Page 80 of Paladin's Faith

Shane gave him a deeply suspicious look. Davith rolled his eyes. “Will you just trust me? They’re going to kill me too, you know!”

The paladin looked to Marguerite, his opinion stamped clearly across his face. I don’t trust him, but you are in charge.

And to think that I used to find the man hard to read… Aloud she said, “We don’t have much to lose.”

They reached the floor in question, driven by the sounds of pursuit. Marguerite hoped like hell that it was just bouncing echoes that made their followers sound so close.

An immense storeroom opened in front of them, crates stacked high against the walls. Davith took the lead, sprinting across the open space toward the far corner. He ducked behind a wall of flour sacks and vanished from sight. Shane let out a growl and lengthened his stride to catch up.

Shouts went up from behind them. Marguerite risked a glance over her shoulder and saw men piling out of the door. They were carrying swords. Two were dressed as guards, but she was pretty sure that they weren’t on the Court’s payroll.

She and Wren rounded the wall just in time to see Davith yank a padlock off a small door and toss it aside. “Wine cellar,” he said, stepping inside. “Come on.”

Stairs went down sharply, obviously carved directly into the rock. Shane held the door open and waved Wren and Marguerite through, then yanked the door shut behind them.

“Did you pick that lock?” asked Marguerite. She knew that Davith had a certain facility with locks, but she wouldn’t have thought that he could do it in a mere five seconds.

“You doubt me?”

“Frankly, yes.”

He flashed her a smile. “Oh ye of little faith. Yes, I picked it…two months ago. Then I had a key made so that I could help myself to wine. It’s amazing the doors that open if you’re carrying a bottle, even if you don’t have two coins to rub together.”

Alcoves opened on each side, lined with rows of bottles. They were dimly lit compared to the other halls, the shadows deep. Marguerite followed Davith down as the steps twisted and turned, praying that she wasn’t being led headlong into an ambush.

It would be an excellent place for one, but the Sail couldn’t know that we’d take him hostage, and they certainly couldn’t know what route we’d take.

The door slammed open above them.

Also they don’t really need an ambush at this point.

Unexpectedly flat ground met her foot, and she stumbled. Roughly plastered walls met her gaze, a room perhaps a dozen paces across with a single large wooden door at the far end. A half-dozen more crates were stacked neatly against the wall, bearing the stamps of vintners from downriver.

Davith yanked out a key and tried to fit it in the lock, then let out a blistering oath.

“Doesn’t fit, I take it?”

“Why have two different locks, I ask you…?” He went down on one knee.

Wren and Shane turned to face the stairs. Wren dropped her pack and revealed that her ill-fitting cloak had been concealing a round metal buckler strapped against her back.

Marguerite leaned toward Davith, not taking her eyes off the stairs. “Can you open the lock?”

“If I have enough time, yes.”

“I do not believe that time is on our side,” said Shane, as calmly as if he was observing the weather.

The two false guards reached the bottom of the stairs, followed by a wedge of men dressed as duelists. Their swords were clearly not peace-bonded. A big man in the clothes of a laborer brought up the rear.

“Seven of them,” murmured Wren. Davith swore again. Both paladins ignored him, watching the men approach.

The false guards didn’t say anything. They didn’t gloat. They didn’t threaten. They simply advanced. Professionals, Marguerite thought. Several of the duelists, however, grinned like sharks.

“I owe you, big man,” one said. “You broke my brother’s arm.”

“Ah,” Shane said. “So that was a test. I had wondered.” He still sounded extremely calm.

Davith stopped trying the lock and stepped in front of Marguerite.

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