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ou know, you might have told me they were kidnappers before telling me to talk to them,” Lemony grumbled at Lyssa. The gods were alarmingly flip in their instructions sometimes. So it had worked out with Pendaran in the end, but this was not looking good. She was in agony as she lay huddled in the little boat and she cried out in pain when they ground ashore amid heavy foliage and the stout muscular man flung her carelessly over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
“Shut your mouth, Monk,” he growled at her.
If they would let her heal herself, she would not have to cry out. Still, it was a simple dislocation. As long as she had a few moments to pop it back in place and pray for healing, she would be right as rain. It would sure be nice to get out of the rain. She was soaked to the bone and shivering.
“Are they still following us?”
Sunset was approaching and the gray gloom of the stormy day was deepening into flat misty shadows. Willem was now a lanky region of menace somewhere to her right as she lay over the shorter man’s shoulder.
“I think they ran aground on the shoal. That should keep them preoccupied and then we can bring the boys down and pick them off in the morning.”
“Or round them up for ransom. That fire tramp looked well to do. I reckon we can get a pretty penny for her and the monk.”
Lemony decided to feign that she was unconscious. They were less likely to hurt her any further if she was not awake to give them amusement.
“Some of your children are detestable scum!” she thought for Lyssa’s benefit. Lemony decided that these two men were not redeemable, and even if they were, she had not signed up for saving another wayward mesmer. They were too much work.
“Pitch her in the tower, Grune, we’ll deal with her in the morning. I’ll let the others know we might have trouble tonight.”
Lemony did her best to stifle her gasps of agony as she bounced against Grune’s back while he climbed the rough bank. She saw Willem dragging the boat up into some bushes to hide it from view. She winced involuntarily as low branches and leathery fronds dragged across her down-turned face.
It was a very wild and overgrown place. Grune stumbled a few times over roots and stones as he groped in the heavy canopy. They were at least out of the wind and rain, but it was dark and menacing. They pushed through thick spiders webs and were snagged more than a few times on thorny canes and brush. A few flashes of lightning illuminated the deep tangle of woodland and Lemony’s claustrophobic tendencies threatened to emerge. The menace of darkness and wild growth was too much like being trapped in a box. She swallowed and forced the thought from her mind.
Grune labored up hill, panting and cursing lightly under his breath about being bossed around by Willem. He crested the steep hill and paused to catch his breath, peering into the darkness until he decided upon his next course. Now they descended gradually and the plants departed to Lemony’s relief.
“I can walk, you know.”
“Shut up,” he rumbled.
“It’s not as if I would run away. I haven’t a clue where we are and I’m injured. Also, I’m not very fond of forests after dark.”
The man sighed and set her down with surprising gentleness, bracing her as she wobbled to regain her feet.
“I didn’t mean to do that to your shoulder. You shouldn’t have jerked around like that, you stupid woman.”
“It happens, I just pop it back in. If you don’t mind, you can help me put it back.”
“Just shut up and walk,” Grune snapped, realizing he was being agreeable.
Lemony decided not to try his patience. She had spoken truthfully. Even though she was not pleased about being imprisoned, she was being taken to an indoor location, presumably dry and sheltered from the wind. She hummed an old drinking song as she padded along at the man’s side, the path before them barely visible in the pouring rain and deepening night.
“Aren’t you scared?” the man grumbled, apparently taking exception to her relative level of good cheer.
“Well, my friends will come get me. They know where your island is now.”
“All three of them and some fishermen? Do you have any idea what you’re up against?”
Lemony shrugged.
“I have lots of friends in the Order of the Crystal Palm.”
“The who?”
“Huge guild. They have at least a score of warriors and three times as many magi. Their leader is a very powerful mesmer. He married a dragon and he’s a demon hunter, too. Did you know he used to be called Soul Render Bei?”
“Really?” the man murmured.
“And then there’s the Dunvael clan. Very old family of rangers. They practically start using bows the minute they pop out of the womb. So I reckon about a score of them will be along soon with some of their friends. In fact, they’ll probably be here first.”
She was gratified when he grew silent and no longer protested her humming. A few times she stumbled when they reached the bottom of the hill and wound up toward the glimmer of lights. She could make out the faint lines of a structure, a pair of towers and a larger hall curled against the gravid sky.
“Big place,” she murmured as they drew closer. The track leading up to it had once been cobbled but was now so riddled with roots and clumps of weeds it was difficult to walk over. The forest was quickly reclaiming what humans had wrought many years before. A waterfall roared over the splatter of rain as they filed over a stone bridge. After that they rose up toward the dark walls of the buildings via a series of mossy steps to a rusty iron gate. Grune pushed her ahead of him, although not so harshly that she lost her balance.
