Lord Damuria sniffed. "I sleep quite well, thank you."
Lord Torath sneered. "Business is business, isn't that right, Uncle?"
"Quite," Lord Damuria agreed. He gave a dismissive wave. "Prostitution is the oldest profession known to man. We've simply found a way to meet the demand at a significantly lower overhead."
The sound of clanking armor alerted her to movement behind her, and she whirled. "Back!" The tip of her sword carved a gash into the thigh of a Steel Company mercenary too slow to retreat.
"Enough of this!" Lord Damuria sounded bored. "Take her."
Men rushed at her from all sides, too many for her to fight off. She managed to wound three before the others bore her to the ground. Heavy fists slammed into her ribs, head, and face. More than few hands groped her breasts and between her legs as they held her down. She bit, kicked, and fought with everything she had.
Screams of pain echoed above the ringing in her head. The ring of steel on steel filled the night. She caught a glimpse of a Bloody Hand thug slumping to the ground, a dagger hilt buried in his throat. One of the men holding her down coughed blood and sagged atop her. Another released his hold on her leg and whirled, only to collapse with a cry. Crimson gushed from his throat.
Ilanna ripped her right hand free of a thug's restraining grasp. Seizing the dagger from his belt, she drove it into his groin. He fell back with a pathetic whimper. She drove her boot into the face of the man holding her other leg, slashing out with the stolen dagger at the last man beside her. Her first attack opened a shallow gash along his forearm. The follow-up blow carved a long, deep line from his elbow to his wrist.
One mercenary rushed her, sword held high. Her low thrust kick shattered his unprotected knee. He fell, and she leapt onto his back. The tip of her dagger severed the base of his spine with the ease of a smith's hammer crushing a watermelon.
"Get me out of here!" Lord Damuria's booming voice rang out above the sounds of battle.
Ilanna's head snapped around. Six Steel Company mercenaries ringed Lord Damuria, weapons held at the ready. Lord Torath stood just outside the protective circle. He gripped his slim fencing sword in a steady hand, his face a mask of fury.
"Let's go!" Lord Damuria shouted.
With the precision of a military company, the mercenaries retreated, keeping Lord Damuria at the center of their formation. Lord Torath seemed too preoccupied with the fighting to realize he was being left alone. When he finally glanced back, his eyes went wide.
"Wait for me, Uncle!" he cried.
Ilanna's hand dipped into her pouch, drawing out a lead bullet and fitting it into her sling. She whipped the leather thong around her head and forward. Her aim was true. The projectile struck the back of Lord Torath's knee, and she heard the crack of shattering bone. He fell with a cry. "Uncle!" he wailed.
Lord Damuria hesitated, but the Steel Company mercenaries dragged him away. Ilanna caught one last glimpse of the blond-haired, bearded nobleman before he disappeared into the shadows.
An enraged cry brought her attention back to her immediate surroundings. A huge Bloody Hand thug charged her, truncheon raised to strike. Ilanna's eyes darted around in search of a weapon. She couldn't face this massive brute empty-handed.
"Ilanna!" Errik's cry came from behind the onrushing thug.
At that moment, a figure materialized beside her, a long sword thrusting over her shoulder. Unable to stop himself, the charging thug impaled himself on the blade. His collapsing body bowled her over, sending her flying into her rescuer.
The impact knocked the wind from her lungs and set her head spinning. She caught a glimpse of a groaning Athar, who lay beneath the immense weight of the thug. Blinking to clear her vision, she struggled upright. Her hand dropped to her belt, but her sword and daggers were gone. A heavy truncheon lay on the floor. She bent to scoop it up.
A cry of pain pierced her ears. Athar lay pinned beneath a Bloody Hand thug, a dagger driven into the meat of his shoulder. The Voramian ripped the dagger free and raised it to strike once more.
Ilanna crossed the distance to Athar in a single bound and brought the truncheon crashing down on the Bloody Hand thug's head. The wood cracked in her hand, and the impact left a deep indentation in the top of the brute's skull. He toppled to the side without a sound.
