Page 89 of Paladin's Faith

“I don’t think so?” She tested her footing and excruciating pain failed to shoot up either of her legs. Her bare foot squelched. “I think I’m okay. Bruised, but nothing’s broken.”

“Good,” he said.

A moment passed, during which Marguerite realized that her arms were still wrapped around his neck. It occurred to her that it would be somewhat difficult to walk in this position.

“I should probably let go of you.”

“Only when you’re ready.”

She did not feel particularly ready, but another, more pressing thought struck her. “Wren! Davith!”

“They’re fine. But we do have a problem.”

Marguerite reluctantly let him go. As soon as she stepped back, the wind hit her again and the rain seemed to redouble. Rivulets ran down her face and her hair slapped wetly against the back of her neck.

Oh well, at least it’ll wash off some of the mud… She pulled the hood of her cloak up and turned back to look at the trail.

She was glad that the hood hid her expression because the sight made her blanch. A good twenty feet had been washed out, gone in a churn of mud that looked more like a cattle wallow than a trail. I rode that down? Another cold wave of adrenaline shivered through her as she realized just how bad things could have been, if not for the sedge.

Up the hillside, on the next switchback, she saw Wren and Davith looking down. She waved up to them and both sagged in relief.

But if they’re up there on the original trail…how did Shane get down here? “Did you get caught in the slide too?”

“No. I climbed down.”

Given the steepness of the trail, it had probably been less of a climb and more of a controlled fall. She swallowed. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. My armor could be better. Mud and chainmail is not the best of combinations.”

Marguerite eyed Wren and Davith. Wren was facing toward the stone wall, and even with the lighting, Marguerite thought she looked remarkably pale. “How do they get over here?”

“I don’t think they do. There’s no way to cross that safely.”

The others had clearly come to the same conclusion, judging by the hand gestures. Davith nodded glumly, then cupped his hands around his mouth. “We’ll catch up with you!” he shouted, then turned back, tugging at Wren’s sleeve.

“They’ll have to backtrack to the last fork,” said Shane. “Hopefully the two trails will reconnect somewhere lower down. I don’t know how long that will take, but hopefully we can find shelter somewhere below and wait for them.”

“Think they’ll be okay?”

Shane watched the two, impassive. Davith appeared to be alternating talking and tugging Wren back down the path. “Will he take this opportunity to abandon her and escape?”

“Davith? No. I doubt it would even occur to him. He’s a cad, but he’s not actually a bad person.”

“Then I doubt their risk is substantially greater than ours. I cannot imagine any pursuers would give chase in this weather.”

Marguerite nodded. The Red Sail had deep pockets, but there were limits.

The pair vanished with a final wave. Marguerite dug into her pack and pulled out her spare pair of shoes. They were lighter, meant for court wear, and they were going to be absolutely ruined, but it was still better than going barefoot. She gazed at the embroidery with a touch of sorrow, then slid them onto her feet.

“Ready?” asked Shane.

She was cold and wet and miserable and shaky with adrenaline. She actually wanted to sit down in the middle of the trail and cry.

And if I do, he will use the voice and tell me that it’s okay and I will believe him. And I’ll probably feel better.

And then I’ll still have to walk the rest of the way in the rain and the mud, except it will be darker and colder and wetter and I’ll be embarrassed.

“Ready,” she said, squaring her shoulders, and followed him into the storm.

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