She let herself get too close, in the days immediately following the raid. Luthene had been so worried that Galin would die that she didn't think about anything else, certainly not about how immodest she had been behaving. Anything he needed, she obliged… well, except for that "Northern folk remedy" he and the men suggested, which would have involved her stripping down and getting under the blanket with him. That she had refused, but Luthene did continue to share a blanket with Galin while they were on the road, and then a few night more once they returned to the hall. Then the physician declared that he was out of danger from infection, and she moved to the floor until Galin was strong enough to insist she sleep on the one bed their shared hut had. Luthene realized she'd been acting like a fool, carrying on with the deception even when they were alone. She was much more careful about keeping her distance after that, but every now and again, she'd slip up, catch herself just a little too close, and tense up. While she hoped these sudden shifts might escape notice, Luthene knew she wasn't that good at hiding her feelings.

It was a month until Galin was well enough to fight again. Even then, the job was a simple one: travel to Vilpamolan, meet an Adelunan noble, and escort him safely back to the city. Sanders had been a supporter of the queen, living in exile while the queen herself was in exile. Now that she had taken her throne, he expressed a desire to return to the kingdom. That was easier said than done, of course; others had enjoyed influence during the usurper king's reign, and those that managed to hold on to it might not have the queen's ear for long when loyalists returned and she began to reward that loyalty. Like as not, there was at least one lord getting fat off the land of these exiles. As if that wasn't enough, the road from Vilpamolan to Adeluna wasn't exactly safe either. That was where the company came in. Most of the time, a job like this would be beneath them, but they were into the month of Pacem now, and there was often little else. for them. Luthene didn't mind much; it would give Galin a chance to get out again, without putting him at great risk.

While a larger group of company men made the trip to the pirate city, Luthene and Galin were the ones tasked with going into the city without rousing suspicion, meeting the noble, and seeing him safely to a rendez-vous point outside Vilpamolan. This meant setting aside their usual battle attire, and Luthene in particular would need a dress. She had discarded the one she'd taken from their last raid; while Galin seemed to like it, it was covered in blood and belonged to a woman who was now dead, or worse. She purchased a new dress in Adeluna shortly before they left, something much more modest. The bulk of the coin she'd earned went to pay Galin back, though he'd refused, so she snuck the purse in with his coins and waited to see if he'd say anything.

"Galin, if you could hold your shield up for me… and don't look!" Luthene said when the company was making camp and she needed to put on the dress before the pair went to the city itself. It was a simple dress, wool, cream-coloured with thin threads of blue woven in. She wore a simple leather belt around it, and her long knife sheathed at her side. She wore a blue cloak overtop, but left the hood down.

Once Galin was ready, they went into the city. It was already getting late in the day, and then sun would set within the hour. "I'll head to the docks and see if his ship is in," Luthene suggested. "You head to the inn and make sure we get a room before it fills." The wind coming in off the sea was cool, and the sky threatened rain.

While Vilpamolan had a reputation for being lawless and violent, Luthene didn't feel nervous as she walked the streets. Being neither wealthy nor a whore, she didn't attract much attention, and was able to walk the docks undisturbed. While she checked twice, she didn't see the figurehead of Sanders' ship. Rain started to fall, and it was getting too dark to see, so she found the harbourmaster.

"Is the Queen's Grace in?" Luthene asked.

"Not seen it," he said.

Hoping the ship was just delayed, Luthene left the dock and headed for the inn. The rain got heavier, and she was quite soaked by the time she arrived. The place was friendly enough, and she was offered a cup of hot wine, which Luthene accepted gratefully. "I came here with a northern man, a Highlander. Could you tell me what room he's in?" she asked.

"Up the stairs, second door on the right."

Taking a plate of bread and cheese, Luthene headed up the stairs and opened the door to the room. "Galin, I've brought some… oh!" She dropped the plate in surprise when she spotted him in the bath. Turning as red as her wine, Luthene clapped her free hand over her eyes, and turned her back to him. "I am so sorry, I didn't… do you need me to leave?"

