Law of the Broken Earth(34)

“Or if you no longer have it, tell me to whom you gave it,” Istierinan snapped. “I will at least make this night a short one.”

Tan wanted to ask again what it was, but was afraid of what Istierinan might do if he seemed to be defiant. The thug, responding to another of Istierinan’s gestured commands, released Tan and stepped back, punctuating the spymaster’s demand with a clear illustration of what the rest of the night would be like if Tan continued to be obdurate. Tan tensed the muscles of his neck, trying to let the slip-chain carry some of his weight. This was not a successful endeavor. He tried to think. This was also not a very successful endeavor. Istierinan was still waiting. Tan opened his mouth to agree, at least to get Istierinan to release the slip-chain, let him sit down, if only for a moment until the spymaster understood that Tan really could not do as he demanded—even a brief respite would be a very good thing—

There was a shout, and the sound of running steps coming rapidly closer, a lot of men by the sound, and then almost at once the deadly whip of arrows through the cobweb-strewn space under the vaulted roof of the barn and more shouts.

Istierinan whirled, shocked, and then hesitated, taking a step toward Tan. Another shout echoed in the close space, and more arrows flew—better aimed this time, so much better that Tan belatedly realized that the first volley had been meant merely to frighten the spymaster and his men and drive them away from their prisoner. Istierinan realized that, too, and that, chained as Tan was, it was going to be impossible to take him with them in their flight. He snatched up the torches instead and flung them down, shadows whirling and surging as the flames whipped through the air.

Tan expected Istierinan to kill him, since he couldn’t keep him. To his surprise, the spymaster spun and reached for the book instead. But an arrow sliced the air not an inch from his hand and then another cut across his forearm, loosing a red spray of blood—Istierinan made a sound between a gasp and a scream, jerking involuntarily away, but even then he did not run. But another arrow struck him in the back. One of his men caught him up as he collapsed, and carried him away at a run, not at all discommoded by the burden.

Then Tan’s rescuers were arriving—men in plain clothing without badges or identifying marks, but with very businesslike weapons. Most of them went straight past Tan, hurrying cautiously into the echoing reaches of the barn, but a small group of men stopped to collect the abandoned torches and, very much to Tan’s relief, two came to get him free. Tan was not altogether astonished to find Geroen among those who stayed near at hand, but he was speechless to glimpse the slender figure of Mienthe stretching up on her toes to peer over the captain’s shoulder.

“Can’t you stand?” growled Geroen, coming to look Tan up and down. “Your knee, is it? Sepes, get that chain off from around his neck. Why’s that other one still on his hands? What do you mean, you’ve no key? Earth and iron! What do you need a key for? Didn’t anybody ever teach you to pick locks?”

Tan blinked, wondering whether he could have heard this right, but then the captain quite matter-of-factly produced a set of lockpicks and bent to examine the shackles. “Not any locksmith’s best work,” he added after a moment, straightening as the wristbands snapped open—then caught Tan’s arm in a hard grip as Tan swayed and added, “None of that, now! Here, Keier, keep him upright, will you, while I get these other shackles—” He grunted down to one knee to work on the ankle chains.

Tan clung to Keier, but he stared at Mienthe, still baffled by her presence. Like the men, she was wearing plain, sturdy clothing—boy’s clothing, in fact, very practical—but no one could have mistaken her for a boy. Her hair hung down her back in a heavy plait, and her delicate bones were much too fine for a boy’s. Though admirably composed, she was clearly frightened. She was breathing quickly, her face was pale, and her hands were balled into fists, probably to hide their shaking. On the other hand, she neither babbled nor spooked nervously at every distant sound, the two most common failings of young men on their first assignments in enemy territory. Instead, she walked forward to peer curiously at the things laid out on the table. One of the men guarding her immediately collected a torch and obligingly held it for her. Picking up a quill, she ran the long feather through her fingers. Then she flipped open the book to gaze at its pages. Her brows drew together in puzzlement.

“He can’t walk on that,” Geroen said to one of his men, oblivious of or indifferent to Mienthe’s interest in the things the Linularinan spymaster had abandoned. “You and Sepes, carry him. Jump to it, now, do you think we’ve got all year for this?”