He strained against the sashes, but the silken knots only
tightened further. Sturm relaxed and shook the damp ends
of his long hair from his face.
The lamp above Artavash’s couch guttered and went
out. In the dense darkness, Sturm could feel his pulse
throbbing in his hands and feet. He wiggled his fingers
under the binding. His hands were crossed over his lap, so
his left hand was over his right pocket, and vice-versa.
There was a lump in his left pocket he recognized as
Captain Graff’s wind cord. He counted the knots. Two
hands, plus one; eleven fresh gusts of magic were locked in
that dirty strip of rawhide.
But it WAS magic. As a knight, he was forbidden by the
Measure to make use of it. Still … to fight the Dark Queen. . . .
The day dawned bright and hot. Sturm awakened from a
tense, shallow sleep with the sun in his eyes. His body
ached from being tied all night. Artavash did not stir until a
pounding on the door compelled her to rise.
“What in thunder?” she grumbled, her voice husky and dry.
“Where is my son?” demanded Lady Ilys through the door.
“Here, Mother! I’m in here!” he shouted.
Artavash winced. She yanked a bell pull by her couch.
By the time she staggered to the door and opened it, eight
soldiers were waiting for her outside. Two more stood by
with Soren, whose hands were chained together.
Artavash slit Sturm’s sashes with the shortsword, and
the young Brightblade threw his arms around his mother.
“They’re going to kill me!” Sturm cried.
“This can’t be true!” Lady Ilys gasped, turning to
Artavash, who merely shrugged.
“My lady, your son spoke truly. These people mean to
kill young Sturm,” said Soren.
Lady Ilys pushed her son behind her skirt. Mistress
Carin moved in on Sturm’s other side. Lady Ilys declared,
“No one shall move from this spot until some explanation is
given for the barbarous manner in which we are being
treated!”
Artavash rubbed her temples a few times and said, “The
explanation is this. My master, Mukhari Ras, has need of
your son’s life. If you interfer in the slightest way, you, your
maid, and your man will be speedily killed.”
“Impudent pirate! Do you think my son is a lamb, to be
butchered for that walking scarecrow’s evil purposes?”
“It matters little what you say, Lady. Mukhari Ras
commands it, and it will be done.” She gestured to the
Kernaffi soldiers. They pulled Lady Ilys and Carin apart.
Artavash reached for Sturm.
Chained or not, Soren could not stand idly by as
Artavash laid hands on his charges. He gathered the bond
links in his hands and lashed out at the nearest man. The
guard folded under the blow and bowled over his comrades.
Soren lumbered forward. Artavash released Sturm and
turned to meet the sergeant.
“No, Soren! Stop!” cried Sturm. Artavash nimbly
dodged the guardsman’s rush. She brought the flat of her
blade in hard on Soren’s head. The sergeant buckled and fell
face down on the cool marble floor. Carin screamed.
Artavash waved the sword point under Carin’s nose.
“Don’t shout so! My head is splitting!”
“Too much wine,” said Lady Ilys coldly.
“Enough! By the gods, your tongue is sharper than a
dozen swords,” Artavash said. “I have no more time to dally
with you. The guards will lock you in your rooms.” She
gave the orders in Kernaffi. Two men picked up Soren, and
the rest formed in close order around the two women.
“Sturm! Sturm!” his mother called. He made a step
toward her, but was collared by a grim-faced Artavash.
“The time for indulgences is past,” she said. “If you
resist, the two women will die.”
“Mother!” he cried desperately.
“Come.” Artavash seized Sturm by the wrist and
dragged him away.
Radiz joined them in the main hall. He was splendid in
his fine armor and plume, but his face was expressionless.
He and Artavash exchanged a look Sturm could not fathom.
Then the Kernaffi gave him a handkerchief.
“Dry your eyes,” he said with a strange note of
compassion.
Radiz and Artavash stood on either side of him as