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“Charlon Armont,” Sigil said, her voice drained of emotion, as if she were reciting a prayer at an altar, “dedicant priest of the Madrentine Order of the Sons of Tiber, there is a bounty upon your head, and it is my sworn duty to see it fulfilled.”
A bounty hunter.Dom looked her over again, trying to read the Ward on her. She must have been watching the gates, waiting for her prey to emerge.
“Now, to which kingdom is she going to drag you, that’s the question,” Sarn muttered with a half smirk. “Tyriot?”
Charlon kissed his palms again. This time it felt like a rude gesture, and Sigil bristled. “Nah, that was just a spot of illegal export. It’ll be the homeland for certain.”
The bounty hunter forged on. “You are wanted by the crown of Madrence—”
Charlon grinned, elbowing Sarn. “See?”
“—for trespassing, thievery, arson, destruction to holy property, forgery, banditry, bribery of a priest, bribery of an officer, bribery of a noble, bribery of a royal, attempted murder, and murder,” Sigil reeled off, in perfect intonation. “By royal and holy writ, I, Sigil of the Temurijon, have been appointed to return you to the court at Partepalas and see you face justice for your many crimes.”
The charges were grave indeed.Attempted murder. Murder.Dom was sorely tempted to get out of Sigil’s way and take Corayne with him. Not that she would go. Corayne looked like a child enthralled by a play, hardly afraid of anyone, let alone the fallen priest. She looked between them, owl-eyed, sipping at her ale.
The unremarkable Charlon seemed a bit more remarkable now, an odd gleam in his eye. His grin took on a shadowed edge.
Sarn crossed her arms, putting a foot up on the empty seat Sigil had refused. “I’m so glad I don’t have to recite anything when I kill someone.”
“Careful, or I’ll drag you in too,” Sigil drawled with little bite, her eyes never leaving Charlon. “Let’s go, Priest. Make it easy on yourself.”
“I think it’s you who want to make things easy, Sigil.” Again, the assassin tried to wave her down. Her booted foot tapped against the chair.“Take a seat.”
The bounty hunter loosed the ax, dropping it smoothly into her hand. “I’ll be taking the criminal and nothing else. Besides, I don’t think you have room for us all,” she added, running a hand through her short hair, sweeping it back from her face.
In the far corner, a man stood. He was, as the mortals would say, big as a house.
By the hearth, two men turned, though they could have passed for bears with their looming bodies and furry brown beards.
At the kitchen door, a cook with an apron smeared in pig’s blood stepped out, his carving knife clutched in a fist.
And so it went. The whole world fell silent, the travelers and merchants and weary nobodies going round-eyed at the brewing conflict. Six other men stood around the tavern, some on the stairs, some coming in from the yard. Armed and monstrous, big enough to put a lick of fear in anyone. Even an immortal.
Dom snapped his head back, looking to Sarn. Hoping she saw, hoping she knew.
The assassin wore her mask again, features still and unreadable, cold and unmoving as stone. She unfastened her cloak, letting it drop. Her whip coiled on one hip, the curved sword and daggers at the other. Her pouches of tricks ran along her belt. She met his gaze with that familiar, lethal flicker in her eyes.
Corayne tried to shrink back in her seat but found nowhere to go. She looked to Dom, and a plan already spun in his mind, a simple one:Get her out of here.
“I’m telling you the truth, Sigil.” Methodic, Sarn began unspooling her whip, her eyes passing from the bounty hunter to the men gathering behind her. “The realm of Allward faces destruction. And I need you to help me save it.”
“You should listen to her,” Dom heard himself rumble, drawing up to his full six-and-a-half-foot height. Next to Sigil, it only gave him a few inches, but he used them well.
She sneered up at him, taking in his sword. “You’re going soft, Amhara. Never knew you to need a bodyguard.”
Dom braced his fingers on the sword hilt. His grip closed. “I am Prince Domacridhan of Iona, a son of Glorian Lost. I guard no one but the Realm’s Hope.”
“This is a waste of time, Sigil,” Sarn sighed, drawing her dagger.
The bounty hunter faltered, only for a second, running her teeth over her lips.
“An immortal?” she said, looking to her hired thugs. “That sounds like even odds.”
Finally, Sarn stood. Next to her, Charlon did the same, the glint of steel wedged between his knuckles. Their chairs fell to the ground with a clatter.
Corayne pressed herself into the corner, her throat bobbing over the collar of her cloak. She balanced between fear and fascination.
Dom sucked in a fortifying breath.I just hope I am not stabbed again,he thought, catching the first blow of a hammer-hard fist. The thug behind him yelped as the immortal’s grip crushed his hand, snapping finger bones like dry twigs. He struck again, jabbing the man in the throat, leaving him writhing on the floor, gasping for air.That’s one of you sorted.
