CHAPTER SIXTEEN

WE’RE MAKING PROGRESS, BUT THERE JUST aren’t enough workers to do everything that has to be done,” Dawe said as he, Blaine, and Kestel rode out toward the farm fields surrounding Glenreith. Four guards on horseback hung back far enough to allow them privacy for their conversation but remained near enough should trouble arise. A few days had passed since the wedding, and it was time to get back to work.

“The last few years have gone hard on everyone, but the villages and farms are especially short on young men to do the hardest work,” Dawe continued. While Blaine and the others had gone to war, Dawe had remained at Glenreith, helping to fix up the manor and working with the farmers and residents to plant crops, brew ale, and begin the long process of repairing what war and the Cataclysm had destroyed.

“If the men didn’t go off to the Meroven War, they ended up fighting for one warlord or another, or getting killed defending their land from bandits,” Dawe went on. “A lot of people got killed in the Great Fire. Add it all together, and it’s a real problem. The women are trying to pick up the pieces. Even the old people and the children are working in the fields, helping rebuild houses and barns and bridges, harvesting crops. But it’s slow going,” Dawe said. “Last winter, a lot of people went hungry, because the war destroyed the harvest. We’re trying to keep that from happening again, but it’s a tough job.”

“We?” Kestel asked.

Dawe nodded. He brushed a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. “Edward and I have been meeting with anyone who would take the time to talk to us. We’ve gone looking for the guild masters, farmers, brewers, and millers who survived, and got them talking about what it would take to get things running again.”

“And?” Blaine raised an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s damn overwhelming, that’s what it is,” Dawe said. “You don’t think about all the pieces that have to be in place just to have a village work or a farm function, but when those pieces aren’t there, it all falls apart. So Edward and I meet every couple of weeks with a group from the surrounding villages. We send soldiers to help with rebuilding or plowing or fixing roads. Niklas put us in touch with Folville in Castle Reach, because they’ve had food shortages in the city and there’s naught left to steal to make up for it.”

“You’re working with Folville? Since when?”

Dawe grinned. “You didn’t think the rest of us were just sitting on our hands while you were off fighting, did you? Niklas ordered Captain Henderson to be our liaison right before your big battle on the Northern Plains. He has a group of residents, mostly older women, who gather the concerns and tell us what’s going on in the city. Sooner or later—hopefully sooner—the countryside needs to start trading again with Castle Reach, as well as the other villages. But you can’t have trade if the roads aren’t safe and if there aren’t any goods to sell.”

“You’ve been busy,” Kestel said. “I knew you were more than just a pretty face,” she jibed.

Dawe laughed. “Don’t discount the power of a pretty face. Judith and Mari meet with the women just as often as Edward and I meet with the men, figuring out where to get seeds, what crops to plant, how to get cloth production going again, how best to preserve what’s harvested and get trade functioning so people can at least barter for what they need.”

Blaine chuckled. “I’m impressed. How’s it going?”

Dawe shrugged. “Slowly. And that’s one of the problems. The seasons don’t wait for people to sort out their problems. If we miss the opportunity to plant, it’s gone for another year. When the Cataclysm destroyed barns, the livestock ran off. A lot of the cows and pigs and sheep and horses got killed by predators or stolen by armies—including yours,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “We’ve been gathering up the ones we can find and breeding them, but that’s a slow process. People ate their seed for the spring. Makes it hard to plant crops when there’s precious little seed to be had. So the older women have been training the children on how to find plants that can be eaten, and how to gather seeds.” He sighed. “There’s far too much to be done, and not enough time to do it, but we’re working hard.”

“So this group we’re riding to meet with, they’re one of yours?” Blaine asked.

Dawe nodded. “Since you’re at Glenreith for a little while at least, Edward and I figured it would be a good idea to let people see their lord—and maybe their future king—taking an interest.”