It had been a long month, one of the longest in Galin's life. For a man accustomed to an active life a month of slow recuperation was worse than whatever tortures the most evil-minded bastards could think up. After the first week, when the wound was starting to close, he tried to return to training but between Luthene and the company's physician nagging him, he was forced back into bed. His rib needed time to mend, they said, but he was more concerned with dying of boredom. He took up woodworking to pass the time, and after a month, his pieces looked less like demons from his worst nightmares and more like the dogs he was trying for. The children running around the camp seemed to like them well enough either way and Galin was glad that some good could come out of his frustration.

When he returned to training, he found that his side was stiff and the skin seemed to pull when he stretched. The physician told him it was the scarring and it would grow more comfortable the more he worked. Even though it lanced with pain when he moved too quickly, Galin insisted on pushing himself until the pain faded to a dull ache and then to nothing at all. A man who could not raise his arm and hold it high was no use in a shield wall and all Galin wanted was to return to his place there. The men in the company were supportive, offering a thousand and one folk remedies that they swore would speed the healing process, though he knew he had to wait for nature to take its course. Domnall visited him regularly as he recuperated in the hut he shared with Luthene and promised him that soon he would be allowed to paint his own device on his shield and have oaths sworn to him as a true battle lord. Galin's oath to Domnall was not vacated, but his status had risen and, even if he would never admit it, it pleased him.

The mission did not matter a whit to Galin, as he was just happy to be fit enough to march out with the company again and carry his arms. Luthene in her dress, though, was worth notice and he teased her about it all the way from the company's camp outside Vilpamolan. He was dressed with more care than usual, with a deep green tunic with silver and black embroidered knot-work around the neck and sleeves. He also wore the silver enameled sword belt he had taken from the dead champion in Adeulna and his war sword tapped against his left leg as he walked. The weight was familiar and comforting and Galin let his left hand rest on the lobed pommel as they walked through the city. Smoke assailed them from the minute they came through the gates and the smell of pitch was rank in the air. The noble was supposed to arrive in the next day or two and Luthene suggested that he secure them a room while she checked for his ship. The city was not as dangerous as many seemed to think, so long as one played by the rules and he trusted Luthene to be able to look after herself, so he agreed. "Try the Seaman's Mast when you're finished at the docks," Galin said with a chuckle and a wink. "I will try and get us a room there. They say there's nothing better in town than the Seaman's Mast."

Laughing, he left Luthene to likely blush and sputter and made for the tavern. It was run by an old pirate who lost a leg in a boarding action during one of the countless petty squabbles between the pirate lords but unlike most of the inns and taverns near the dock, it was less given to vice, at least by Vilpamolan standards. Galin left their mounts with an ostler in the tavern's courtyard, tossing him a pair of crescents to water and feed the horses. Once inside the tavern, he located the proprietor near the crackling hearth with a small crowd around him listening to his stories of sea battles and monsters that lurked between the continents. "A room," Galin said simply when one of the stories was finished and the old pirate looked up at him with an appraising glance. Galin could tell the price of the room just doubled when he felt the man's eyes on him but he smiled calmly regardless. After all, it was Domnall's coin, not his.


"Two crescents, good Adelunan ones, none of that debased Northern shite," the pirate growled, "three if you're wanting food. Don't be bringing strange doxies in here either, see? If you've got needs, we've got our own girls for that, or boys, or the odd sheep for when you Northern bastards come out of your hills." He laughed at his own joke and spat into the fire. "Have we a deal?"

Galin stuck out his hand and shook the pirate's, then placed six crescents on the table in front of the old man. "Two nights and I'll give you that again if we're not disturbed while we're here." The pirate swept the coins off the table and into his purse before tossing Galin a key.


"Up the stairs, second on the right. And don't take this the wrong way, Northman, but I'll be sending up a bath. You stink of shit and I can't have you stinking up a proper establishment." Whistling, he summoned a pair of women who bustled into the kitchen to heat the water for a bath. Galin gave the pirate a crooked smile, inclined his head, and made his way to his room. Truth be told, he could use the bath, and it would do to help keep his wound clean. No infection had set in and it was nearly healed completely but Galin did not want to take chances. So while the women slopped up buckets of hot water and filled the large wooden tub, Galin stripped down to his breeches and left his clothing and sword at the far side of the room. The soap they left was finely milled Cittapashen, likely looted from a merchant ship, and whistling, he began to clean himself with a small towel and the soap.