They emerged into a garbage filled courtyard. The old furnishings and rotting woodwork of the fortress had been piled there in various states of decay. No doubt what was flammable had been scavenged for cooking and heating fires. Judging by the number of windows that were boarded up or dark, only a fraction of the living areas were occupied. Grune took a torch from a bracket under the shelter of a wall walk and directed her toward the base of a grim looking tower. He took a rusty ring of keys off the hook outside its heavy door and jammed one into the keyhole. When the door opened, the torchlight revealed little more than a few paces of filthy flagstones, and when she hesitated, he pushed her hard this time and she stumbled inside.
Now he jammed a second key into a lock that kept a hatch sealed over a narrow set of steps that went down into the earth. The stale stench of sweat and urine issued from the hole and Lemony felt bile rising into her mouth. It was like the cellar where she had hidden all those years ago…
“I can’t go in there,” she wimpered.
“You can and you will or I’ll put you in there in pieces.”
Grune was in his home territory, feeling a little braver and weary of having to deal with her. She sensed he was serious about doing harm if she disobeyed him now. Her body trembled and her stomach was in knots. Scared she would fall in the flickering dimness, she placed first one foot and then the other on the oozing steps and started down, hugging the curve of the wall. Her head passed below the level of the hatch and Grune slammed it in place. An involuntary scream bubbled into her throat and she scrambled back up, her head rebounding painfully against the sealed door. It was dark and confined and stank of decay. She was going to die.
“Who’s that then?” came a voice from further down as she collapsed on the steps and sobbed miserably.
“Lemony,” she sniffled, “I’m scared.”
“Sister Lemony, the wee monk from Cantha?”
“Mog?” she bleated, recognizing the man’s voice.
“Aye, one an’ th’ same, lass. Come on down an’sit wi’ me. T’is lonely.”
She followed the curve of the wall down into the depths of the round dungeon, following the sound of his voice. At last she found the big man leaning against the wall amid a pile of scratchy blankets. She knelt beside him, wincing in pain as his arm drew her down to curl against his side where he tucked a blanket around her.
“Poor lil’ wren,” he said in response to her soaked clothing, “’s been rainin’ fer hours and yer soaked. Get those soaked clothes off.”
Lemony loved Mog and had been sad to see him off the day before their own departure. He was delighted when she asked him to play his pipes for her and he knew all of her favorite songs. She wept now with relief and he tsked, holding her gently as she shivered.
“Those fiends hurt you,” he rumbled when she gasped and cried out in pain under his touch.
“Pulled my shoulder out of whack,” she whispered, “Got to put it back and then I can mend it proper.”
“Aye, lass, here,” he said and she shrieked miserably as he reached over and popped her joint back. It hurt but she was grateful for its suddenness and lack of fuss. Regaining her composure, she softly prayed to Dwayna and the pain faded under azure warmth.
“Off w’ those clothes or ye’ll catch yer death. Ol’ Mog won’t take advantage o’ priestesses so don’ mind me. It’s dark as Grenth’s knickers in here anyhow.”
He was right. She was never going to get warm until she could get dry. She rose up out of the blanket and quickly shucked off her gown and robes, peeling her boots and stockings off last of all. He appeared to know his way around and rose with a heavy clatter of chains to spread out her clothes to dry a few paces away. After wrapping in a blanket she curled back against him once more and was happy for a second layer and his arm.
“What are you doing here?” she murmured, trying to imagine the enormous mesmer facing those two thugs on the docks. She imagined he did not go quietly.
“Two men, Goon and Wheezy? Aye, you met them? Scum o’ the bilge two-timing scoundrels. I’m fresh off th’ boat from Cantha lookin’ fer a place t’ sleep. They challenges old Mog to a drinkin’ contest, only they lace me drink an’ next thing I knows, here’s me bed inside an old hole in th’ ground. They gives me food an’ blankets, but they also wants to know who would pay fer old Mog’s freedom. I ‘ope Master Joe ‘nt too put out cuz I knows Army is off in the mountains and I’ve no clue where Indigo’s gone.”
“That’s terrible,” Lemony mumbled, feeling sleepy as she grew warm and comfortable.
“Aye, t’is. Poor l’il birdlet. I’ll split ‘em if they gets rough wit’ you aroun’ me.”
“You’re chained,” she sighed.
“Only ‘round me neck, I can still throttle ‘em.”
“Aw Mog, poor thing.”
“They pitched me pipes in th’ drink!” he howled.
“Don’t worry, Murdi and Uriel know we’re here. We’ll be out of here soon.”
“Or we’ll ‘ave company,” Mog chuckled darkly.
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