“I am the most bedraggled lord anyone has ever seen,” Blaine said. Like everyone in Donderath since the Great Fire, Blaine was dressed in worn, patched, and scavenged clothing that had seen far better days.

“You know, it’s gotten so bad that most people strip the dead before burying them so the clothing can be reused,” Dawe said.

Kestel’s eyes widened. “Really? That happened in Velant, and on the battlefield, but I didn’t expect regular people to do that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Dawe said. “Judith has led outings to find and bring back stray sheep, and she’s organized the women into spinning and weaving groups. But sheep only grow wool so fast, and by now, every abandoned house has already been looted.”

“Remind me to thank Aunt Judith for sparing us from becoming a kingdom of naked savages,” Blaine said. “Funny how no one thinks of these things when they start a war.”

“No one ever believes they’re going to lose,” Dawe replied. “Certainly not on the scale that actually happened.”

“You’ll be meeting with a fellow named Burnion,” Dawe said. “He’s been willing to work with us, and he seems to be able to get the others to cooperate, but lately I’ve been getting the sense that there’s some friction going on behind the scenes,” Dawe added.

“And the others?” Blaine asked.

Dawe shrugged. “Same mix of people you’d find anywhere,” he said. “A handful willing to lead, some very hard workers, and the rest who do the least they can.”

“Meaning there are some people who aren’t completely on board with the changes?” Kestel prodded.

Dawe frowned. “I’m not sure. It might just be a family squabble.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Blaine said. “I’ll tread lightly.”

Both Blaine and Kestel wore thin chain-mail shirts beneath their traveling clothes. Kestel, as usual, had a variety of knives hidden in her clothing, close at hand. Blaine wore his sword and had both a long knife on his belt and a dagger in his boot. Dawe, who by his own admission was better at forging swords than using them, wore only a long knife and a shiv. Just in case, Blaine wore the amulet the battle mages had made for him before the fight on the Northern Plains, one that caused dangerous magic to slide aside, deflected. Kestel’s amulet, hidden beneath the neckline of her tunic, was a magical null, able to ground a blast of magic or temporarily dampen a mage’s power in physical contact.

They rode to a village half a candlemark from Glenreith. Unlike in other parts of Donderath, the fences and barns were recently repaired, the fields were knee-high with crops instead of weeds, and the livestock looked healthy.

“All this is your doing?” Kestel said appreciatively, looking around at the change. “I remember riding through here last winter, on the way to battle. Everything was ruined and deserted.”

Dawe’s grin widened. “Yep. There are a few other villages doing well, and we’ve encouraged them to work together. It’s a big improvement—and a huge amount of work.”

The entire population of Penwich awaited them when they rode into the village. Fifteen gray-haired men and women stood at the fore. Behind them, townspeople of every age gathered, scrubbed clean and turned out looking their best, for the lord’s approach. Children peered out of windows and climbed up balconies, and half a dozen ran shouting from the outskirts of the village when Blaine and his small group rode into sight.

Dawe and the others brought their horses to a halt in front of the group. Blaine’s guards remained at a respectful distance.

An old man with a shock of unruly white hair stepped forward and made a deep bow. “Lord and Lady McFadden,” he said. “Welcome to Penwich. We are honored by your visit. Lady Judith and Sir Dawe have told us much about you.” He gave another low bow. “I am Burnion, senior speaker for Penwich.”

Blaine inclined his head in response. “Greetings, Burnion, and greetings, residents of Penwich.” He hoped that Kestel was the only one able to tell how uncomfortable he was speaking as a lord to his subjects.

“We’re honored that you’ve come to visit,” Burnion said. “And if you will permit, we would like to show what we have accomplished.”

Kestel smiled at the reference to ‘Sir Dawe,’ and Blaine was certain Dawe would take a ribbing for it in private, later.

“Sir Dawe has told me much about how hard you’ve worked,” Blaine replied. “I would very much like to see the improvements you’ve made.”

