“I vowed to Tarin Beckwith, a man of noble mien and honorable intention, on the occasion of his last breath, that I would return the Visioness Themaryl to her family. Though I have come a great distance and been too long away from home and friends, I intend to do this thing.”
Her exquisite face upturned to him, Themaryl gaped in disbelief. “But I want to stay! It is as your friend says. I have cast my lot with this person. I will not go with you. Do not ask it of me.”
“I will not,” Ehomba replied. So saying, he bent down and slipped a slender but muscular arm around her waist. Lifting her up, he slung her over his shoulder, a position that found her stunned and outraged.
“Let me go! Put me down this instant! I, Themaryl, command you!”
“Only one woman commands me, and she is not here.” Holding the kicking, flailing form firmly against his shoulder, he turned to the stupefied Simna. “Tie her hands before she thinks to try and draw my remaining sword, or to go fumbling in my pack. Quick now, Simna!”
“What? Yes, bruther. Hold her.”
The swordsman was a master of blades, not knots, but he bound the wrists and legs of the Visioness securely enough with cord drawn from the richly brocaded curtains that framed one entryway. Unable to raise himself up or move more than his head and neck, Hymneth the Possessed raved and ranted at the meddling interlopers, vowing all manner of punishment and torture if they did not release her at once.
Seeing his master’s distress, Peregriff was about to call out to the castle guard for assistance, only to find himself instantaneously confronted by a sleek black feline shape.