“Nonkind!” Gavril said uneasily. “You mean—”
“Is not a good place,” Mradvior told him. “Is nothing good left in palace of our former kings. Nothing good at all.”
The guards escorted Gavril outside into the snowy darkness, where a cold wind bit deep into his bones and made him shiver. He climbed into the wagon beside Pheresa’s encasement. Out near the wall, he could see shadowy figures lined up, and as the wagon lurched past he realized they were his church soldiers, shackled together and about to be marched away to their terrible fate. “What is to become of us,” Megala moaned, weeping into her hands as she crouched in the wagon.
Gavril saw the tall gates swing open, and he felt as though the dark city beyond waited to engulf him. Forcing himself to sit up straight, he smiled and proudly saluted farewell to his men as he was carted away. For surely it was better for a knight and prince to laugh aloud at his enemies than to cower in fear. Yet his men did not cheer him as he left them. They did not cheer him at all. Night fell over the forest; the wind gusted, bringing sleet and misery; and still the Believers and their prisoners rode at a steady trot. Alexeika was so cold she would have wept, had she any tears left inside her. The dead men—Faldain’s companions and the slain fire-knights alike—had been abandoned by Quar to lie where they’d fallen, unshriven and unburied. Now it was late and the sleet was stinging her face. With her hands bound behind her, she couldn’t pull up her hood for protection. Aching with exhaustion, she worried about Faldain, who was still draped unconscious across the back of his horse. His squire Thum swayed in the saddle and made small, involuntary grunts of pain whenever his horse jolted him too much. Alexeika worried that if he could not continue to ride, the fire-knights would probably kill him. Fear kept gripping her entrails. She did not want to be taken to Gant and sacrificed to Ashnod. All her life she’d heard stories of Gant, of how dreadful it was, of how the taint of evil poisoned the land.
She glanced at Faldain in the darkness, willing him to wake up. There had to be a way to escape these fire-knights. If they ever stopped and camped, she vowed, she’d find a way.
They did not stop. Instead, they rode all night and into the early light of dawn. By then Alexeika was reeling in the saddle. Her eyes were gritty and so heavy she could barely hold them open. When they finally stopped, and she was pulled off her horse, she lay on the cold ground where they tossed her and slept until she was kicked awake.
The sun was shining midday-bright. She sat up awkwardly, her arms aching from being bound so long. Faldain, she was relieved to see, had also awakened. He sat blinking in the sunshine, with a bleak expression of loss and desolation on his face.
Alexeika wanted to offer him comfort, but what could she say? He’d lost his protector, and she knew how deep such a loss could wound. During her childhood, her father’s protector had been like a faithful shadow at his heels, watchful and vigilant, until he’d fallen in battle and left Prince Volvn bereft. Another man had of course taken Sir Blenin’s place, but Alexeika understood that for her father it had never been the same.
One of their captors walked over and kicked their feet. “Get up,” he growled.
“We ride.”
Realizing they weren’t going to be fed, Alexeika fell over and rolled facedown, scooping as much snow into her mouth as she could before she was yanked upright and shoved toward a horse.
The snow tasted old and bitter. It was so cold it numbed her tongue, but she swallowed it in an effort to ease her parched thirst, and longed for more. Her stomach growled loudly, but she knew she could last better without food than she could water.
“Quar!” Faldain said, twisting in his captors’ hold when they tried to lift him onto his horse. “Quar!”
The leader turned his head and stared at Faldain through his visor. Alexeika had observed that Quar seemed to respect the young king a little, possibly as a fellow warrior, but they could not count on this for much. She hoped Faldain understood that.
“You must feed us,” Faldain said. “We are not like you. We need food and water if we’re to keep going.”
Quar looked away. “You will last.”
“Then at least bind our hands in front. That way, we can—” “Escape?” Quar broke in harshly. “No.”
He signaled, and the other Believers hoisted Faldain into the saddle, then came and tossed Alexeika into hers. As they put Thum astride his horse, Alexeika noticed that his leg was bleeding again.
“Sire,” she said quietly. “Your squire’s wound needs tending.”
Faldain frowned at Thum. “How bad is it? Have you fever?”
The red-haired squire shook his head valiantly. “Nay, I’ll do.”
“He’s bleeding,” Alexeika said.
“Not much,” Thum protested.
The Believers kicked their horses into that jolting trot that made Alexeika’s spine feel as though it might snap. Gritting her teeth as her sore muscles protested, she jounced along at the mercy of the Believer leading her horse, and ducked a low branch barely in time.