He was wiping the soap from his eyes when he heard the door's lock click, Hurriedly removing the rest of the soap, he grasped the handle of his fighting knife from where it hung from the bedpost until he saw it was Luthene. When she saw him, she dropped the plate she was carrying with a crash and turned away in embarrassment. Galin laughed, a full, throaty belly laugh, and climbed out of the tub. "No, no, stay, I've got trousers around here somewhere." Still laughing, he pulled on his smallclothes and tossed Luthene his cloak. "Put that on and warm up, you'll catch your death." Shaking his head, he put the food back on the platter and ushered her into the room to sit on the bed. "Maker's bollocks, but you should have seen your face…"

Tearing the small loaf in half, Galin sat next to her and stretched his legs. "Now that I smell like a rosebush, let's review the plan, shall we?" He chewed on the bread a moment before diving into the details to give Luthene's color a moment to return to normal. "When his lordship or whatever's boat comes in, we will be meeting him at the docks. His retainers will have a man in his clothes and they'll make a ruckus as they leave for Adeluna. We get him back here, into a proper workingman's clothes, and leave by another gate and head for the company. Once we're there, it's a smooth ride back to the camp, the lordship pays Domnall, the queen has another blue-blooded arsekisser back in her court, and you and I get a little coin. Happy days, right?"

This wasn't the first time Luthene had walked in on a man in the bath, or some other state of undress. It was unavoidable around fighting men, especially while on the road. The men rarely concerned themselves with privacy, and certainly didn't care if she happened by. It was always more embarrassing for Luthene than for the men, and that was certainly the case now as Galin began to guffaw, while the colour on her face intensified. It was worse with him, and she wasn't entirely sure why. Not his laughter; this wasn't the first time someone had laughed, and Galin was jovial, not cruel. Perhaps it was the prospect of having to share the room with him after, or that they'd been sharing a hut for more than a month. Or perhaps it was something else, something she wasn't considering.

When Galin told her to stay, Luthene took her hand off the door. "They're by the foot of the bed," she said, but didn't turn around until her tossed her his cloak. "Thank you," she said, hanging her wet cloak up and wrapping his around her shoulders. He rescued the food from the floor, and they both say down on the bed; there was nowhere else to sit.

Taking small bites out of her half of the bread, Luthene listened while Galin went over the plan for getting Sanders out and safely back to Adeluna. She nodded when Galin finished. "There's a challenge phrase when we meet him, 'Long live the queen'. Probably best if I'm the one to say it, unless your Southern accent is better than my Northern one. His response should be 'I am her loyal servant'. Assuming he gives us that response, it's as you said." Luthene didn't want to think about what they'd have to do if the response was wrong.

After eating all she could, Luthene turned her attention to Galin's wound. It was clean, thankfully, and she prepared a dressing for him. The bruising around his broken rib was fading, and looked far less angry than it had the first time she had preformed this task. As she finished wrapping a bandage around him, she let her hand linger, considering their present situation. "We may have to share the bed," she said finally, securing the bandage in place. "I didn't think to bring an extra blanket, and anyway, what if someone comes to take the bath? I hope that's alright."

Luthene got herself ready for bed and crawled in under the heavy blanket. She was still cold until she felt Galin's arm around her. "Thank you," she murmered. While her eyes were closed and her body still, Luthene's mind refused to quiet, and it was a long time before she finally fell asleep.

Breakfast the next morning consisted of a boiled egg for each of them, sausage, and bread. Once they'd eaten, Luthene wanted to head straight for the docks. The day was clear, but some of the old sailors said they could feel a storm coming in from off the coast. When Galin and Luthene arrived, she spotted a ship unloading that hadn't been there the night before. Sure enough, it was the Queen's Grace, and she lead Galin to it. They were spotted, and one of the men approached them. "Are you with the Company?" he asked. Immediately, Luthene was on alert. Something seemed off about this man.

"We are," Luthene replied.

