Page 38 of The Taking of House Westwood

She frowned. “Perhaps he’ll be more amenable to answering my questions when he awakes.”

“Not likely, Mistress. I advise you have him secured before he comes back to us.”

“I’ll take my chances, Arnaud. He wouldn’t hurt me.” She grinned up at him. “Well, not like that way, anyway.”

Arnaud shook his head, his eyes growing dark. “You take chances, Mistress. You should have him tied up in the yard until he awakes. Just to be sure.”

She clucked her tongue. “And you worry too much, man. He still feels for me. I could see it in his eyes. He’s scared for his little daughter, but he won’t hurt me. Go. See to the mendicants’ comfort. I’m sure they’ll want to interview all the servants — at least the female ones anyway.”

Arnaud snorted, shaking his head. “As you wish, Mistress.”

Chapter Fourteen

The Beginning

“Wake up, Bryant! If the captain catches you nodding off again we’ll both be for it.”

Bryant shot his companion Marsden a glare, shoving him with the haft of his halberd. “I’m not sleeping, you fool.”

Marsden shifted his weight, planting the handle of his weapon on one booted toe. “When are they rotating us back? This is sheer boredom out here.”

Bryant chuckled, cuffing his partner on a mailed shoulder. “You mean you want to get your hands on that sweet piece, eh?”

Marsden narrowed his eyes. “Don’t act as if you don’t either, you randy bastard.”

Bryant shrugged. “It will happen in good time. She’s not going anywhere, so I’ll get my turn eventually.”

Marsden stilled, bringing the blade of his halberd down as if to parry a blow.

“What is it, Marsden?”

“Out there,” Marsden whispered, the bushy whiskers of his black beard concealing the movement of his lips. “Do you see it?”

Bryant moved forward, his weapon at the ready. “This is the Night Road. State your business or be arrested.”

A tall figure, dressed in a long hooded coat of darkest jet emerged into the guttering torch light. The hood hid the features of the face completely, inky blackness shrouding the visage.

“State your business, traveler. Now.” Bryant snapped a quick look back at Marsden. “Be ready to sound the—”

Bryant’s eyes grew wide. “Marsden, behind you!”

The gleaming steel of a sword seemed to materialize from nothingness, slashing down at Marsden’s back. The blade cleaved into his neck, the chain mail giving way with a crunch. Marsden dropped to his knees, a gurgling sound coming from his gaping mouth, then pitched forward onto his face. His body twitched once, then was still.

“Business?”

Bryant slowly turned back to the black-clad figure.

“Hmm, my business.”

Bryant’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. The tall figure before him opened his coat, a shimmering blade emerging. Twin points of silver flame shone under the hood.

“My business is death, human.”

Bryant opened his mouth to scream, but the blade ended his life before he could emit a sound. Bryant’s head rolled on the ground, the man’s body keeling over like a felled tree.

The figure with the silver fire eyes stooped to one knee, wiping the smooth steel of his blade on the dead soldier’s cloak. Marsden’s killer appeared fully from the night, cleaning his own blade of the blood that, in the low light, looked black as oil.

The kneeling figure looked up at his companion. “Give the word, Taidon.”

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