Van Gast was slicked with sweat now, and surely not just because of the heat of the new sun rising above the walls. A grimace twisted his face, and the black lines seemed to sizzle as they grew and twined, aiming for the heart. Still trying to fight it, to the last.
Rillen undid the shackles on Van Gast’s wrists, sure that, with the mages so close to control the bond, Van Gast could do nothing to stop this. Sure too that Josie would try, any moment now. He grabbed the blackened wrist, felt his lip lift as Van Gast gritted his teeth against it. “I feel somewhat generous today, as you’re giving me so much. Would you like a priest’s blessing before we start?”
Shuddering now, not just sweating. Van Gast’s wrist was hot as new-forged iron under his hand. Van Gast stiffened, one last try, and the bond squirmed its answer against Rillen’s fingers. No fighting it. No escaping it. Rillen was coming to enjoy this. Maybe the bonds would be a more permanent feature in Estovan.
“I’ve never really liked priests all that much,” Van Gast managed through his gritted teeth. “You can bless me though, if it helps you feel better.”
* * *
It was all Van Gast could do to get the words out against the fire in his arm, in his head. Sweat trickled into his eyes and he tried to blink them clear. All he got as reward was Rillen’s shark-grin too close for comfort.
“Oh, I can bless you.” Rillen moved even closer and Van Gast slid his free hand down to his breeches, to all he had left except his bells. He tried to keep his mind blank—the mages were close, they could see inside his head. “I can bless you so that Kyr sees all you’ve done, and shows you no mercy.”
Van Gast’s hand closed around the set of bones. Find the Lady—that game was over now, he knew which lady it was. Yet there was Dead Man’s Hand, a way to make sure he wasn’t the only one dying here today. The bones always rolled as he told them, with little-magics of their own. An extra, the man who’d given them had said, if Dead Man’s Hand was ever rolled. Van Gast’s hand gripped the bones so that the edges dug into his skin.
Kyr, show me mercy now if ever. Make it a good show, eh?
A shout in the crowd made Rillen start, but then his grin widened ever farther, showing all his even teeth.
“Stop, thief!”
“Ah, so that’s how she plays it? Distraction. Won’t work. And it’s too late for you, Van Gast.”
“Stop!”
Van Gast struggled to recognize the voice, turned his sweat-soaked gaze down to the square. Against one wall the crowd flowed like a troubled tide, following a point he couldn’t see. The man shouting—Holden. It was Holden, and some of the sweat dried, some of the inner fear that they’d leave him. Only what was he doing?
A small figure, dark and nimble like Van Gast, darted past the Yelen guards, through the legs of one, behind the knees of another so that they tangled together as they tried to stop him. The boy darted around another guard, deft enough to make the man fumble his sword.
Ansen, you little git. I’m quite proud.
Through it all, here came Holden, dressed like a trader, bellowing as though Ansen had just stolen his life savings.
The guards were well trained enough that most kept to their posts and their eyes on what they were supposed to. Yet enough became embroiled in Ansen’s thieving dance, especially when he managed to cut the purse from one of them before he dived back into the forest of legs, that the crowd roared and surged. The Yelen guards, even those not in the chase, were hard put to keep any order as every man, woman and child tried to see.
Rillen turned, his face snipped into a scowl, but not for long. The nail was in his hand, a good forearm long. The other hand yanked Van Gast’s blackened arm up to the wall, hard enough that white spots spun in Van’s eyes.
“Enough of the show, whatever they think they’re doing. You, nail him. Time to finish this now, then I can deal with the rest later.”
The point of the nail touched Van Gast’s skin, nestled into the bond scar with a faint sizzle.
A boom shattered the air. The solid bang of a cannon, not far off. Again, another shot, the