Burnion led them on a walk through the village and its fields, narrating the progress. Fields were planted, livestock grazed behind newly split fences, barns and homes showed recent patching. At each place they stopped, someone from the village presented Blaine with a gift: dried meat, a tanned hide, a wooden statue of Charrot made by a local wood-carver, a pair of iron tongs from the village forge. Dawe must have expected the tribute, because he had a basket at the ready and instructed one of the guards to carry the gifts after Blaine inspected them and praised their workmanship.

Blaine knew how to play his part. The villagers were struggling, and could ill afford the gifts, humble as they were. Yet the village needed its pride, and his acknowledgment validated what had been done, and would likely increase their cooperation. So he smiled and thanked them, and silently promised himself to make certain that Dawe received equivalent supplies to replace what was being given.

The women of the village were curious about Kestel, hanging back a few steps to watch her, speaking in hushed tones to each other. They were not used to seeing a woman in tunic and trews like a man, and her appearance—and her reputation—was likely to give the villagers something to talk about for a long time.

A woman with short gray hair came forward and made an awkward curtsy to Kestel. She looked to be in her middle years. Kestel bet she was one of the village ‘wise women,’ who presided over births and burials, weddings and ceremonies, often wielding significant but quiet power.

“My Lady Kestel,” the woman said. “I am Merian, head of the weavers. I offer a gift for you, from the women of Penwich.” In her arms was a neat bundle of wool cloth, which she presented proudly. “Made from the wool of our own sheep, dyed, spun, and woven here. May it keep you warm in the winter.”

Kestel’s smile was sincere. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the gift and looking it over closely, remarking on the evenness of the dye and the careful weaving. The women beamed with pride. “Your work is very well done.”

As Burnion led them around the village, most of the residents followed a short distance behind. A few villagers hung back. They said nothing and made no move to disrupt, yet they stood apart, and their expressions were skeptical, if not exactly unwelcoming. Blaine exchanged a glance with Dawe, who gave a nod of acknowledgment.

Burnion led them to the largest building in the town, an old barn that still showed signs of hardship. “I apologize that we have no finer place to receive you, but our people wanted to hear what you have to say, and this was the only building large enough.”

“I welcome having them stay,” Blaine replied. Villagers standing toward the back craned their necks for a better look at their lord and his new wife. None of these villagers were likely to have ever seen their lord, either Blaine or his father, except at a distance, and perhaps not even then. Blaine was also well aware that even in a village like Penwich, stories of his crime, exile, and role in restoring the magic were probably well known and oft repeated. Some might even have heard rumors of Kestel’s exploits before her exile. No wonder they’re so anxious to have a look at their convict lord and his assassin-courtesan wife, Blaine thought.

Dawe traded nods and smiles with a number of the villagers as they walked to the front. As Dawe looked over the group, he paused, just for a second, when his gaze fell on a man in his middle years sitting in the back of the room.

“What’s the matter?” Blaine asked under his breath.

“Just spotted someone I’ve never seen before. That’s odd. I thought by now I’d met everyone in Penwich.”

Dawe took the chance to murmur a question to Burnion when they reached the front. “Says he’s a hedge witch who showed up not long after my last visit. Made himself useful curing sick cows, and they let him stay.”

“Something wrong with that?”

Dawe shook his head, but his expression was still thoughtful. “No, just surprised. We don’t get a lot of strangers through here.”

Two mismatched, carved wooden chairs sat in the middle of the barn floor behind a battered wooden worktable. Burnion escorted Blaine and Kestel to their seats.

Dawe stood to Blaine’s right, and two of the guards took up places directly behind Blaine and Kestel, while the other guards stood at a discreet distance. Their presence was not missed by the villagers, who nudged each other and nodded toward the soldiers and their swords.

Burnion clapped his hands, and a line of women bearing food came from the shadows.

“Sir Dawe let it be known that we were not to do anything that might run us short, and that m’lord would be most displeased if that were to happen,” Burnion said, glancing from Dawe to Blaine as if to confirm.

