Page 20 of Chained Knight

She’d had far worse.

“Nothing.” Ari’s fingers tingled; she found out she was picking at her flannel’s buttons. The woods were full of birdsong and the movement of small creatures going about their business,taking no notice of human-shaped interlopers. “Those things. The… the clockworks.”

“The Golden.” He nodded, as if he’d expected her to ask. “Servants of the Bright King. We know not from where he brings them, or if he builds them in his Mirrored City amid the Blight.”

He sounds like a laugh a minute. Now she had other terms to add to her list as well. Were these guys a resistance faction, a sort of fantasy Free French? Maybe they were just garden-variety bandits, she couldn’t assume. She belatedly realized at least a polite noise was required on her part to keep the conversation going. “Oh.”

“He is faithless, and accursed.” Alzarien was on her left now, and his steps landed at exactly the same time as hers, his stride artificially shortened. Maybe he was making a game out of it, like elementary school kids walking in line. “Now that you are returned?—”

“We should not mention that upon the Road.” Jazarl, from behind. “The Grey Lady will explain, in a manner befitting. Our task is different.”

“Hannixe does not speak,” Sarle said quietly. He sped up a little, drawing away in front of them.

That put paid to all further chitchat, but Ari had at least a little more information.Mortalwas still the biggest question mark, butreturnedwas also a strange term.

Now, in daylight, she could attempt thinking about the dreams. Thenightmares, starring the haggard face of a man wrapped in chains. They came in waves, for as far back as she could remember; even Mom had been puzzled by the strength and duration of her daughter’s night terrors. The shock, three months into dating Mike, that she hadn’t suffered one since meeting him had turned into a source of quiet exhilaration.

The last time Ari visited her mother’s grave, she’d whispered,I think I’ve found the guy, I don’t dream anymore.

Would she ever see her mother’s headstone again? Mike had gone off the last time she suggested a trip up north to visit.Waste of time and gas, he sneered, and when she persisted—oh, very cautiously, in her softest voice—he’d slapped her. A bowl of popcorn had gone flying, and that got her an additional shot to the kidneys. Then she’d endured a lecture the following day from Wanda Lee, who found a kernel Ari had missed.

The road was nice and level, but she was afraid of stumbling anyway. Time wore on, the big red sun mounting, and at least she wasn’t sweating. Her stomach didn’t growl, another blessing.

What was in that water? She wasn’t big on caffeine, but a cup of tea sounded wonderful right now. So did buttered toast, even though she wasn’t truly hungry.

Would she ever eat again? Nobody had mentioned breakfast, lunch, dinner. Maybe it wasn’t polite to ask, as in certain cultures used to food instability. The only thing saving her from making some kind of giant faux pas was keeping her mouth shut, always the best strategy no matter one’s surroundings, but…

“Hist.” Majan halted—he was in front now, the bow strapped to his back bobbing. He held up a hand. “Alzar?”

“I hear it,” the crimson-haired man replied from Ari’s left.

Jazarl hustled them into the underbrush. A few days ago—Ari’s sense of time had grown slippery, which she supposed was only to be expected—she’d been obsessively re-tidying the Hardison mansion after the housekeeper left each day, smiling fixedly as Wanda Lee spewed her venom, waiting for Mike to come back later and later each night reeking of liquor.

Now she was a murderess crouching in weird flora with a group of strange men, trying not to breathe too loudly and hoping whatever approached wasn’t big shiny armor-clad robots.

It turned out to be Darjeth and Naithor, both nearly breathless. The pale-skinned blond took a long swallow from Sarle’s leather canteen; his companion leaned against a tree nearby, eyes half-closed and hand locked around a rapier hilt, his ribs flaring with deep soundless gasps.

Darjeth exhaled hard, lowering the canteen. “The Keep is dark,” he said, as if reporting on the passing of a foreign monarch. “The sword is gone, the fetters broken. I went inside.”

“I cautioned against it,” Naithor hurried to add, as Jazarl’s blue-tipped eyebrows rose nearly to the hairline. “But he was determined; I could not let him do so alone.”

“And?” Sarle prompted, shifting in his crouch. He glanced at Majan, who was busy watching the road through a screen of foliage.

“There were Golden inside, and… other things.” Darjeth took another hit from the canteen. “All dead,” he continued. “Savaged. They will trouble the Underdark no more.”

Stay here. I would not have you see this. Ari decided she could be glad the chained man had made that particular call. The big heavy sword, handled so effortlessly—far different from these guys’ rapiers, and he probably had a lot of feelings to work out. Plus, the wordUnderdarkcarried some interesting connotations, if she had any energy or mental horsepower to spare for figuring them out. Just another term added to her list, which was achieving Santa Claus checking-it-twice proportions.

Did this place have a Father Christmas? Nowtherewas a question.

Ari was back to hugging herself, elbows digging into her palms. Dusk in the forest was pretty. She probably would haveenjoyed it from a hotel window, or even a nice RV with a reasonably clean bathroom.

Not that she’d needed the restroom since she arrived, but that was almost beside the point. Right now she was more concerned with keeping quiet andnotletting these guys know she’d gotten the chained guy out of hock. It didn’t seem like they’d be angry at her over the event, but it wasn’t worth the risk.

Her instincts appeared to be working just fine now that she had a reasonable theory of what-the-hell, and they were telling her to be as quiet as possible. Maybe these woodland bandits or resistance fighters would even forget her presence.

Fat chance, since every man in the group except Majan was now studying Ari intently. Naithor’s breathing slowed; he was no longer chalky under his deep coppery tan.

“So,” Jazarl said, after a long pause. “Heis free, and perhaps… My lady Ari, you said you heard hoofbeats?”

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