Blade of Secrets (Bladesmith #1)(67)

Petrik makes a strangled sound, and he jumps off his horse in front of a wooden board. There are all manner of flyers attached to it with iron nails. Missing persons notices. Apartments for rent. Lost pets.

The rest of us unsaddle to get a better look at what captured the scholar’s attention.

The most prominent and eye-catching item on the board is a single square of parchment bearing four neatly arranged faces.

Reward: 10,000 ockles per capture. Alive only. All weapons in their possession to be handed over. Notify Warlord Kymora.

And then I see all our faces painted.

No, not painted. What I’d thought at first was parchment is actually cloth. Our faces were stitched onto the advertisement in color. In startling accuracy. Each face is so realistic, it looks as though it’s breathing.

The cotton spinner is now making Wanted posters in our likenesses.

“No,” Kellyn breathes.

I’m so distracted by my face staring back at me that I don’t remember we’re being followed until they’re already upon us.

Someone yanks on my arm, while another person sends their fist smashing below my left shoulder blade. I lose my feet before I can right myself from the blows. Hands grab my arms and wrench them behind my back, but then another figure reaches one of my feet, trying to yank me away from the first.

“Back off! I saw her first.”

“Not bloody likely.”

“Those are my ockles!”

I catch a glimpse of two men lifting my sister into the air by her arms. She plants her feet against the wood of the display board and launches herself and the men onto the ground.

Kellyn doesn’t even get a chance to reach for his sword. He’s overrun by men much smaller than him, but superior numbers count for a lot. They tackle him to the ground, use their weight to keep him in place. Someone brandishes a rope and stalks over to the mercenary.

I would panic, but I can’t seem to see through the pain. Someone gets their hands in my hair, and I feel a kick in my side. Everything goes fuzzy at a blow to my head.

A loud whistle shrieks in my ears.

One set of hands lets go, then another. I flop painfully on the ground, my hands gripping my abdomen where the kick landed.

“Sod off, the lot of you. If anyone is going to be turning in these criminals, it’s me.”

I manage to adjust to a sitting position before eyeing the newcomers. They’re in uniform, black tunics with three (or six?) silver stripes running lengthwise from neck to navel.

City guards.

Manacles materialize, seemingly out of nowhere. I can’t quite count how many men surround us through my hazy vision, but I think it’s at least a dozen. My wrists are cuffed, Secret Eater is taken from my side. I can’t even manage to protest as the world sways from side to side.



* * *



I don’t remember losing consciousness, but the next thing I know, I wake on the ground. It hurts to open my eyes, and every limb aches. When I try to adjust for comfort, pain pierces through my skull.

“Whatever did you lot do to piss off Warlord Kymora?” a gruff voice asks.

When no one answers, another voice says, “Seems to me they stole her property. She insisted all weapons in their possession be saved for her arrival. You lot really picked the wrong mark to filch.”

“Doesn’t look like they have a full brain among the four of them. Still, station two extra men outside the prison. I don’t want any chance of them escaping before she arrives. Forty thousand ockles is enough to retire on.”

“Not in this city.”

“Maybe I’ll retire to the tropics. Or head south toward the mountains.”

“And live without anyone else to boss around?”

Laughter fills my ears.

“Don’t like the look of this big brute. Better make it four extra guards outside the prison.”

“Yes, Captain.”

A creaky door opens and closes. A lock turns. I finally manage to pull my eyelids apart. Even then, it takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at it.

The cell is filled with inky darkness. I can mostly see shadows where Petrik, Kellyn, and Temra are. My sister is crouched down beside me, her hand not far from mine, as though she’d been holding it a moment ago.

I try to sit up and groan.

The boys rush to my side. Strong arms haul me into a sitting position, and then Kellyn is searching my face.

“Are you hurt?”

“Everywhere,” I answer.

“And your head?” Petrik asks.

“That hurts, too.” I raise a hand to where the back of my skull throbs, only to find something crusty there.

They made me bleed.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Briska City Prison,” Temra says.

“And the weapons?”

“Right over there.” She points, and through the bars, I think I see a mass that could be the Zivan blades atop a table.

“Everything else is gone,” Kellyn says, his voice sounding dangerous, like he’d very much like to hit the nearest person. “Filthy guards took our supplies and money. My money. All gone.”

“Worry about the money after we get out of here,” Temra says. “We have bigger problems if we can’t escape before Kymora arrives.”

Kellyn steps up to the bars, takes one in each hand, and rattles them for all he’s worth. There’s a light sound, but not much else happens.