“You must tell me if you feel strange,” Faldain said to Thum. “If the hurlhound venom wasn’t salted away thoroughly, fever will grip you. Tell me at once if that happens.”
Thum’s smile was crooked and strained. “And then? Do I become like them?” As he spoke he nodded at their captors’ backs.
“Not like them,” Faldain said, and stopped with a worried frown to cast a glance of appeal at Alexeika.
“You will not become Nonkind,” she said in reassurance, wishing she’d cauterized his wound with Severgard the way she had to Sir Alard’s arm. Salt was good, but sometimes it did not work as well as it should. She did not say that, however;
Thum looked scared enough already. “But if you keep bleeding, you will weaken.” He nodded, and the two young men began to converse, excluding her. Alexeika’s eyes stung, and she told herself not to be so sensitive. After all, she’d been with them only a few days. They barely trusted her. As Faldain had said, they were now comrades, but clearly they were not yet friends. She tried to content herself by stealing glances at him. She wanted to help him, to make him smile, to see his gray eyes soften toward her. But his heart belonged to another. She wondered what this Lady Pheresa looked like. Was she dark or fair? Did she sing and display the acceptable maidenly accomplishments? Alexeika imagined her wearing a lovely gown, her long tresses combed into soft waves that shone in the candlelight, a piece of exquisite needlework in her white, slender hands. Sighing, Alexeika asked herself why Faldain should look twice at a girl with rough, tanned skin, her hair springing wild from a sloppy braid, who wore masculine clothing and swore like a hire-lance? Alexeika reminded herself that she had maidenly accomplishments too. She knew how to dance, how to curtsy. She knew court etiquette and ritual. Her needlework was terrible, to be sure, but did that matter? If she could attire herself in a gown and sit posed and quiet for him to see, would he not perhaps look twice at her? If she combed the snarls and tangles from her hair and dressed it in a fashionable way, would he notice?
She used to dream of the day when Faldain would regain his throne, thus restoring peace and prosperity to the kingdom. She would take her place in his court as a princess of high rank. She would wear a gown of silk studded with tiny pearls, and her every movement would shimmer. One glance at her would entrance his gaze, and thus would she capture his heart. Angrily she now brushed such fantasies aside, telling herself to face reality. Although she’d vowed never to be taken prisoner again by barbarians after her escape from a Grethori tribe, here she was—bound and cold and hungry—riding to Gant to die. Although she’d pledged herself to the cause of helping Nether’s rightful king retake his throne, there would be no restoration. Her parents’ deaths had been for nothing. Soon Alexeika would die too, ending the line of Volvn forever.
Faldain had been this kingdom’s last hope, but it was over. Dain’s head was aching. He rode along, weary from too many hours in the saddle, and tried to think of ways to escape. As long as they were tied up this way, he could think of no solution. Soon, if they were not given food and water, they would become too weak to try anything.
Alexeika, at least, was clever enough to take care of herself. Dain had seen her eating snow just before they set out again. He wished he’d thought of it, for his thirst made him suffer. And Thum was in the worst shape of all. Worried that if Thum weakened more Quar would kill him, Dain chattered in an effort to encourage his friend.
There’d been enough killing. Again and again, the image of Sir Terent’s beheading haunted Dain’s mind. He wished the memory could be less vivid and terrible, yet his grief kept it sharp and all too clear no matter how many times he forced it away.
Sir Terent would not die unavenged; that, he swore with all the determination in his soul. He kept his eye on the long bundle that held Truthseeker and Severgard. Wrapped in a cloak, the two swords were tied to the back of Quar’s saddle. Dain longed to get his hands on his weapon, for the next time he fought Quar, he vowed to himself he would not lose.
When Thum tired of talking and fell into a semi-doze, Dain glanced at Alexeika, who was crying. Her face remained stoic, but tears kept slipping down her dirty cheeks. The remark Dain had intended died in his throat, and he stared at her in consternation. He had not realized she was so afraid. Or perhaps the Believers had hurt her in the battle. Frowning in sudden compassion, Dain started to reassure her, but something about her averted face and the rigid set of her shoulders warned him to leave her be.
Still, it unnerved him to see her so vulnerable. Until now, he’d taken her toughness for granted. She was prickly and fierce, always trying to usurp leadership, voicing her opinions whether anyone wanted them or not. She’d offended Sir Terent by wearing red chain mail and carrying weapons like a knight, when she had not that rank and deserved no such privileges. Even Thum was not allowed to wear mail, and wasn’t supposed to fight in battles. Alexeika had ignored all the rules, flaunting her knowledge of strategy and combat when she should have stayed quiet.