Blaine nodded. “Sir Dawe is correct. We would not have you go hungry just to honor us. You have made us very welcome already.”

Burnion puffed with pride. “Thank you, m’lord. You are most gracious. But you have come a distance to meet with us, and we would not want to be poor hosts. So if you will permit, a humble offering to you and to Sir Dawe, from what has been raised so far this year. Our women will be honored if you would dine with us. And of course,” he added, “we have provisions for your guards as well.”

When Blaine nodded once more, the women began to set one dish after another on the table in front of Blaine and Kestel. A vegetable stew’s thin broth tasted of herbs from kitchen gardens. Fresh-baked bread, still warm enough to melt butter, filled a basket. Village-brewed ale flowed to fill their tankards, and another basket of honey cakes finished the bounty.

Kestel lifted each dish in turn, inhaling their aromas with deep appreciation. Only Blaine and Dawe knew that she was using her well-honed senses as an assassin to check for poison. “These smell wonderful,” she said, putting the small cakes back on the table as she finished. “Your cooks have presented a noble feast. We appreciate sharing your table.”

I never got to see Kestel operate at court, Blaine thought. And I know she didn’t come from noble blood. But she plays her part as if she were born to it. I hope I do as well.

As they ate, a small group of ragged children filed forward and shyly assembled into a line. On Burnion’s nod, they sang a song popular before the Cataclysm. Blaine, Kestel, and Dawe clapped appreciatively when the children finished, and the blushing singers ran for the shelter of their parents’ arms.

Next came a group of pretty young women carrying bundles of freshly cut flowers. Smiling and blushing, eyes downcast and self-conscious, the women heaped the flowers on the table and made a deep, practiced curtsy before backing away to join the crowd once more.

“I warned you,” Dawe murmured to Blaine under his breath. Blaine felt himself growing impatient with the ritual, wishing they could get to the matter at hand. Did King Merrill feel like this? Blaine wondered. Gods above, everywhere he went, people carried on with gifts and ceremony. How did he manage without grinding his teeth down to nothing?

Finally, half a dozen musicians assembled with homemade flutes and drums to play several songs popular before Blaine’s exile. The minstrels carried a tune well and played with enthusiasm. Blaine, Kestel, and Dawe clapped lavishly when they finished.

By this time, Blaine, Kestel, and Dawe had finished eating. Two men stepped up to move the table so that Blaine and Kestel sat facing the villagers, who had taken seats on the barn floor.

For most of a candlemark, Burnion, Merian, and Jocus, of the village elders, recounted the village’s challenges and successes. Blaine heard them out, listening intently and asking questions. He had come prepared to pledge them what few additional resources he could spare, and while both men and material were scarce, Burnion and the others were grateful for the extra help.

So far, so good, Blaine thought. Is that it?

Burnion clapped his hands, and four men dragged two prisoners to the front.

Both of the bound men had been roughed up, with bloody noses, split lips, and eyes purpled and swollen.

“My lord,” Burnion said, a tinge of shame in his voice. “I am sorry to have to bring this matter before you. But we have caught these two men destroying property in the village, a grave matter, given how hard we have worked to rebuild what was damaged.”

“What did they do?” Blaine asked, studying the men. Something about the way they moved was not quite right. Both men fought against the ropes that secured their ankles and wrists. Their eyes were wide and unfocused, and their faces twisted in rage.

“We fought monsters,” one of the men shouted, before Burnion could speak. “Monsters that came out of the ground, out of the trees. Monsters in the cattle, hiding there. Monsters hiding in the fields. We had to stop the monsters. Don’t you see? They’re all around.”

“Monsters in the cows, monsters in people,” the second man chimed in. “Have to stop the monsters.”

Their tirade was cut short as the guards shoved rags in their mouths. Even gagged, they tried to shout through the cloth, struggling against their bonds.

