Page 14 of Chained Knight

“Will none of you say it?” The stocky brunet was Sarle, and he finally spoke up again. “The forest is renewing itself.”

“It does look different, even from when I…” Ari quickly looked at her boots when every eye settled on her. Served her right, opening her big mouth. She had no choice but to go along with whatever she understood of this place, but that didn’t mean she had to be stupid about it.

“Indeed the change has been swift,” Jazarl said, thoughtfully. “When did you arrive, my lady… Ari? Have I the name aright?”

Her name sounded nearly exotic in their rolling accent, but she nodded. “Last night, I think.” She probably sounded like a liar, though it was strict truth. “The sun came up while I was running away.”

Naturally, he seized on the important word. “Away?”

“On the road.”Make it a good lie, if you have to. Her conscience pinched. “I heard hoofbeats.” It wasn’t really a falsehood, just omission, like letting Mike think she’d come straight home from the grocery store, or hiding the remains of a broken glass under something else in the trash can so Wanda Lee wouldn’t start in on her.

Self-protection was reasonable. She hated it anyway, and the persistent sense of unreality, of spinning insanity, made it so difficult tothink. She almost wanted to be alone in the woods again, even if they had a fire and presumably some supplies.

A charged silence, prickling with unheard static, surrounded the campfire. The wood burned normally enough; it looked dry and well-seasoned.

Where was the damp from the storm? Was it possible to wander for miles after being hit on the head with a landslide and then…

Jesus Christ, Ari, pay attention. She needed to figure out what was really happening, pronto. Had the entire world decided to gaslight her like Mike and his mother loved to do, or had Ariadne herself gone gratefully, entirely insane? Was shebabbling to invisible people in an asylum’s garden? She didn’t think she was the type to get violent… and yet.

Dry clicks, the .38 heavy in her bruised, aching hands.

“Darjeth. Naithor.” Jazarl still sounded thoughtful. “But carefully, using night as a shield.”

“We shall leave now, then.” The blue-eyed blond stood in one fluid motion, stretching with catlike grace. Like the chained man, they moved with dancers’ economy; they handled both rapiers and bows with the ease of long habit, just as he’d swung that heavy broadsword. Tiny details threatened to swamp Ari again. “And creep in at dusk, like mice.”

Bronze-haired Naithor followed suit, though his clear green gaze rested speculatively on Ari for a long moment. He finally nodded in Jazarl’s direction and set off with the blond, both men fading into the trees almost immediately. Even with their funky hair choices—although the colors looked natural, undyed, and utterly real—they had great camouflage.

She wanted to ask where they were going, figured it was none of her business, and swallowed the question. But Jazarl answered anyway.

“They will see what is afoot at the Keep. The Bright King keeps a garrison there, and a prisoner who should be told of your arrival.” He stretched out his hands to the fire, and Ari was suddenly certain that he had fingerprints. That theyalldid, whorls and ridges just as unique as the trees’ bark-sheaths.

No way was this a simple dream or hallucination, or even a brain injury from Mike throwing her against the wall. The hell theory was still pretty robust, though there was no hint of brimstone. Simple insanity couldn’t be this detailed and seamless.

What was left? Aliens? Another wrenching internal effort to pay attention, to find something reasonable to say, almost made sweat prickle under her arms, at her lower back.

“The Keep.” Ari nodded. “Okay.” Only what came out of her mouth wasn’tokay, it sounded like a shortened version of theirvery well. The invisible translator was working overtime, and she wondered what would happen if she tried to explain the concept of steam engines or cell phones.

This place seemed pretty pre-industrial. It was a pity she didn’t have the .38, but even the thought of threatening these guys with it if she had to escape sickened her as the pond surrounded by pearl-cabbages hadn’t. She was a coward; maybe Mike was right and the world belonged to the brutal. Any empathy was a sucker’s game.

“We should make haste to Gesthel.” Sarle shrugged when Jazarl shot him a sharp glance. “We cannot care for a lady here, my friend. And if she is what you hope?—”

“Do not.” Jazarl’s tone clearly said he wasn’t having any of thishopenonsense, thank you very much. “So long as we are still in these woods, the garrison at the Keep is threatened and the Mere at least a little safer. That is our charge. And…” His sharp face softened. “And ifhecan be saved we shall spend our lives in the attempt, but we must use them well and that requires planning. In any case the lady must be weary and in deep confusion. Haring pell-mell along the Road will achieve nothing.”

Gethsel. What you hope. She stored the terms away, trying to arrange all her questions in order of importance or, failing that, in order of those she could possibly get some answers for through careful observation. Ari hugged her knees, staring at the fire. So many had tried to capture the evanescence of flame. Artists largely had to paint around it, catching the effects and not the fire itself. There was always something lost in translation.

Or gained, maybe? You could peer through van Gogh’s eyes at sheaves of wheat, through O’Keefe’s at the desert, through Varo’s at ruddy-tinted dreams with their own owl-faced logic.

She’d thought Mike could see the world differently through her, and vice versa. But he wasn’t interested, the goalposts constantly shifting; Ari didn’t even know what he wanted or she would have given it to him.

If he’d just asked instead of hurting her, seeming to delight only in her pain.

The shadows were definitely longer now, twilight instead of late afternoon. The trees didn’t creak or grow in fast-forward anymore, and the sounds of wildlife had settled into a low hum. Her new acquaintances—or captors—spoke quietly, but she focused on the fire’s voice instead. It was time for some heavy thinking, though she doubted her battered, stressed-out neurons were up to the task.

It wasn’t Past Ari’s fault. She’d had a lot to deal with.

Come on. Focus. Of coursethe Keephad to mean that huge, spire-topped castle. She could claim she had no idea why the chained guy was roaming around free, and maybe they would believe her. Was he the ‘prisoner’ they talked about?

She kept tripping over that word,mortal. Maybe the invisible translator had a false cognate, but it didn’t seem likely. Ari huddled as small as possible, watchfully quiet, trying to look reasonably sane, considering her options.

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