Dain frowned, wishing she would not cry. He preferred her to remain tough and boylike. He knew how to deal with her in that guise. But if she became maidenly and soft, then he would feel protective and worry about her safety. He wished he knew what to say to her.
“Alexeika,” he said softly.
She glanced up, sniffing and blinking rapidly. He knew that had her hands been free she would have slapped her tears away. Her face reddened, but she looked at him squarely.
“Yes, sire?”
He kept his voice very low, for he knew not how keen the Believers’ ears might be. “Have you marked where your sword is?”
“Aye,” she said, just as softly. The look in her eyes grew keen and eager. Dain was glad he’d hit on the very thing to cheer her. “Quar has them.” He nodded. “I need a way to free my hands.”
“It won’t do. They’re alert for trouble. Even if you got free, they’d turn on Thum and me.”
He’d thought of that. “I want to try something that will free us both, but I don’t want to frighten you.”
A partial smile quirked her lips. She looked fearless. “Do it.” “I think I can burn off my ropes. If I can burn yours too—” “Try it now,” she said eagerly.
Dain opened his mouth, then sang the first notes of fire. In the lead, Quar whirled around in his saddle and pointed at Dain. He uttered a single, guttural word, and Dain’s throat froze. He could not sing or speak. Try as he might, no sound came forth.
“Sire?” Thum said worriedly, rousing from his doze. “Dain?”
“Hush,” Alexeika said angrily. “His majesty has been silenced.”
Seething with frustration, Dain glared at Quar, but the fire-knight ignored him. Within a few minutes, they drew rein short of a stream running swiftly across the road. An ancient, crumbling shrine with unfamiliar symbols stood on its bank. With thirst burning his throat, Dain kicked his feet free of the stirrups, intending to dismount and drink his fill.
“Stay on horse,” Quar ordered. He gestured at his men, and they pulled the prisoners’ horses closer to their own.
“Please,” Alexeika said, her word almost a moan. “Let us drink.”
Quar wheeled his mount around to face them. “We go to Gant now. You keep quiet.
Say nothing. Do nothing.”
Dain and Thum exchanged puzzled looks, but Alexeika turned white. She began to pray rapidly beneath her breath.
Quar pulled a short baton from his belt and held it aloft. As he rode toward the shrine, he uttered words that burned in Dain’s mind. The baton suddenly began to glow as though lit from within by fire. There came a rushing sound, like a strong wind, and Dain’s horse leaped high. He found himself in midair, then the world around him vanished and he plunged through dense gray mist. It obscured everything, even the ground and sky. His companions vanished from sight. All he could see was his horse.
The fog flowed damp and cold against his face. He felt as though he were being smothered in it. He breathed it in, choking with the old lifelong, irrational panic. He hated fog, had always feared it.
And now . . .
With a jolt that snapped his teeth together, Dain felt his horse land on solid ground. He blinked and squinted against brilliant light. The sun blazed down on them from a brassy sky. While the air had been bitterly cold only minutes before, now it felt hot and dry. Dain found himself roasting in his fur-lined surcoat and heavy cloak. Dazed and disbelieving, he stared at a barren landscape where nothing grew—not one tree, not one blade of grass, not even any scrub. Everywhere he looked, he saw an unchanging vista of reddish sand, rock outcroppings, and stony ridges. And here, nearby, stood a stone shrine nearly identical to the one Dain had just seen by the stream in Nether. Undoubtedly by some magical means, they had passed through the second world, leaving Nether to arrive here. Dain wondered if such shrines were to be found in upper Mandria and Nold as well. Perhaps they were gateways that allowed the Gantese to come and go as they pleased. It would explain how they were able to bypass the Charva, which was supposed to keep them in Gant. Their captors, having ridden for hours without any evidence of tiring, suddenly seemed exhausted. The man holding Dain’s and Alexeika’s reins dropped them and nearly fell from his saddle. Puzzled, but determined to seize any advantage he could, Dain kicked his horse hard, but the animal stood with its head down, breathing hard, and did not respond.
