Page 28 of Chained Knight

Plus she kept getting distracted thinking of how an artist could capture the way the chains seemed near-sentient, supple as snakes. Maybe sculpture would be up to the task, but in what material?

Her few semesters of psych electives didn’t make her qualified to judge, but she was fairly sure the distraction was a coping mechanism attempting to somehow keep her together after being dumped in the middle of a guerrilla situation on another planet, or dimension, or whatever.

The chained man looked much healthier in daylight, less haggard, rufous sunshine picking out highlights in his dark mane. Without the gloom his cheekbones weren’t as startling, though those feverish eyes were just as hot and direct.

Ari cupped her elbows, feeling distinctly underdressed. Grass stains lingered on her jeans; her hair, though clean, was probably deeply unhappy with everything about this situation. It was a distinct blessing there wasn’t a mirror around. Rumpled and unnerved, she gazed blankly at the surroundings.

This chain of events could even be grimly hilarious, if she looked at it the right way. Out of a frying pan into a forest fire.Strangled on the shore of the Mere. Conjunction. You have returned. Our lord prince.

Nuts. Bonkers. Crazy. Insane. If she started listing the synonyms aloud, how many would the invisible translator be able to handle? And the chained man keptlookingat her, like he expected something. The black not-horse stretched its head over his ironclad shoulder with a very horsey snort, and a faint shadow of amusement crossed his face.

Just a flicker, there and gone. He patted the thing’s cheek and stepped away, leaving the reins fastened to the saddlehorn.

“Oh, aye, now we may ache from riding instead of running.” Darjeth was back to merry sarcasm; the sally drew a chorus of low male laughter.

“Next you will complain at sleeping in the saddle.” Jazarl patted the neck of a brown equine, its mane and tail a much darker shade. For all their ease, the guys were careful not to step within hoof-range behind the beasts, and clearly respected their teeth as well. “Now, if only we had armor…”

“Soon enough.” Sarle’s mount was a glossy chestnut; the stocky man fiddled with a stirrup, reins draped over his arm. “Therukka-bushes are growing, and there are signs of bothmja-horn and pard upon the higher slopes. We shall have to be watchful.”

It sounded like there were predators in this part of the forest, another unwelcome but dismally predictable development. There was no mention of other guerrilla detachments, unless this Grey Lady was a bandit leader—the prospect sounded both intriguing and terrifying at once, since Ari was expected to… what? Impersonate a figurehead? Was she being set up to Bonnie Prince Charlie against an army of robots?

Given how the chained man went through the big shining horrors, it sounded almost doable. But he’d been tied up in the castle. What would happen if he got put out of commission again? Ari’s head hurt, attempting to sort all this out whilewearing what was presumably the interested expression of someone who understood what the hell was going on.

“Easier from atop an equine.” Majan laughed, settling his hat more firmly on his platinum mane. “The Fox will want a dappled grey for his lady.”

Maybe the Fox was the main resistance leader, waiting for the rest to show up? It was a fine time to wish she’d studied more than art in history.

The chained man halted before the cave-mouth, visibly and scrupulously respecting her personal space. “My lady.” The suggestion of a bow; no wonder he was a prince. “You will ride with me.”

That’s just great. “Are you sure?” Questioning him probably wasn’t a good idea, but it was already out of her mouth and she watched carefully for any sign of irritation or displeasure, any twitch of an incipient punch or slap.

If he turned out to be like Mike, she was going to have to hit the woods no matter the other dangers involved. Nothing, no fantastical dimension or murderous fairytale landscape, would induce her to suffer that again. The prospect of running across robots, big carnivores, or worse was deeply unpleasant, but what else could she expect?

She was, after all, still alive. Perhaps that was the sin she was paying for.

The chained man regarded her levelly. “Would you prefer an equine of your own?” As if he could just pop down to the corner store for one.

Sorry, sir, my people ride Fords, Chevys, and cowboys, not thoroughbreds.She had to throttle a tide of dark, unpleasant hilarity; nobody here was interested in Ariadne Millar’s Comedy Stylings.

So she simply shook her head, trying for a conciliatory expression. “I’m sorry.” She was going to be repeating it in thisnew language too. The habit of apologies would follow her into the grave.

Nowtherewas a pleasant and extremely lucky thought.

“No need,” he said, gravely. The phrase was familiar—he’d used it before, from the echoing darkness of a steel helmet, and without the reverb he sounded almost normal. “We ride to Gesthel; your most favoured companion lingers there with her Fox. There will be much joy in the reunion, she also holds summat which belongs to you. Will…” He paused, dark eyes half-lidded for a moment. “Will you at least consent to ride, my lady Ari? They say that is your name, now.”

It’s always been my name. “Ariadne.” The correction slipped out before she could stop herself; if they expected a plausible figurehead they were going to have to give her more information to work with. “But Ari is fine. Are you sure you want me to go along?” Inspiration struck. “You’ll probably go faster without, um, someone new.”

The guys were busy taking their not-horses downhill. Sarle swung into the saddle; naturally all of them would know how to perform the maneuver. Ari liked drawing horses or seeing them in paintings, but she’d never been atop one and didn’t think now was any time to start.

Not if she could help it.

The chained man took a step closer; clearly she was his problem now. Dull black metal drank the light, odd glints escaping here and there. “This place pleases you so much, then? Or is it my company you dislike?”

Oh, God. “No, it’s…”Crap. She realized, from the unsteady feeling under her breastbone, that she was pushing to see how far this man would let her resist. Her shoulder pressed against the side of the cave-mouth, rough rock against flannel sleeve.

Who made the men’s clothes, or their weapons? Where had they gotten the saddles? Was magic a good enough explanationfor all this? “I just don’t want to bother anyone,” she finished.Lame, Ari. He’s not going to believe that bullshit.

But if he was going to explode, she needed to know.

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