"Oh, good. I'm Sanders. Are we to leave for Adeluna then?" It was his speech, Luthene realized. His words were polished, but his accent was still a bit rougher than she'd expect from a a noble of his station.

"We are," Luthene said slowly. "Long live the queen."

"Yes, yes, long live the queen," he replied.

It only took a second for him to realize his mistake, but Luthene managed to grab him before he could flee, and her knife was at his back. "Who are you," she hissed in his ear, "and where's the real Sanders?"

“Yes, yes, long live the queen.”

Galin’s eyes flickered with a sort of weary amusement at the man’s mistake while Luthene grabbed hold of the man and pricked his back his her knife. While she moved in a blur, Galin stepped between her and the docked ship, his sword hissing out of its fleece-lined scabbard. “I would not suggest your hand moving any farther, friend,” he said with a menacing smile at one of the men who had stepped onto the dock moments after the impostor. The man had seemed keenly interested in the pair when they began to speak with the counterfeit Sanders and Galin had sensed his gaze from where he had been casually lounging against a bale of hides meant for a tanner’s yard. When Luthene moved, the leaning man had lurched forward and his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, looking to intervene. “Ahh well,” Galin said, almost regretfully, and stepped forward with a viper’s quickness. The point of his blade drove into the man’s throat and his eyes blinked in surprise as he dropped to the dock. Galin kicked the body from the blade and pushed it into the harbor. “Now,” he said, turning to the false noble, “you and I will be having words. Alyson, follow me.”

Luthene bundled the impostor along, her knife still at the man’s back and Galin led them through the crowded dock. His bared, blooded blade was enough to clear the three a wide berth, even among the rough types that lined the quayside. Galin had spied a Northern boat put into port on the next wharf and he steered instinctively toward it. They would likely look the other way while Galin did what needed to be done, especially for another Northman. “To the curling prows,” he called back to Luthene, and shoulder his way toward the ship, shoving aside anyone in his path. Killing the other man had bought them time but if they wanted to find the proper noble, he would have to be found past. Galin thought, in their place, if word reached him that the deception was discovered, he would likely have slit Sanders’ throat and left town in a hurry, so it was a race against time.

The ship was a large one, one of the bigger Galin had seen and was commanded by Aelle, a bluff, hard-faced man with a large war axe and a tame magic woman at his side. A few coins was all it took to have Aelle’s crew lining the wharf in their war gear and gave Galin and Luthene the privacy of the hull. With the ship in for repairs, there was plenty that Galin could use to help persuade the impostor to give the information more quickly than simple questioning. As Luthene pushed the man aboard, Galin smiled and threw a few more pieces of sea coal into the small portable forge and then stirred a small bucket of bubbling pitch, grinning wickedly at the man as he did.

"Let's save us a few minutes, shall we? The lovely lady here would ask you a whole host of questions and you would play dumb. She would get pretty riled, maybe hit you a time or two, but in the end, you and I would be the one's talking. So Alyson, you head along, stay on the dock, could you? It's best we let me do what I need to in peace."

The man tried to rush Galin but the warrior was expecting it. He spun on his heel and backhanded the man across the face, sending him staggering into the gunwale. Following a step behind, he took the man by his collar and rammed him against the mast. "Try that again and you'll lose your kneecaps," Galin said, his tone soft, almost a whisper, as he wrapped thick hempen rope around the man, securing him to the mast. "As it stands, we've come to that part of the questioning where you start to lose things anyhow. How much you lose really comes down to how much I trust you. So convince me."

Galin picked his bloodied sword up and pressed it against the man’s throat until it broke the skin and a drop of blood glistened against the steel of the blade. “Oh, that’s right.” Galin withdrew the blade and the man let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. “That wouldn’t be the right place to start.” He placed the blade on the small carpenter’s table and took a up a pair of smith’s tongs instead. “You know, when they build these ships, each iron nail, it’s fashioned to fit a specific hole in the hull?” Galin idly turned one of the nails left in the forge with the tongs, drawing it out so the man could see the yellow glow. “It’s the only time you’ll see fire on a Northern ship, when they are making the nails. It’s almost a sacred thing, I would say.” He spoke softly, his voice barely carrying over the hissing of the sea coal and the creaking of the ship’s boards as small waves lapped against its side.