Had there been anywhere to run to, Dain would have jumped from the saddle, but this parched, barren land daunted him. He could smell the heavy, putrid stench of Nonkind nearby, but although he stared hard in every direction, he saw nothing except black shapes flying lazily in the sky. Quar, sagging in his saddle, glanced up warily. That alone made Dain decide not to run away, weaponless and bound, an easy target for whatever kept circling overhead. He watched Quar carefully fit the baton back in his belt, then open a saddle pouch and toss small packets of waxed linen to his men. All three Believers devoured the contents, which looked hard, crumbly, and unappetizing. Still, Dain’s stomach rumbled. His mouth was so dry and parched it hurt to swallow. When he glanced at Thum and Alexeika, he saw that both of them were transfixed, unable to do anything except stare at the food.
After the Believers gulped down the morsels, which seemed to restore their strength immediately, one man dismounted and fed bits of the substance to each of the horses. Their heads snapped up and their ears pricked forward as they, too, regained their energy.
“Please,” Thum said hoarsely. “May we not eat?”
The dismounted fire-knight glanced at Quar, then held out a piece to Thum, who bent over awkwardly in the saddle to take it. Just as he opened his mouth, however, his face wrinkled in revulsion. Before he could draw back, the Believer laughed and crammed it in his mouth. Making a terrible face, Thum choked and spat it out.
Cursing him in Gantese, the Believer dragged him off his horse and shoved him sprawling to the ground. While the other fire-knights laughed, the Believer kicked and swore at Thum, who tried unsuccessfully to crawl away from him. “Stop it!” Dain shouted, suddenly regaining his voice. “Leave him alone!” Ignoring him, the Believer went on kicking Thum until he lay gasping and shuddering on his side with his knees drawn up.
“Get on horse,” the Believer said harshly.
Thum moaned and lay there.
“Thum!” Dain said urgently, afraid they would leave him behind. “Get up! Do as you’re told. Thum!”
“Leave him,” Quar said.
“No!” Horrified, Dain tried to dismount in order to intervene, but Quar spoke and Dain found his feet glued to the stirrups. Try as he might, he could not kick them free. “We can’t leave him here. Thum! You must get up. Thum!” His friend struggled, sat up, fell over, sat up again, and finally knelt, swaying. His face was pasty white.
“Get up, please,” Dain said. “I need my squire with me. I need you, Thum.” Once more his friend struggled to gain his feet. Quar growled something impatiently and the other Believers walked over to grip Thum’s arms and hoist him to his feet. Roughly they put him back on his horse. Thum sagged in the saddle, barely staying on.
“Steady,” Dain said, trying to think of what Sir Polquin would have said.
“Remember you’re a Thirst man. Show these Gantese dogs what you’re made of.”
“Aye,” Thum said faintly, and slowly pulled himself more erect. The Believers mounted their horses, then began to trot across the barren landscape. As they started up a long, stony slope, Dain settled himself deeper in the saddle and tried to ignore his growing list of discomforts even while the sweat poured down his face and the red dust clouded over them. His mind was awash with a flood of sudden memories, for he remembered that he’d made other journeys through the gray mist. Journeys huddled next to Thia, while she had held something white and large in her small hands. “Do not drop it, Thiatereika,” their father had said.
“I won’t, my papa,” she’d replied.
“The Chalice,” Dain now whispered aloud.
Alexeika glanced at him. “What? It’s not to be found here. That much is certain.”
He paid her no heed, as amazement filled him. “The Chalice,” he said again, thinking of the clear white light which had glowed next to him, his sister, and his father, holding back a cold and rainy darkness. His father’s sword had glowed with light also, as had a ring which Tobeszijian wore. Dain drew a sharp breath. “The Ring!” he said.
“Aye, Quar stole your ruby while you were unconscious.” He felt as though he’d awakened from a very long dream. Turning his head, he stared at Alexeika as though he’d never seen her before. “I know where it is,” he said.
“I just said that Quar has it.”
He didn’t hear her, for he was remembering it all. That long, tiring journey on his father’s darsteed. The cold darkness, the leaps through mist, his father’s fear and worry mingled with courage. Dain remembered trying to sleep in a cavet and how hungry he’d been. He’d wanted his bed and his nurse singing to him by the firelight, but there’d been neither. His father’s cloak had smelled of woodsmoke and leather. There had been prayers said over a circle of stones. And the Chalice had shone its white, peaceful light within the cave, warming him so that at last he could sleep.
A shiver passed through him. “I know where it is,” he said in wonder. “I’ve remembered.”
“The Chalice of Eternal Life?” Alexeika asked in a voice so low he could barely hear her. Her eyes were huge as she stared at him.