Seizing the dagger, Ilanna whirled to face a new threat. She had a moment to breathe, to evaluate the battle. Errik and Sys were engaged with four Bloody Hand thugs, while Laken fought off a Steel Company mercenary. The Hound was holding his own, but a gash in his leg slowed his movements. He wouldn't last much longer.
Ilanna watched the fight through narrowed eyes, biding her time. When the mercenary's sword came up, she hurled the dagger. The pommel clattered off his forehead, knocking him back. Laken's short sword slipped under his burnished steel breastplate and opened his gut.
"My thanks, Guild Master!" Laken called.
"Seems fair," Ilanna shouted back. "After all, you lot saved me."
Errik grunted with the effort of fighting off three Voramians. "Not to spoil your fun, Ilanna, but we really ought to get out of here before more of them show up." A vicious chop of his long sword opened the side of one man's neck. He ducked beneath a wild truncheon blow, his dagger flashing out to pierce the man's unprotected thigh. He laid the final man low with an upper cut to the underside of his arm. "What do you want to bet this whole damned place is surrounded?"
Ilanna quickly surveyed the scene. Fifteen men lay groaning, bleeding, or dead on the ground—most wearing the Bloody Hand clothes, but a pair of Steel Company mercenaries joined them.
Errik rushed toward her. "Most of Damuria's hirelings fled with him, but we can't hold off the whole Bloody Hand for long."
"No argument from me." Ilanna stooped to examine Athar's wound. "How bad is it?"
"Hurts," Athar grunted, "but I don't think it's too serious."
Errik shoved the bulky corpse from atop the young Serpent. "To your feet, Journeyman."
Athar took Errik's outstretched hand and pulled himself upright. "Point me at 'em, House Master."
"Take him." Errik pointed to Lord Torath.
The nobleman had regained his feet and had hopped a short distance away from the fight. Despite the pain twisting his face, he still clung to his sword.
"He won't go easy," Ilanna warned.
Athar grinned. "More fun that way." The young Serpent scooped up his sword and chased the fleeing nobleman.
Shouts and cries echoed from the port behind her. She spun in search of a weapon.
"Go!" Errik shouted, shoving her after Athar. "We'll keep them occupied long enough for the two of you to get away."
"But—" Ilanna began to protest.
"Don’t think for a minute I'm planning to die a heroic death for you, Hawkling." Errik turned to face three thugs charging at them. "The moment you're clear, we'll make like ghosts."
She stooped to pick up her fallen weapons and shot a grin at him. "You damned well better!" She raced after Athar.
The sounds of fighting grew faint behind her. She welcomed the darkness and silence of the port; they just needed a few minutes to make good their escape.
Not without Lord Torath.
Around the next building, she came upon Athar and the nobleman locked in combat. Lord Torath's slim sword whipped through the air, holding the Serpent back. His wounded leg hobbled his movements, but the puncture in Athar's shoulder bled freely.
Lord Torath swung hard, his blade crashing into Athar's long sword and knocking it free of the Serpent's grip. Athar ducked beneath the follow-up swing and charged forward, only to be met with the nobleman's knee to his face. Though the young man staggered, he forced himself forward, inside Lord Torath's guard. He wrapped his arms around the nobleman's waist and slammed him against the wall of a storage shed.
Growling, Lord Torath brought his elbow down on Athar's spine. The young man fell to one knee. Lord Torath shoved him back and raised his sword to strike.
Athar groaned and rose to unsteady feet.
"Anything badly hurt?" Ilanna asked.
Athar winced but shook his head. "He stunned me, is all."
Ilanna retrieved the Serpent's sword and offered it to him. "How's the shoulder? Think you can carry our friend here?"
Athar nodded. "I think so." He knelt and struggled to lift Lord Torath's unconscious frame. The training of House Serpent had made Athar strong, but the nobleman was tall and broad-shouldered. Athar grunted under Lord Torath's weight.
"This way." Ilanna pointed away from the sounds of clashing steel echoing through the port behind them. "There's too many of them to go out the normal route." She took off, moving slow enough that the burdened Serpent could match her pace. Through the buildings, piles of barrels, and dry-docked boats she led them—back toward the wooden shed that held the Ghandian girls.
