have to fear the dark or peer into shadows and worry they were full of things they shouldn’t have been—
Things such as the mage standing suddenly in the clearing in front of her.
He was one of Ruith’s bastard brothers from Ceangail. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been part of a circle that surrounded her and Ruith, a circle of men connected by spells that had dripped with evil. He hadn’t said anything in the keep, but she had noted his black, soulless eyes, eyes that had looked at Ruith mercilessly. He was simply watching the traders as he had Ruith, as if they were insects he would allow to scuttle about for a few minutes more before he crushed them carelessly under his boot.
She wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, watching. Apparently her escorts hadn’t noticed him before either, but they noticed him presently. They whirled around suddenly with their swords drawn.
Sarah would have told them not to bother, but she thought her strength might be better spent seeing if she couldn’t get her hands free before she became the center of attention.
The first of the four traders threw himself suddenly forward. Ruith’s half brother didn’t move, but the man stopped suddenly and dropped to the ground, as lifeless as his sword. The mage then turned and looked at her. Sarah felt her mouth go dry.
Damnation. Too late for escape.
He lifted his finger and her bonds fell away. “You won’t be needing those any longer,” he said in a soft voice that was all the more unpleasant for its lack of malice.
Sarah was pulled to her feet, but not by any hands she could see. It was only as she was standing there, swaying with dizziness, that she realized how badly her right forearm pained her. She looked down at the black streaks that trailed over her flesh, black mingled with red that burned like hellfire. She didn’t want to think about where she’d come by that wound, so she instead looked up. Ruith’s half brother was still watching her.
“I will take care of you later,” he said.
She imagined he would. And she imagined she would be able to do about it what she was always able to do about magic and its vile practitioners, which was exactly nothing. She was tempted to turn and bolt, but she had the feeling that would end badly for her. All she could do was hope that something unexpected would happen and the vile man in front of her might be distracted by other things long enough for her to slip away.
Then again, the fact that he had left her unbound said all she perhaps needed to know about his fear of that happening.
She watched him herd the remaining three traders into a little group and ask them politely if they’d seen anyone else who might have needed transport south, anyone of a male persuasion, perhaps even a companion of the woman over by the tree who they’d carried so carefully south.
“Nay,” the leader blurted out, sounding very near to tears. “No one—”
“Nay, there was a man,” another of the trio interrupted. “But we were told to leave ’im be.”
“Describe him,” the mage invited. “If you please.”
“Tall, dark-haired, well built,” the trader said, looking happy to speak about something that had nothing to do with him. “A brace o’ knives strapped to his back.” He shrugged. “’E was assuredly dead when last I looked.”
Sarah’s knees buckled, but she didn’t fall. That was perhaps because someone was holding her up. She turned her head, half expecting to find Ruith standing there, but she was sorely mistaken. Another of Ruith’s bastard brothers stood there, one she’d encountered more than once. He was still sporting the very puffy lip Ruith had given him, and Sarah wasn’t entirely sure his nose wasn’t broken thanks to the same encounter. There were things in his hair, muck from a less-than-clean floor that he was enjoying thanks to a hearty shove by Ruith as they’d escaped the keep. Táir, she thought his name might have been. He