Thum was staring at him too, in awe mixed with open-mouthed astonishment. Glancing at them both, Dain nodded, then realized this was not the time or the place to talk about the sacred vessel. To his relief, Thum and Alexeika seemed to come to the same unspoken realization, for with uneasy glances at their captors neither of them asked any questions.
Dain found it astonishing that memory should return to him now in this desolate place. Tobeszijian had hidden the Chalice in a cave in Nold. He had hidden it with honor, making a sacred place for it, and perhaps it was there still. Dain understood that the Ring of Solder was a device similar to Quar’s baton; somehow its power enabled its wearer to pass through the second world and return. His father had done so in order to escape his enemies and keep the Chalice from harm.
But how to get there now? Dain wondered. He envisioned the Ring of Solder as he’d last seen it, with its distinctive carved runes on the band and its large, milky-white stone. If only he’d been able to get it from Sulein, it might be encircling his finger at this very moment. Then he could have escaped these fire-knights. But, nay. He would not have abandoned his friends just to save himself.
“Look!” Thum cried.
At the crest of a hill, they paused. Before them stretched a desolate plain leading to a jagged mountain range on the far horizon. A city nestled at the base of the mountains, its domes and spires shimmering slightly in the heat. The buildings were the color of dirt and sand.
A road wound its way toward the city, which sprawled, stark and unadorned, across the desert.
“City is Sindeul,” Quar told them.
Dain had heard of Sindeul from peddlers at dwarf clan fairs. It was reputed to be a place of the greatest blasphemy and evil, a place where unmentionable things were practiced. No one traveled willingly to Sindeul, the city of death. “Look yon,” Quar said, pointing. “Behold sacred mountain that is mouth of Ashnod.”
Dain stared at the tallest peak, which smoked as though it had fire inside. Dread and foreboding settled over him. He sensed that he might be taken there, and he did not want to go.
After a moment, during which none of the prisoners spoke, Quar led them forward across the hot and dusty plain.
The city was farther away than it looked. They rode, baking in the merciless heat, until Dain thought he would perish of thirst and weariness. In the afternoon they came at last to the gates. Shapeshifters flew overhead like huge vultures, and as they drew near to the walls of towering black stone, Dain saw corpses dangling from the crenellations. Decaying heads stuck on pikes were fought over by ugly, raucous birds with scales instead of feathers. A terrible stink hung over the place.
Quar shouted in his harsh, guttural voice. After a moment the city gates creaked open to allow them entrance. Alexeika cried out in fear. Thum’s face turned pale. “Tomias, save us,” he said again and again.
Dain gazed up into a hideous face carved in the stone wall, and felt his own courage quail. Surely they were doomed.
His keen ears overheard murmurs of curiosity and eagerness beyond the gates. Although he could not understand Gantese, he heard one familiar word over and over: “Faldain . . . Faldain . . .”
He was surprised they knew of him. And with that surprise came a revival of his spirit. Realizing these cruel people would not respect anything but courage and strength, he proudly straightened in the saddle and squared his shoulders. He was the son of a king, a sworn enemy of this land and its people. He would show them no fear.
“Princess Alexeika!” he said sharply as they passed through the gates. “Remember who you are.”
Her eyes, huge and dark with fear, stared at him. Pink tinted her cheeks, and as her chin lifted, he saw the old spirit flash in her eyes. “Thum du Maltie!” he said, glancing to his right. “Show them a Mandrian uplander. Your ancestors have fought off their raids for centuries. They are dogs and worse. They are carrion-eaters.”
“Aye,” Thum said in a shaky voice. He frowned and straightened with a wince.
“Aye, that’s so.”
By the time they reached the checkpoint inside the gates, all three prisoners were sitting tall and looking bold.
Glancing about at the curious guards leaning on their spears as they stared, Dain closed his mind to their savage thoughts. He pretended he did not see the shapeshifters flying back and forth overhead. He tried hard to ignore the growling hurlhounds slinking here and there among the crowd, baring venomous fangs. A soultaker—gray, fat, and sated—was lying in a cage hanging overhead, and Dain was obliged to ride directly beneath it.
Aware of its interest in him, he shuddered. His heart thudded hard against his ribs, and sweat poured off him, but with determination he kept his face stony and his eyes calm and steady.