“Now, though, you’ll be hoping the Maker’s listening to you right now, you lying bastard. Because if he ain’t listening yet, you’ll get loud enough to hear him. You’ll be shouting the answers til all Canelux hears you.” He turned around, a ship’s nail in the grip of the tongs and brought it up to the man’s face. The man twisted away but Galin persisted, keeping the glowing heat just in front of the man’s eyes until he could swear he was blind and the hairs of his eyebrows and beard began to scorch. Galin said nothing, looking at him with silent menace in his cold, blue eyes, then abruptly turned and thrust the nail back into the flames. “So I will give you one chance so you can pass the worst of this. Who are you? Where is the proper Sanders? And what were you planning to do in Adeluna? But before you open your gob,” Galin said, cutting off a sputtering flow of words from the man lashed to the mast, “remember this. You lie to me and I will make your last minutes on this world so full of pain and in the end, you will tell me anyway. You will weep it, shout it, stammer it, but it will not matter. If you lie, your end will be a long howl across the Bridge of Swords.”

The man swallowed, eyes darting around with fear. He did not trust this Northman and looked in mute appeal toward the woman, but Galin snapped his fingers to get the man’s attention. “So,” he said, his tone still even and friendly, “what is it you have to say?” He stepped up to the man and yanked apart his tunic, leaving his chest exposed. While the man collected himself, Galin pulled nail from the fire again and held it up to the man’s face again.

“I… I don’t know where they keep him. I am just… they paid me to play the part. I thought it was a joke or something!” The man’s voice cracked as he slipped over his words and Galin simply smiled.

“So you’re some sort of actor? Well… time to see if you can convince me!” Galin raked the nail down the skin of his chest. The man’s scream startled gulls that were perched on the mast’s arm and they screeched in protest as they took wing. The nail dragged over the man’s chest and in its wake, the skin burned and bubbled, leaving a puckered ridged welt in its wake. “Ahh, you see, I am not convinced. And you lied. I did warn you, didn’t I?” Galin thrust the nail back into the fire and picked up a carpenter’s hammer and chisel. “Now stay still. This will hurt you far more than it will hurt me.” Galin knelt at the bottom of the ship’s hold and placed the iron chisel hard against the knuckle of the man’s little finger.

“Still sticking to the story?” Galin did not give him a chance to answer. He brought the hammer down in a powerful stroke and the chisel cleaved clean through the joint. The man cursed and groaned, to shocked to scream. The finger dropped to Galin’s feet and a splash of blood colored his cheek. Scooping up the finger, he showed it to the bound man. “If you think that hurt, imagine when I chisel off that shriveled prick of yours.” The man whimpered as Galin tossed the severed finger to hiss and sizzle in the brazier of coals. “But I am not an unreasonable man,” Galin said as he returned with the bucket of pitch. “I will make sure you live. No sense in you bleeding to death.” He took the man’s stump and pushed it slowly into the bubbling pitch and this time he screamed again. Careful to leave the bucket beneath the man’s hand as the pitch dripped and dried so as not to damage Aelle’s ship, Galin yanked the nail from the fire again and strode to the man. “And now?”

“I… my name is… Irwin. I am a household guard to a lord in Adeluna. He gave me orders and that is all I know. That is all!” The man nodded, trying to convince Galin that it was all he knew. “And I haven’t a clue about Sanders. He’s gone for all I know.”

Galin shook his head sadly. “No honor in southrons,” he said as he scored another line down the man’s chest, leaving a raw, angry line. Again and again the nails raked flesh and returned to the flames, the hammer struck the chisel through flesh and bone, and again and again Galin calmly repeated his questions. Slowly the story began to unfold as Irwin’s chest became a checkerboard of pain. The man had been part of a party of six men that posed as new members of the crew on Sanders’ ship. They captured and secreted the man when he first boarded and Irwin took his place. The rest of the crew did not know the six so Irwin’s deception went unnoticed. When the ship docked, Irwin was to play the role of Sanders and the rest of the men took the noble to a small stone house just beyond the wharves. Irwin would return to court, spy for his lord, and pass along whatever intelligence he could glean to help the loyalists to the old regime. Galin nodded as the man told his story in sobs of pain, slowly turning a nail in the brazier.

