“But, sir, the prisoner-” one tried to say.

“I will take her to the cells.” His voice was flat and brooked no argument. Chagrined, the three hastily saluted and left Sir Hugh with Linsha.

Linsha found herself gasping for air. She ached in every part of her body. The Knights’ roughness had not been brutal, but it had aggravated the injury on her head and the other bruises on her body.

Sir Hugh caught her elbow to hold her steady. “I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice as they walked toward the guard tower.

She forced a faint smile past the pain in her face. “It’s a relief to know someone is willing to stand up for the honor of this Circle.”

He grimaced. “We have not stood strong enough this day.”

Linsha swallowed hard. Her mind felt disconnected and dizzy; she was having trouble focusing on the castle around her. “Have you seen my owl?”

“Not since Sir Remmik ordered her to be driven off. I think she left on her own accord.” He remembered the creamy round eye circles framing the dark eyes that had looked down on him from the roof and winked. “She seemed to know.”

Linsha bowed her head to hide the sudden glitter of tears in her eyes. “If she comes back, tell her what happened. She will understand.”

He said nothing else until he had escorted her down to the cells. Slowly he opened the heavy door and stood fidgeting with the key. “Sir Remmik has ordered a gallows to be built just outside the castle. Apparently, he intends to use you as an example.”

“An example of what?” She sank to the bed slab. “Is it true there is a fleet of ships out there?”

“A messenger from the Legion came around noon today with a message for the commander. If that was the news, Sir Remmik did not tell us until the council.”

“In his own good time,” Linsha muttered. “Will you untie me?”

A spasm of anger passed over Hugh’s strong features. “Sir Remmik ordered the officers of the watch to keep you tied so you do not try to escape. He wants to chain you as well, but it seems chains for the prison cells have not yet been made.”

“Lucky me,” she muttered. A thought came to her, and she had to blink fast to keep back the lingering tears. “I know you’re on duty tonight,” she said hurriedly. “Please let me write a letter to my parents. My father must know the truth.”

Sir Hugh locked the cell door behind him and said softly through the bars in the small window. “I will bring you paper tonight, and I will see your letter is sent.” He turned on his heel and left her alone in the damp darkness.

Linsha stared at the glow of faint light from the lamp left burning at the foot of the stairs. Her hands felt numb from the ropes around her wrists. Slowly she took a deep breath and forced her tears away. Self-pity was weakness. Tears were a waste of time. She still had about eighteen hours until the hanging. Anything could change in that length of time. With her self-pity, she added her fear and all thoughts of the feeling of a rope around her neck, the fall, the crushing force at her throat. She balled these together and locked them out of her mind. She had to concentrate on other matters, such as easing the pain in her head, calming her breathing, and focusing on escape. She would not go easily to that rushed sentence without knowing the truth.

She lay down on the slab on her side. Her fingers moved clumsily but they could move, and she put them to work on the knots of her bindings. Beneath her filthy tunic, the two dragon scales on their chain slipped down to rest against her breast. Their shape and feel gave her comfort and strengthened her resolve. Iyesta needed help, and Linsha was not going to let the overlord down.

Out of the Night-Dark Prison

12

An hour before sunset, a ragged-looking figure in a broad-brimmed hat walked up the road to the Solamnic stables. He was leading two horses. The grooms, who had seen him before, welcomed him and the horses he led.

“ ’Ere two of yours,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Figured it might be worth a bit to git ’em back.”

The grooms were quite willing to give the old beggar a few coppers for returning the animals, since one of the bedraggled looking horses was Sir Morrec’s own mount Four of the horses from the escort had found their way back, and now two more had been returned. The only ones still missing were Linsha’s desert horse and a gelding.

“I found them out in the Rough,” the beggar said, meaning the edge of the grasslands north of the city.

While the stablehands groomed and fed the horses, they were not loath to chat with the old man who sat on the edge of a water trough and listened to their chatter. He quickly learned what he needed, and after a while, he nodded his thanks and limped down the hill toward Mirage.

Eight hours after Sir Hugh left Linsha in her cell, she collapsed back on the wall by the slab bed and nearly gave in to the despair that pounded against her resolve. Less than ten hours left and she was no closer to freeing her hands than she was hours ago. She had managed to squeeze her arms around her legs so her hands were in front of her, but her arms were aching, her wrists were rubbed bloody, her hands were so swollen she could not move them, and the knots remained stubbornly tied. The rope, made from the tough hemp grown in the marshes along the Blood Bay, was barely frayed from the constant rubbing she had tried on the edge of the slab bed.

Linsha closed her eyes, ignoring the pain, and tried to rest for a minute or two. She must have slept a little, for the next thing she knew, an unexpected noise jerked her awake. She peered muzzily at the door of the cell and saw it swing open. Sir Hugh and another Knight she couldn’t see well walked into the cell. Maybe Sir Hugh had finally remembered that paper he promised.

Linsha forced herself to sit upright. “Water,” she croaked.

“Untie her,” the strange Knight demanded. He shifted slightly behind Sir Hugh, and Linsha saw the faint glint of a short sword in his hand. Her eyes flew to his face. He wore the daily work tunic of the Solamnic Knights and a light cloak, but even in the dim light she would have recognized those features anywhere.

Sir Hugh approached her, the planes of his face wary and tense. He looked at her wrists and the rope, winced, then shook his head. “You’ll have to cut it,” he said.

The other Knight swiftly slid the blade of a dagger between Linsha’s wrists and cut the ropes. She gasped as the ropes fell away and the blood throbbed through her wrists and fingers.

Sir Hugh backed away from the Knight.

The strange Knight turned swiftly, the short sword raised to strike.

Linsha moved quickly, too. She threw herself on the Knight’s arm, deflecting the weapon from its intended victim. “Don’t kill him,” she demanded. “It’s not his doing.”

Sir Hugh had not moved to evade the Knight or fight back. He held up his hands in a gesture of conciliation. “Take her and go. The guards on the walls will soon grow suspicious if they do not see the sentries posted at the inner gate.”

“Bring the others down here,” the strange Knight called up the corridor.

Footsteps hurried down the stairs and four Solamnics appeared, carrying a fifth. Two of the Knights unceremoniously dumped the recumbent man on the slab, shoved their two companions into the cell, and blocked the doorway with their swords.

“You,” the stranger said, pointed to a Knight closest in size to Linsha. “Give her your tunic.”

Linsha pulled hers off with clumsy fingers and put the man’s plainer and cleaner tunic on. Her three rescuers backed out of the door, opening a way for her to leave the small stone penal cell.