They smiled and said no, they had not. Ashyn looked at the big man and she knew he understood the ritual full well. Writhing in agony, the guard whispered, "Please, please."
"Well, I suppose it makes sense," Barthol said. "This does seem slow. We'll be here all day." He glanced at one of his men. "Finish him off." He paused. "Drag him outside first, where it will make less of a mess. Leave the door open, though, so our Seeker can watch."
Two men dragged the dying guard out. Ronan kept whispering for her to not look, but she was still staring at the bloody floor when the killing blow came. She pressed against Ronan, breathing deeply, trying to keep calm and upright.
"There," Barthol said. "It's done. We'll drag him into the village square now, so the others may see what happens to those who neglect their duties." He looked at Ashyn. "I hope that was a lesson learned, Seeker. The same fate will befall anyone who assists your escape or allows it to happen. Go back inside with your cur and your boy, and be thankful I don't make you clean up the mess."
Forty
Ashyn was playing capture-my-lord. The game was going nowhere and had been since they began, not because they were both astoundingly good players but because, frankly, neither had any interest under the circumstances.
It was an act. After what happened to the poor guard--and after Barthol threatened Ronan--Ashyn knew they had to convince their captors that they had settled in and would cause no trouble. Even now, as Ashyn moved her pieces, her fingers trembled, remembering the guard.
"Don't," Ronan murmured. "Don't think about it. You ought not to have witnessed that."
"I've seen worse," she said.
"You ought not to."
"It's not just seeing it. I feel as if I caused--"
"You didn't," Ronan said. "He chose to join them. Perhaps he had no option. Perhaps his family is here, and they threatened them, but even if I give him the benefit of the doubt, it was still his decision to hold a Seeker captive. And it was mine to use him in our escape."
"I don't think it would have mattered," she said softly, gaze on the board. "Even if you escaped, Barthol would have killed him as an example."
"I think Barthol just likes killing," Ronan muttered. "And having others watch. He's a sadistic--"
Tova leaped up. Ronan rose, fingers slipping to his side, reaching for his missing blade. His hand clenched, empty, and he moved forward, gaze fixed on the door. It opened.
Something raced through the open door. Something long and black, and Tova bounded forward with a happy bark. The black blur hit him and took him down, and they rolled together, light fur and dark, as Ashyn stared.
It looks like . . . It cannot be . . .
She lifted her gaze slowly, almost not daring to look back at the door, certain she would not see what she--
Moria walked through.
There were others with her. Ashyn didn't see them. Her mind stopped there: Moria walked through.
She saw her sister's face, sweat-stained and hard, her blue eyes blazing fury. Moria spotted her and her rage evaporated in a flicker of shock. Then she raced across the stone floor.
Ashyn threw her arms around her sister. The fierce hug lasted a moment before Moria pulled back, holding Ashyn at arm's length, frowning again as her gaze traveled over her.
"Are you all right? Have they hurt you?"
Ashyn shook her head and started to ask the same of Moria, but her sister had already turned to the men who brought them in.
"Where'd the other one go?" she said. "The man in charge.
I want--I demand to speak to him."
The mercenaries laughed and began to leave.
Moria started after them. Ashyn tried to hold her back, but she shook her off.
"You!" she said to the men. "Do you know who I am? In the name of the goddess, I demand answers."
"Then ask your goddess for them," one said as he continued toward the door.