“Sadly, Irwin, I think you are still lying.”

The man whimpered again, a defeated noise of a broken man, and still Galin heated the nail. “I swear on all the gods that it is true. I’ve told you everything.”

“It is a shame I do not believe you,” Galin said, almost pityingly, and turned with the glowing hot nail. “It is a shame, you see, because now I have to take your eyes. They sizzle like eggs in a pan when you take them with flame, and run like boiling water down your cheek. I hate it myself but you have left me no choice.” He inched the nail closer, the yellow tip an inch from the man’s face. The heat of the nail seared the man’s face and he screamed, begging for mercy. “Tell the truth, Irwin, and you may keep your eyes.”

“Alright, alright. I was to kill the Queen! That’s the truth! I was supposed to pose as Sanders long enough to kill her then escape in the confusion. Dear gods, that’s the truth,” he said, weeping as the truth finally tumbled out of him. Galin pushed the nail back into the flickering brazier and patted Irwin’s cheek. “Good man, Irwin. You’ve earned your eyes. Pity about your hand, though.” Galin nodded to the mangled, pitch-covered remains of his left hand. “Now, I will go get the proper Sanders and I will leave you with some new friends of mine. If you have sent me into a trap, they will make this last hour seem like a paradise.”

Galin picked up his sword and used the man’s torn shirt to wipe some of the blood off its blade before slamming it back into its scabbard. “Alyson, you heard the man. We’ve got a location. And maybe some of our new friends can join us!” Hauling himself over the side, Galin dropped to the wharf and staggered to the side over the water. He seemed unsteady for a moment then threw up the remains of his meal into the sea. “Maker, may I never have to do that again,” he said, clutching the amulet around his neck. He retched again then wiped his mouth with a corner of his cloak. “Maker’s bollocks. So, shipmaster, could I impose on you a little further?”

Another haggling exchange between the men found Galin with a small but well-armed section of the ship’s crew and Aelle a few crescents richer for it, and a few more for holding the prisoner. He even offered armor for the pair so they would live long enough to pay him the second half of his price. “All right, let’s move,” Galin growled and, checking that Luthene was close at hand, jogged up the wharf and toward the warehouses. “Bloody nobles and bloody plots, it will be the death of me yet.”

"I'll stay." Luthene crossed her arms as she leaned against the side. She knew what Galin was going to do, that it had to be done, and was grateful that Galin was the one to do it; she didn't think she had it in her. Even so, she felt it was her duty to be there, and she didn't shy away. At one point, the man looked to her, perhaps wondering if she'd be merciful, but she kept still and her expression was blank. The fear in his screams nearly broke Luthene's resolve, but slowly, over the corse of a painful hour, Galin managed to extract the information they needed.

When the interrogation was over, Luthene followed Galin as he returned to the dock. He emptied his stomach into the sea, and she placed her hand on his shoulder when he finished. She opened her mouth, but there was nothing to say. Either he already knew, or it would sound like some stupid platitude that likely wouldn't make him feel any better about it.

Galin spoke with the shipmaster, a Northern man names Aelle, who agreed to loan them some of his crew, for the right price. "I'll give you Leofric, Dougal, and…"

"I'll go." A woman dropped down to the wharf. Her eyes darted back and forth between Galin and Luthene, but especially Luthene. Curious eyes, she had, and if Luthene didn't know better, she'd wonder if her own father hadn't been with some Northern woman and got a bastard on her.

Aelle shrugged and allowed the woman to join them, and also offered Galin and Luthene some armour. Seeing that Luthene's only weapon was a long knife, she was given a sword as well. The armour was made for a man, and it didn't fit her well. Still, any protection, however poor, was better than none at all.

The stone house Irwin had referred to was visible as soon as they left the docks, and Luthene stretched out her arm to hold them back. "We need a plan, and it's best to do that now before they know we're coming. If they kill Sanders— the hostage," she added, for the sake of the Northmen, "then we've failed, and Galin and I will have to explain to Domnall why he's not getting paid. Now, it looks like there are two windows, perhaps a third we can't see from here, and a single door. It's small, but there may be screens or something dividing it into rooms. We don't know where Sanders is being held, so there's no way to know if we can secure him before any of them can slit his throat."