Of the four Bloody Hand thugs she'd seen earlier, only two remained to guard the animal pen. "Leave now, and I'll spare you the fate you deserve."
The larger of the two snarled. "Think again, girl! We're the Bloody H—"
Her sword whipped up and out faster than he could follow. A ragged line of red appeared along his throat, and blood cut off his words.
She moved before the man fell, executing a perfect fencing lunge. The tip of her slim sword punctured the other man's chest just beneath the ribs. She twisted the blade once and pulled it free, evading the reflexive swing of his truncheon with ease. The thug took two stuttered steps forward and gave a weak cough. His brow furrowed, as if puzzled, and he fell to one knee. A dark stain spread down the front of his tunic. He collapsed to the port beside the silent form of his companion.
Ilanna stepped over the corpses and studied the padlock holding the enclosure closed. She didn't bother with her lockpicks—she jammed her dagger into the crude lock and twisted hard. The cheap metal snapped open. Pulling the lock free of the door handle, she tugged the doors open.
Fear-filled eyes turned toward her, and the dark-skinned girls shrank back.
She held out a hand. "You're free," she said in Ghandian. "Run now, before they return." From within her cloak, she drew out a heavy purse and tossed it into their midst. "May the Watcher speed you on your way."
Ilanna repeated the process with the lock holding the wooden shed closed.
"Guild Master!" Athar's worried cry came from behind her.
Ilanna whirled. The sailors stood at the top of the gangway, their eyes fixed on her. Two held drawn cutlasses, two more truncheons, and the fifth held a pitted, rust-eaten dagger. Only the captain held no weapons.
Ilanna strode toward the ship. Fury burned in her chest. These men were the slavers responsible for bringing the girls to Voramis. Even if they hadn't been the ones to take them from their homes, they had contributed to their enslavement. For that, they deserved to suffer.
The captain shouted an order in a language she didn't understand, and the two truncheon-wielding men hauled up the gangway.
"Cowards!" Ilanna snarled. She turned back to the enclosure. A few of the older girls had ventured cautiously from their prison. They scanned the darkness with expressions of mixed disbelief and fear. At the sight of the thugs' corpses, they turned back and called for the others to follow.
"We've got to go, Guild Master," Athar said. "I think I hear more of them coming."
Ilanna cursed. Though she couldn't help all the girls—here in Voramis, she had limited resources and no way to help more than she already had—she'd at least wanted to make sure all the girls escaped. But she couldn't let the Bloody Hand catch her. Right now, escape was more important.
"Where do we go?" Athar asked.
Ilanna pointed to the empty black expanse of the Endless Sea. "There."
The Serpent grimaced. "Really?"
Ilanna shrugged. "Can you think of any other way of evading the Bloody Hand? Knowing them, they've got the entire southern half of the port surrounded, along with more than enough eyes on the streets to spot us leaving. If it makes you feel any better, I'm not loving it either."
The young Serpent rolled his eyes. "How comforting."
Ilanna cast one last glance at Captain Dynnys and his crew. They stood watching her, but made no move to cry out or interfere. She checked her pouch, belt, and weapons to ensure everything was secure. Taking a deep breath, she dropped off the edge of the dock.
Icy water surged up and around her, pulling her under with thick fingers. She fought toward the surface despite the biting chill that sapped the strength from her muscles. Her heavy cloak threatened to drag her down, and she fumbled at the ties around her throat. Finally free, she burst from the water with a gasp.
Athar emerged a moment later. His breathing quickly grew labored with the effort of staying afloat beneath the weight of Lord Torath's unconscious form. Unfortunately, the shock of the cold water snapped the nobleman back to consciousness. He floundered, crying out, and flailed at Athar in wild desperation.
Ilanna swam over to the struggling Torath and, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressed a dagger to his throat. "That's quite enough of that, my lord," she snarled in his ear. "Not another sound."
Lord Torath's frantic movements ceased, his body going limp. "Don't do this," he protested. "My uncle is—"
Ilanna struck the back of his head hard enough to silence his protests. Dazed, the nobleman floated in the water, eyes unfocused. She'd give him one of Darreth's special sleeping draughts the moment they reached shore. He'd be easier to manage unconscious.
