“That would take too long,” Vivenna whispered.

“I agree,” he said. “I can’t use the sword, though. When Nightblood is done with a group, there’s never anyone to question.”

Vivenna shivered.

“Come on,” he whispered. She followed as quietly as she could, moving for the front door. Vasher grabbed her arm and shook his head. She followed him around to the side, barely noticing the two lumps of unconscious bodies rolled into a ditch. At the back of the building, Vasher began to feel around on the ground. After a few moments without success, he cursed quietly and pulled something from his pocket. A handful of straw.

In just a few seconds, he had constructed three little men from the straw and some thread, then used Breath reclaimed from his cloak to animate them. He gave each one the same command: “Find tunnels.”

Vivenna watched with fascination. That’s far more abstract a Command than he led me to believe was possible, she thought as the little men scuttled around on the ground. Vasher himself returned to his searching. Apparently experience—and ability to use mental images—is the most important aspect of Awakening.

He’s been doing this a long time, and the way he spoke before—like a scholar—indicates he’s studied Awakening very seriously.

One of the straw men began to jump up and down. The other two rushed over to it and then they began to bounce as well. Vasher joined them, as did Vivenna, and she watched as he uncovered a trapdoor hidden beneath a thick layer of dirt. He raised it a tad, then reached underneath. His hand came back out with several small bells, which had apparently been rigged there to ring if the door were opened all the way.

“No group like this has a hideout without bolt-holes,” Vasher said. “Usually a couple of them. Always trapped.”

Vivenna watched as he recovered the Breath from the straw men, quietly thanking each one. She frowned at the curious words. They were just piles of straw. Why thank them?

He put the Breath back into his cloak with a protection Command, then led the way down through the trapdoor. Vivenna followed, stepping softly, skipping a particular step when Vasher indicated. The bottom was a roughly cut tunnel—or, so she got from feeling along the sides of the lightless earthen chamber.

Vasher moved forward; she could only tell because of the quiet rustling of his clothing. She followed and was curious to see light ahead. She could also hear voices. Men talking, and laughing.

Soon she could see Vasher’s silhouette; she moved up next to him, peeking out of their tunnel and into an earthen room. There was a fire burning at the center, the smoke twisting up through a hole in the ceiling. The upper chamber—the building itself—was probably just a front, for the chamber down here looked very lived-in. There were piles of cloth, bed rolls, pots and pans. All of it as dirty as the men who sat around the fire, laughing.

Vasher gestured to the side. There was another tunnel a few feet to the side of the one they were hiding in. Vivenna’s heart jumped in shock as Vasher crept into the room and toward the second tunnel. She glanced at the fire. The men were very focused on their drinking, and were blinded by the light. They didn’t seem to notice Vasher.

She took a deep breath, then followed into the shadows of the large room, feeling exposed with the firelight to her back. Vasher didn’t go far, however, before stopping. Vivenna nearly collided with him. He stood there for a few moments; finally, Vivenna poked him in the back, trying to get him to move aside so that she could see what he was doing. He shuffled, letting her see what was before him.

This tunnel ended abruptly—apparently, it wasn’t so much a tunnel as a nook. Nestled against the back of the nook was a cage, about as high as Vivenna’s waist. Inside the cage was a child.

Vivenna gasped softly, pushing past Vasher and kneeling down beside the cage. The valuable thing in the carriage, she thought, making the connection. It wasn’t the coins. It was the priest’s daughter. The perfect bargaining chip if you wanted to blackmail someone into changing their position at court.

As Vivenna knelt, the girl pulled back in the cage, sniffling quietly and quivering. The cage stank of human waste, and the child was covered in grime—all except for lines on her cheeks, which had been streaked clean by tears.

Vivenna looked up at Vasher. His eyes were shadowed, his back to the fire, but she could see him gritting his teeth. She could see tension in his muscles. He turned his head to the side, half-illuminating his face with the light of the red fire.

In that single lit eye, Vivenna saw fury.

“Hey!” one of the thieves called.

“Get the child out,” Vasher said in a harsh whisper.

“How did you get here!” another man yelled.

Vasher met her eyes with his single illuminated one, and she felt herself shrink before him. She nodded, and Vasher turned away from her, one hand clenching into a fist, the other grabbing Nightblood in a hard-knuckled grip. He stepped slowly, deliberately, as he approached the men, his cloak rustling. Vivenna intended to do as asked, but she found it hard too look away from him.

The men drew blades. Vasher moved suddenly.

Nightblood, still sheathed, took one man in the chest, and Vivenna heard bones snap. Another man attacked, and Vasher spun, whipping out a hand. The tassels on his sleeve moved on their own, wrapping around the blade of the thief’s sword, catching it. Vasher’s momentum ripped the blade free, and he tossed it aside, the tassels releasing it.

The sword hit the dirt of the cellar floor; Vasher’s hand snapped up, grabbing the thief’s face. The tassels wrapped around the man’s head like a squid’s tentacles. Vasher slammed the man backward and down into the ground—kneeling as he did to add momentum—even as he rammed the sheathed Nightblood into another man’s legs, dropping him. A third tried to cut Vasher from behind, and Vivenna cried a warning. Vasher’s cloak, however, suddenly whipped out—moving on its own—and grabbed the surprised man by the arms.

Vasher turned, anger in his face, and swung Nightblood toward the entangled man. Vivenna cringed at the sound of the cracking bones, and she turned away from the fight as the screaming continued. With shaking fingers, she tried to open the cage.

It was locked, of course. She drew out some Breath from a rope, then tried to Awaken the lock, but nothing happened.

Metal, she thought. Of course. It hasn’t been alive, so it can’t be Awakened.

Instead she pulled a thread free from her shirt, trying to ignore the cries of pain from behind. Vasher began to bellow as he fought, losing any semblance of being a cold, professional killer. This was a man enraged.

She raised the thread.

“Unlock things,” she Commanded.

The thread wiggled a bit, but when she stuck it into the lock, nothing happened.

She withdrew the Breath, took a few calming breaths of her own, then closed her eyes.

Have to get the intention right. Need it to go inside, twist the tumbler free.

“Twist things,” she said, feeling the Breath leave her. She stuck the thread into the lock. It spun about, and she heard a click. The door opened. The sounds of fighting from behind stopped, though men continued to moan.

Vivenna recovered her Breath then reached into the cage. The girl cringed, crying out and hiding her face.

“I’m a friend,” Vivenna said soothingly. “Please, I’m here to help you.” But the girl wiggled, screaming when touched. Frustrated, Vivenna turned back toward Vasher.

He stood beside the fire, head bowed, bodies strewn around him. He held Nightblood in one hand, sheathed tip resting back against the dirty floor. And, for some reason, he seemed larger than he had a few moments ago. Taller. Broader of shoulders. More threatening.