"Well, you've outlined the problems nicely," the Northern woman, Lajaka, said. "Got a solution?"

"I do, actually," Luthene replied after a brief pause. "Irwin said there were six of them originally, and with Irwin being held on the ship and another man dead on the dock, that leaves four. We've got them outnumbered, and I've learned not to bet against Northerners. We just need to make sure we can see Sanders before we rush in, and isolate him from the others as best we can. Now, if Sanders dies, we lose our pay, but they lose their leverage, and there won't be anything stopping us form moving in and killing them all to a man… or worse, taking them alive back to Adeluna in the hopes that the Queen will compensate us, and they'll meet a very painful end. We'll need to remind them of this, and then offer them a way out." And then Luthene explained her plan.

The group converged on the house quickly, with one person on either side of the door, one at each of the two windows, and Luthene herself visible in front of the door. "You're surrounded!" she exclaimed when everyone was in position, and there was rustling inside the small house. "If you kill Sanders, you die today, or worse. Let him live, and maybe we can work something out."

"What do you want?" came a man's voice from inside.

"We're just hear for Sanders. I work for a company of Northmen, and surly you know they don't care one whit about who sits on the Adelunan thrones. We do care for our reputations, however, and we would like to get paid, and seeing Sanders safely back to the kingdom is in our best interests. I know you were hoping to send your man Irwin back with us and assassinate the Queen, but we found him out before we left the dock, and he gave up your plot and your location. It's over now, but maybe you can yet escape with your lives." There was more movement inside. One of the men at the window held up four fingers. So Irwin told the truth. "One way or another, the Queen will find out about this. The best thing would be for you to hand over Sanders right now, and you've got from now until we head back to Adeluna to find a ship and get out of her reach. I hear Srendnyimor is nice. Perhaps if you have any crescents in there, we might be persuaded to travel slowly back to the city. The alternative is, we kill you. Well, that's what I would do, but I'm a soft Southern woman. The Northmen with me, however, they'd rather take you back alive. If they can't get paid for getting Sanders back to the city, they'll get paid for delivering you men to the Queen's torture chambers. Maybe I can convince them to give you a faster, more merciful death, but surely you see that it's in your best interests to give us the man we're here for."

From inside, someone else yelled, "We want coin, too!"

"Alright," Luthene continued, "we might be able to work something out. But first I need to know Sanders is alive."

After a pause, an older man's voice called out, "I'm alive!" He sounded weak.

"No, I need to see him! I need to make sure you haven't slit him open and he'll die on us before we can reach the city and collect what we're owed. Come to the door."

The door wasn't wide enough for two men abreast, so when the door opened, Sanders was being held in front of one of the attackers, the tip of a knife at his neck. This was concerning, as the man could still kill Sanders before they could get him out of harm's way, but no plan was perfect. Sanders' shirt had been torn open, and hit chest had been cut into, possibly trying to get information out of the man. Would they do that to one of their own and try to present another decoy? Luthene wouldn't put it past them. "Are you Sanders?" she asked the older man.

"I am the queen's loyal servant," he replied.

One of the pair on the door grabbed for Sanders. The other stabbed the man who had been holding him, then rushed into the house looking for the others. Luthene followed him, and found that he was finishing off a second man when a third rushed at her from behind a screen. Surprised, Luthene tried to parry, but the blade caught her thigh anyway. His victory was short; she brought her sword back up, first slicing at his wrist, then bringing her sword around to his neck.

By the time she had ended her attacker's life, the remaining man had surrendered, begging at the feet of the Northern woman for mercy. When she looked to Luthene as if to ask what to do, Luthene only shrugged. "A quick death now would be merciful. Otherwise, I suppose you could take him back to Aelle, or he can take his chances with the Queen. It's no matter to me."

What I need is a pair of trousers, she thought. Then, seeing all the blood that was coming from her wound— which, blood aside, didn't seem to be serious— Luthene decided she might look for a clean bandage, too.