“My lord,” Burnion began. “Teron and Rav are sons of this village. They’ve never caused problems before. They were too young to fight in the war, so they stayed and helped the village during the Bad Year. Then a week ago, they took sick.” Burnion shook his head. “We feared for their lives. They were fevered for three days, before the healer could break the sickness. They seemed to recover. Then last night, they lost their minds.”

“What do you mean?” Blaine asked. “What did they do?”

“They slit the throats of four of my sheep,” one villager man shouted from the audience.

“Killed my best calf,” yelled another.

“Tried to set my shed on fire, after I’d only just built it,” cried a third.

“Knocked down the fences around half of the east field,” a woman put in. “My son saw them, but he couldn’t catch them before they ran away.”

“There were other damages done as well,” Burnion said with a sigh. “They fought us when we tried to stop them. It took quite a fight to capture them. They were brought to me in the middle of the night, and we questioned them until dawn. But all they will say is that they were fighting monsters.”

“Nothing wrong with my cow,” the owner said from where he sat in the crowd.

“My sheep weren’t no monsters, neither.”

“What about my shed? And the fences?”

Blaine and Kestel exchanged a glance. We’ve seen enough monsters ourselves. Could there be something to their stories?

“Has anyone else seen monsters?” Blaine asked.

He looked out over the crowd to see heads shaking. “No, m’lord,” Burnion replied somberly. “We remember the magic beasts. We feared they might have returned. But we found nothing. No footprints, no strange trails through the grass. We set a watch, but there’s been no sign of any monsters at all.”

“Remove the gag from that one,” Blaine said, pointing to the prisoner who spoke first. “I would question him.”

Warily, one of the village men removed Teron’s gag. Blaine’s own guards moved closer, hands on the pommels of their swords. Kestel shifted slightly in her chair, and Blaine was certain she had a weapon at the ready.

“Where are your monsters?” Blaine asked the prisoner.

“All around us,” Teron said, his eyes rolling skyward as his head lolled in a circle. “You can’t see them, but they’re out there. They’re tricky. They hide inside things, where they can’t be found. But Rav and me have special eyes. We can see them even when they hide.” The pupils of his eyes were wide.

“How long have you been able to see monsters?” Kestel asked, leaning forward to study the men more closely.

“Not long,” Teron replied, shifting his attention to Kestel with the intense focus of a rabid dog. “Couldn’t stand to see them for too long. It’s Charrot’s hand on us. We’re his soldiers. Tells us where the monsters are.”

“They’re either drugged or magicked,” Kestel murmured to Blaine. “I’d bet money on it.”

“Could it be the gods speaking to them?” Burnion asked. “M’lord, are they speaking the truth about monsters we can’t see, in our herds and hiding in the rocks and trees?”

Kestel stood up. “Let me examine them,” she said. “I know something of these things.”

“What are you doing?” Blaine murmured.

“Trust me,” she said, and turned her full attention on the prisoner as she stepped down from the small stage.

She pointed to Teron. “Bring him to his feet.” The two village guards grabbed Teron by the shoulders and dragged him to stand. Kestel moved close enough to look the young man in the eyes. As an assassin, Kestel was well versed in poisons and potions. Up close, she could smell Teron’s breath and the odor of his skin, signs that he might have been drugged.

“Are there monsters in you, pretty lady?” Teron asked, watching Kestel with a smile that sent a chill down Blaine’s back. “Let me see. I’m good at killing monsters.”

Teron bucked against his captors, and lunged at Kestel. She blocked him with her left hand as her right moved up from her side, suddenly holding a dagger. But as her hand touched Teron, the man froze. His entire body went rigid, and his eyes focused on Kestel. In his gaze, Blaine saw terror and confusion.

“What’s going on? Why am I tied up? Who are you?” Teron cried out. His eyes lost their too-wide, unfocused look, and the young man’s gaze darted from one person to another, trying to make sense of his situation.

“Tell me about the monsters,” Kestel ordered, keeping her hand on Teron’s chest.