Athar coughed and spat water. "Bastard!" He eyed Lord Torath, as if contemplating how best to drown the man.
Ilanna glanced back at the dock. The current of the ocean had pulled them a few dozen paces northward of where they'd jumped in. If they could stay afloat a while longer, they'd be far enough away that they could swim back to land and evade the Bloody Hand patrols.
If we don't freeze first. The chill of the ocean made it hard to think, much less move. Already her teeth had begun to chatter. But she could get warm later, once she'd escaped. With no other choice, she lay on her back and surrendered to the current.
* * *
Ilanna shivered in the biting morning breeze but forced herself not to hurry. Though the street between her and The Sour Mash Inn appeared empty, she wouldn't risk being discovered by the Bloody Hand this close to safety.
Their journey across Voramis had been a miserable one. After floating for far too long in the frigid water, she and Athar had swum ashore, dragging the unconscious Lord Torath with them. On dry land, the first things she'd done were secure Lord Torath's mouth with a gag and bind his hands behind his back. A nearby tarp had provided her a way to conceal the nobleman from watching eyes. Athar had grunted with the exertion of carrying the nobleman, but never spoken a word of protest.
In a way, she almost envied the young Serpent. The effort would drive away the chill, while all she could do was wrestle with her chattering teeth.
Just a few more steps, and we're safe.
After a minute of observation, she decided to risk it. She nodded to Athar and slipped from her hiding place. Her boots squelched with every step, and she winced at the raw blisters, but that didn't stop her from hurrying toward the inn's carriage entrance. When no one confronted her, she motioned for Athar to follow.
A shadow burst from beneath the eaves of the inn. Ilanna's hand went to her dagger.
"It's me," hissed a familiar voice.
Relief flooded Ilanna. "Errik!"
Master Serpent grinned at her. "About time. And here was me about to start worrying."
She gripped his arm. "Laken? Sys?"
"Sys wal
ked away with a few minor cuts and bruises, lucky bastard." His face darkened. "Laken wasn't so fortunate."
Ilanna's eyes widened. "Is he—?"
"No," Errik said quickly, "but if we don't get him some help quickly, he won't make it back to Praamis. Keltor said the wound to his leg is beyond his skill. Tyman would know what to do…"
"By then, it'll be too late." Ilanna's mind raced. Journeyman Tyman was the Guild's preeminent healer, thanks to the training he was rumored to have received under the priests of the Bright Lady. "Can we get a healer from The Sanctuary to look at him?"
Errik shrugged. "I've already sent Sys. Let's just hope he can convince a Ministrant to make a house call." His eyes went to the burden on Athar's back. "Brought me a present, have you?"
Ilanna motioned to the young Serpent. "Drop him."
Athar complied, not bothering to be gentle. The canvas-wrapped bundle screeched and wriggled.
Ilanna strode toward the inn's rear entrance. "Bring him."
Errik and Athar followed, dragging the bundle between them.
The stink of excrement, urine, and vomit assaulted her nostrils, but she made no move to exit the privy. Instead, she turned and motioned for the Serpents to dump the body beside the nearest hole.
"Open it," she commanded.
Lord Torath's face contorted in rage when he caught sight of her, then twisted in a grimace of disgust as the overwhelming odors assaulted his nostrils. Ilanna drew a dagger and bent toward him. The nobleman flinched, but she seized his hair to hold him fast. With a quick flick of the blade, she severed the cloth gag—and carved a bloody furrow into his cheek.
"You mud-born bitch!" Lord Torath shouted. "You—"
Ilanna shoved his head into the garderobe hole, pushing until the nobleman's face squelched in the foul muck. She counted out a slow ten seconds before pulling him free. Lord Torath gagged and vomited into the garderobe. She waited until he'd emptied his stomach, then released his hair.
"I thought noblemen were supposed to have civil tongues," she snarled. "You'd do well to exercise your lordly etiquette given your current situation."
Lord Torath glared at her. "You're making a mistake of epic proportions, holding me like this. When my uncle finds out what you've done—"
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