Beyond the guardhouse, they rode along a broad avenue paved with red sandstone. A drum began to pound, and guards in breastplates and metal-studded loincloths fell in behind them. Wearing helmets and carrying spears, they seemed to be primitive warriors indeed, very old-fashioned compared with the fire-knights. Along the route, they were joined by mounted knights wearing red hauberks similar to Alexeika’s. Some of them called out to her, but she merely lifted her chin higher and ignored them all.
Only Dain was close enough to see her mouth quiver now and then, but she had pride and hatred to sustain her, and she did not falter. Another contingent of armed men joined them, this time with prisoners in tow. Dain saw them shuffling along in shackles, their boots worn nearly through, their mail tarnished and torn, their surcoats in filthy tatters. After a moment he recognized the black circle on their breasts and realized they were church soldiers, Mandrians all.
Dain stared at them in shock, recognizing some of the faces now despite their grime and matted beards.
Thum stared at them too, and gasped. “Sire!”
“Aye,” Dain said grimly. “Gavril’s church soldiers.”
“Great Thod,” Thum said, his eyes widening as horror sank in. “That means—” “Betrayal. Disaster.” Dain wondered what had become of Pheresa, and his heart felt like lead in his chest. “When they reached Nether, Muncel must have turned on them.”
“Merciful Tomias,” Thum whispered in anguish. “Think you that all were captured?”
Dain bowed his head in silence. What was there to reply? After a moment, he roused himself and looked for Gavril among their number, but did not see the prince. Instead, he spied one knight, taller than most of the others, limping along, and recognized him.
“Sir Wiltem,” he said.
As though the man had overheard him, Sir Wiltem lifted his head, and his gaze met Dain’s. In silence, they stared at each other. Sir Wiltem’s eyes held only stoic suffering. Dain had no idea what his own conveyed in return. A whip cracked across Sir Wiltem’s shoulders, and Dain’s captor tugged his horse into a trot, leading him past. The church soldiers were left behind to join the rear of the procession.
Curious folk emerged from houses of red or tan mud. Most were leather-skinned, burned dark from the relentless sun, with narrow skulls and hostile eyes. Children ran alongside the procession, shrieking insults and pelting the prisoners with dried dung. The city seemed to be a maze of narrow, winding streets, buildings made of stone or mud, and endless dust and filth. Ashy smoke from the volcano polluted the air, making Dain’s eyes sting. He sensed a restless energy in the streets, an innate streak of cruelty in the citizens, a feeling of something terrible about to happen.
But even as the end of the avenue came into sight and he saw a domed palace rising before him, Dain continued to ride like a king, ignoring both the jeers and stones that were flung at him. In his mind he made himself as large and regal as possible. He imagined himself to be Tobeszijian and tried to act as his father would have.
Walls of red stone surrounded the palace, which was white, creating strong contrast. The spires towered high, and the hot sun glinted off the hammered gold leaf decorating the domes. At their approach, the ornate gates swung open to admit them.
Impressed in spite of himself, Dain looked around in open curiosity. The palace was enormous, rising white atop a checkerboard foundation of red and white stone. The unpaved courtyard was huge, more than ample to hold all the knights, spearmen, and prisoners, plus the armed men who advanced to surround them all. Orders rang out, and red-hauberked guards with drawn swords ascended and lined up along the sandstone steps.
At the top of the steps, along a wide veranda that lay deep in shadow, a cluster of individuals stood watching. Glancing in their direction, Dain felt a chill sink through him.
He thought of the mysterious power that had reached him and caused him to swoon twice. He remembered the peculiar coldness that had permeated through his body, taking his consciousness and something of his life force with it. And although nothing attacked him now, he felt that same evil power, that same icy coldness, slither across his being with the lightest possible touch. A shudder passed through his frame.
Quar dismounted, came over to him, and cut through Dain’s ropes. As his arms swung forward, Dain barely managed to bite off a yelp of pain. His arms felt leaden and useless, yet painful prickles rippled through them, bringing a new kind of agony. Gritting his teeth, he made himself flex and work his fingers. They were puffy and dark, with bruised creases cut deeply into his wrists.
Quar cut Alexeika free, then Thum, before he returned to Dain.
“Down,” he said.
Dain dismounted, as did the others. Thum staggered slightly and had to grip his stirrup to keep himself on his feet. His thigh wound was seeping blood again. Quar pointed at Alexeika and Thum, issuing orders.
At once they were shoved over to the line of church soldiers. But when Dain tried to join them, his path was intercepted.
Quar gave him a light shove. “Up the steps. Go.”
“What about my friends?”
“Go.”