“Monsters? What—”

Rav tore free from his guard and slammed against Kestel, breaking her contact with Teron. Teron gave a strangled cry. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the floor. Blaine moved with Rav’s guard to control the prisoner, who was twisting and kicking with all his might. Kestel knelt beside Teron.

“He’s dead,” she said, looking up at Burnion and the guards. “There’s no reason—”

“Let me through. I might be able to help.” The hedge witch scrambled out of the crowd and pushed his way toward the group huddled around the two prisoners. Teron’s guards stepped back to let him closer. By now, Blaine and his guards had gotten Rav subdued and returned him to the control of the two village men who held him.

Kestel moved toward Rav and stretched out her hand to touch him, when suddenly Rav stiffened and screamed, then dropped motionless to the floor.

“They’ve been magicked,” Kestel said loudly, and the crowd exclaimed in dismay.

Blaine saw the hedge witch shift his position, and dove out of the way as the man’s hand came up, sending a blast of fire toward where Blaine had just been standing.

The blast missed Blaine, but caught one of his guards full in the chest. The guard screamed and dropped to the dirt floor of the barn, rolling back and forth to extinguish the flames.

The young men who had dragged Teron and Rav to the front of the barn rushed the hedge witch. The false healer thrust his right hand out, palm open, and sent a streak of white, cold power toward the young men that hurled them a dozen feet through the air and sent them sprawling into the panicked crowd. The villagers screamed and rushed for the barn door, shoving and pushing to escape.

“Dawe! Get the others out of here!” Blaine shouted, fearing the crowd would trample each other in their rush. Dawe sprinted toward the back of the barn. Burnion shouted orders trying to get the crowd under control. Whatever the hedge witch—or mage, as Blaine suspected—was up to, Blaine wanted him to have as few targets as possible.

Blaine’s second guard grabbed Kestel’s chair and threw it at the hedge witch’s head. The mage barely paid attention, moving his left arm in an arch that brought the chair crashing down to the floor well short of its target, then making a slashing motion that threw the guard against the wall as if he were a rag doll.

“How dare you!” Burnion shouted, shaking off the restraining hand of one of Blaine’s guards and stepping toward the hedge witch. “Colter Hanne, we took you in. Welcomed you to the village. We needed a healer. You could have done well here. How dare you repay us like this?”

In response, Hanne snarled and pushed his right hand forward, sending a streak of fire toward Burnion. The older man dodged faster than Blaine would have thought possible, missing the worst of the blast, though the fire still caught Burnion on the left shoulder and he dropped to the floor, beating his hands against his burning clothing and crying out in surprise and fear.

“Why?” Blaine said, advancing on Hanne with his sword raised, trying to draw his attention from Burnion. Silver glinted as Kestel sent a dagger through the air toward Hanne’s back. The blade stopped in midair and dropped to the ground as if it struck an invisible wall.

“Because you’re here, m’lord,” Hanne replied, emphasizing that last word sarcastically.

Burnion and one guard lay on the floor, burned and moaning. The guard thrown against the wall lay still, his head twisted at an unnatural angle. Two of Blaine’s guards still stood by the doors, too far away to do more than keep onlookers out. The four men who had dragged Teron and Rav to the front had vanished along with the crowd. Dawe and Merian had gone to keep peace outside.

That left Blaine, Kestel, and one guard at the front of the room with Hanne. Blaine kept his sword raised, but did not try to move closer. Kestel was waiting for an opening. The guard stayed where he was, unwilling to charge Hanne’s magic.

“Looks like we’ve got a standoff,” Blaine said, giving Hanne a cold smile.

Hanne shook his head. “Is that how it appears? I’m just considering how best to kill you.” Hanne’s appearance had changed. He no longer stood hunched, and his limp had vanished. His face lost its look of gentle befuddlement, and he looked years younger. Intelligence and intent were clear in Hanne’s eyes.

