia, “I’m Dane McKeaf.”
“Nadia Folworth,” she returned.
Her name caused a ripple of shock, and not just for him.
“Folworth?” Stripe repeated.
She looked at him across the table. “Yes.”
“Are you . . . his sister?”
“No. I was married to Henry.”
Silence.
“As in King Henry Folworth?” Kidder asked, sitting straighter. “Which would make you the queen, not to mention Denyson Folworth’s stepmother?”
“Yes.”
More silence, broken only by the sound of wood popping.
“She was taken hostage,” Leif said, “because Denyson Folworth is in love with her.”
Stripe studied her reaction to see if she had been aware of this. She had. And now the next question—was she in love with him?
“She wasn’t taken hostage,” Ammey spoke up. “Leif told me to take her captive, however I had to, and I was prepared to, but she did not resist. In fact, she helped. I honestly don’t know that I could have managed getting the horses and making it to the meeting point without her.”
“Especially with that shoulder,” Graybil said.
Vincent drew back in alarm. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”
“Nothing,” she assured him, taking hold of his hand. “I’m fine.”
Vincent turned an accusing glare on Graybil.
“Rockslide down the mountain after the quake,” Graybil said. “Her shoulder was dislocated, but Ulima fixed it.”
Vincent continued to frown. “A rockslide?”
Fortunately, to Ammey’s way of thinking, two men entered with platters of beef and cabbage wrapped in flatbread. It was crowded enough that the tray had to be passed person to person. Mugs of ale were also passed around.
“So, who’s going to start with a more detailed explanation?” Dane asked when everyone had food and drink. “Stripe?”
Nadia gasped softly and surreptitiously glanced at Stripe. She seemed bothered by his name, which gave him a queer thrill. “Certainly,” he accepted.
“What rockslide?” Vincent asked Ammey before Stripe could begin. “Was it when you left Ice Creek?”
“Wait,” Dane said. “Why were you in Ice Creek? Someone start from the beginning. From when you left the Forge.”
“I’ll start,” Kidder offered. “We rode hard and made it there in, what, ten or eleven days?”
Vincent nodded. “And, as fate would have it, we met up with Forzenay and Stripe.”
“We’d gotten the message to go north,” Forzenay said. “We did, and found Mehr Pechaco, Corin’s cousin, crucified and near death. We did not think he would survive it, but he did, and he told us about the siege on the palace. He also provided maps of secret passageways within the palace that we used when we arrived and met up with our other half.”
“Marko Corin had been tortured,” Stripe took over. “He was in the dungeon, I thought he was dead.”
“We all thought he was dead,” Forzenay agreed.
“So,” Dane said, “you broke into the palace, got yourselves to the dungeon, rescued a nearly-dead Marko Corin, escaped with him, and went to Ice Creek.”
Forzenay grinned. “To make a long story short.”
Dane barked a laugh. “I’m quite sure that’s not all the story.”
“No, it’s not,” Livingston agreed. “Not by a long shot.” He looked at Nadia, clearly troubled. “I’m largely responsible for your being here and I will see you safely to wherever you want to go. I never meant the threats I made.”
“I know,” she replied calmly.
“You cannot be mad enough to return to Nawllah,” Graybil said to Livingston. “It would be suicide.”
Leif looked back at Nadia, resolute. “Do you wish to return to Nawllah?”
“No,” she replied firmly and without hesitation. “I went there for one reason, for an answer, and I received it.” She paused. “Did you know he had his father murdered?”
Everyone looked to Leif.
“He never said so,” Leif replied reluctantly. “But I suspected it.”
“Could you not have stopped him?” Nadia asked, clearly aggrieved.
“No one could have stopped him,” Livingston replied regretfully. “None of us knew it was his intention. In fact, he denied it was his intention.”
Forzenay was highly disturbed. “Denyson Folworth had his father murdered?”
“Yes,” Nadia declared.
“This is certain?” Forzenay pushed.
She nodded. “He admitted it. I forced the issue and he admitted it. He had the pages of a book poisoned before it was presented to his father.”
The tent grew silent again as everyone considered this. Joshua, who had sat captivated, watched everyone with unabashed fascination.
“So,” Graybil said, breaking the silence. “That’s the next chapter of our book, I suppose. Defeating Folworth.”
Vincent gave him a look. “I thought your next chapter was spring planting.”
“Wouldn’t it be nice if that were the next chapter for all of us,” Graybil returned.
The mood had taken a turn that allowed them to go back to eating and, in doing so, conversation splintered into more intimate groupings.
“Do you wish to return to Qaddys?” Stripe asked Nadia, shifting to face her across the table.
She looked aghast at the thought. “No.” She also turned to fully face him. “I have no wish to go there.” She paused, considering what more to say. “My brother inherited the family estate, and I’m sure he would welcome me back.”
“But you don’t look happy about that prospect.”
“Happiness is not a gift offered to everyone,” she said solemnly.
Stripe reached for his ale. “Have you ever heard of Stonewater Forge? I haven’t been myself yet, but I hear it’s a rather wonderful place.” Was it his imagination or had a spark of hope flared in her face? He took a sip. “We are headed there, if you’d care to join us.”
“I have heard of it,” she replied with a quiet intensity. “And I would very much like to see it, if you think I’d be welcome.”
“I do.” He glanced over at Ammey, but she was deep in conversation with Vincent. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”