“You were one of Quintrel’s mages,” Kestel said, “in Valshoa. That’s where I’ve seen you before.” Hanne shifted to look at her. “One of his minor ones. No one important.”

Blaine was certain the dig was intentional.

Hanne chuckled. “No, I wasn’t one of the ‘important’ mages in Valshoa. But look! They’re all gone and I’m still here.”

“Quintrel’s dead. He lost. Why keep fighting for his cause?” Kestel asked. She shifted her weight, and Hanne’s hand moved defensively. Kestel held up both hands, palms up, in a placating gesture.

“Quintrel wasn’t the only one who wanted McFadden dead,” Hanne replied.

“You just wandered over here, hoping a village would take you in?” Blaine asked incredulously. “Seems like a thin plan.”

Hanne seemed to enjoy the tension. “Does it matter? I’m here and so are you, and you’re going to die.”

“Not what I had planned for today, sorry,” Blaine said, keeping a careful eye on Hanne’s every move.

A moan sounded behind Blaine where Burnion lay. Merian appeared silhouetted in the barn door. Hanne’s back was to the door, and Merian signaled for Blaine to stay quiet. She threw a large rock against one of the barn support pillars, and dove out of sight.

Hanne flinched toward the noise. Blaine and Kestel attacked at the same instant, closing in on Hanne from each side. Blaine came at Hanne with his sword, trusting the waning power in his amulet to deflect the worst of Hanne’s magic. At least now, there are fewer people to get hit if the magic ‘slides’ to the side, Blaine thought.

Kestel had removed her amulet from around her neck and held it like a ligature between both hands as she threw herself at Hanne. She looped the leather strap around Hanne’s neck like a garrote and pulled hard with a knee against the mage’s back as Blaine struck with his blade.

The null amulet in Kestel’s hands blanked out Hanne’s magic. Hanne twisted and bucked, but Kestel was stronger than she looked.

“Careful,” she warned, “won’t take much to crush your throat now that your magic’s not working.”

Blaine brought his blade up under Hanne’s throat. “Now we’re going to find out exactly who sent you, and why.” Blaine and the guard tied up Hanne while Kestel knotted the null amulet around the mage’s throat.

She retrieved her throwing knife and gave Hanne a poke with it. “Wouldn’t have minded putting this between your shoulders,” she murmured in the captive mage’s ear. “Still might, when we’re through with you. Did you know Treven Lowrey? I cut him up good for trying to kill Blaine. And I didn’t lose a wink of sleep over it, either.”

Hanne paled and watched Kestel warily. She walked away, whistling a cheery tune, casually flipping her dagger and catching it by the handle. The guard dragged one of the chairs down from the platform and bound him to it with a length of rope.

Two soldiers from near the barn door sprinted toward Burnion and the downed guard. “Burnion’s alive,” one of the guards called out. “I’ve seen worse. A real healer could set it right. The other one is dead.”

Merian strode up to them. “The villagers are safe. If your men can bring Burnion and your guard, we will take care of them.”

Blaine nodded. “I’ll send a healer from Glenreith to help.”

“Very well,” Merian replied. She looked to Hanne, and her gaze grew icy. “I want to know what this man has to say, after we took him in and gave him our trust.” She withdrew a wicked-looking hunting knife from her skirts and, in a single movement, pressed the blade against Henne’s throat. A thin stream of blood trickled down the blade where it cut gently into the skin above his larynx.

“You brought shame on Penwich,” Merian hissed. “I’m betting you’re behind those two poor lads who did the damage. Did you magic them? Tell me!”

Henne spat in her face. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Merian removed the blade from Henne’s throat. The mage gave a victorious chuckle. Merian wheeled, bringing the knife down alongside the mage’s head, severing his ear.

“One way or the other, we intend to find out why you came here and did us harm,” Merian growled. “I’ve heard it said Lord McFadden’s talishte friends can read a man’s blood, tell all his secrets when they drink from him. We can wait until dark and find out what they learn.”

She raised the bloody knife to where Henne could see it. “Until then, I’ll whittle on you. I doubt you’ll do much magic without fingers,” she mused. “And you won’t need a tongue if the biters can read your blood. Or I could give you to Teron’s father, and Rav’s grandpap. They’re the village butchers. Ever dress a deer?” she asked idly. “You cut from here,” she said, pointing the tip of the knife to Hanne’s sternum, “to here,” she said, jabbing at his groin. “Guts fall out. Except, if you aren’t dead to start with, that won’t kill you right away. Maybe after a day or two, you’ll be more talkative.”

“I like her,” Kestel whispered to Blaine.

Hanne had grown ghostly pale. He glanced toward Blaine, then back to Merian, realizing that no one was coming to his aid and his alternatives were growing increasingly bleak.

“A talishte can read your blood until the moment of death,” Blaine said laconically. “It’s still several candlemarks until dark. I could give you to the villagers and collect what’s left of you at sundown.”

Hanne swallowed, and blood dripped from the slice across his throat and his severed ear. “What do you want to know?” he asked sullenly.

“Why are you here?” Blaine asked.

Hanne gave him a baleful look. “To kill you.”

“Why?”

“You killed Quintrel,” Hanne snarled. “You and your army killed most of the other mages who were in Valshoa.”

“Quintrel was out-of-his-head crazy,” Kestel said. “And controlled by an evil divi spirit on top of that.”

“Did someone send you?” Merian questioned. When Hanne did not answer, she raised the knife and moved toward his other ear.

“All right!” Hanne replied. “Yes. I was sent. I stayed alive because I was assigned to Hennoch’s army. After the battle, Lord Pollard took any of Quintrel’s mages who survived, and his biter friends turned any mages who had hidden in his territories.” He glared at Blaine. “You’re not the first to threaten to have a talishte read my blood.”

“Why Penwich?” Merian asked, gesturing with the knife. Hanne blanched.

“Lord Pollard sent mages with healing and hedge-witch skills to the inns and villages in McFadden’s lands,” Hanne said. “Maybe even into Castle Reach. Said we should make ourselves useful, gain their trust, keep our ears open. If we had a chance to kill McFadden or any of his friends, we were to take it.”

“But why Penwich?” Kestel repeated.

“We were invited,” Hanne said with a malicious smile.

“Who dared invite you?” Merian demanded. “Tell us, or by the gods, you’ll lose fingers until you do!”

Hanne swallowed hard. “One of Lord Pollard’s spies met someone who didn’t like the man in charge of Penwich. Thought he could do things better.”

Merian’s eyes had gone cold and hard. “Josse, that pig. Thought he’d take Burnion’s place. He’s a stupid, hateful man.” She looked at Blaine, vengeance in her gaze. “Rest assured, m’lord, this man will be punished.”

“We’re going to have to alert our people,” Kestel said. “Folville, too. They’re going to have to find the mage-traitors.”

Blaine shrugged. “Or, I can ask General Dolan to spare a few Knights of Esthrane for the job. Less chance that anyone gets hurt that way—except for the traitors.”

“And the damage, you were sent to do that as well?” Merian’s eyes were flinty.

Hanne gave a nasty smirk. “We were told to delay McFadden’s progress in any way possible. Using those two fools to do it made that easy.”

Merian dove forward before Blaine could stop her and sank the blade deep into Hanne’s gut. “One of those ‘fools’ was my grandson,” she snarled. “They were good boys, before you got a hold of them. And they’d still be alive if it weren’t for you.”

Hanne gasped in pain. Merian withdrew the blade, and wiped the blood on Hanne’s pants. “Don’t worry,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’ll still be alive by sundown, if the biters want your blood. But now my grandson and his friend are avenged.”

Merian turned to Blaine and Kestel. “M’lord and m’lady. We are deeply sorry such things happened during your visit. Penwich will keep its bargain with you. Until Burnion heals, I will take his place. We will rebuild. And we will remember.”