“1 would not move, Lady Giliahna. My dagger is inches from your throat, and 1 could behead you in a moment. That is one way to kill you Undying monsters, or so I have heard.”

Giliahna woke to a dull pain under her breast, and knew that her body was beginning to heal itself. She also knew that the agony in her chest bespoke a major injury and massive blood loss, which meant she would be weak for several hours. Her body might repair itself rapidly, but it still took time to replace a large amount of blood. Slowly, carefully, she opened her eyes to see a man bending over her. A dagger in his hand, he spoke softly threatening words in a dialect of Ehleenee. Through the haze of pain it penetrated that he knew who she was.

“Stretch your hands above your head, lady. You can move them. The wound was in your chest, not your shoulder.”

She did as she was told. The look in his eyes told her he would use the knife in the manner he had described so calmly, and she was not ready go to Wind just yet. Not while there was a chance to escape. Not while Tim still lived. Quickly and efficiently, he bound her hands, then ordered her to sit up. When she did so, he tied her hands to her belt.

“Now I think you can’t get away, even with your sorcerous tricks. 1 know who you are and what you are.”

“And who am I?” She was prepared to lie.

“High Lady of the Confederation, one of the thrice-cursed Undying Sorcerers. And,” he added, “a useful tool for the Stronghold.”

For the first time, she took a good look at him. Below average height, whipcord and muscle, dressed in woods-green breeches and jerkin. Dark hair, but not black as a pure-blood Ehleenee or Ahrmehnee’s would be, and his skin was fair beneath the tan. Green eyes. Undoubtedly there was Kindred blood in his veins, though he professed hatred for the Confederation.

“What is the Stronghold, and why do you want me? How can I be a tool for you?”

“You will buy us our revenge—and perhaps our freedom.” Methodically he cut a piece of stick, forced her mouth open and tied a strip of cloth to hold the gag in place. “I’d rather you didn’t try to cry out. In a few hours it won’t matter if you scream. There won’t be anyone to hear.”

The bandits had taken the horses, so he tossed her unceremoniously in front of him like a sack of meal. Giliahna resented the indignity of the position almost as much as she did the gag. She tried to keep track of where they were heading,'but banging upside down like that made her dizzy after a few minutes. He kept to his word, however, and when he made camp late that night, he removed the gag. He did not untie her hands, though.

“How am I supposed to eat?” she asked reasonably.

“I didn’t think you Undying had to eat, that you drank your blood of your victims,” he told her, surprised.

“And where did you hear that stupid story?”

“The Reverend Father Zakareeohs told us about your ways, which are an insult to all true believers.”

“We may be that, but we don’t drink blood. We have to eat and drink just like you kath'ahros. We even make love the same way.” She cocked her head to one side. “Or do you prefer boys?”

His pale skin flushed so deeply she could see it even under the light of the moon. “Those who are the Swords of the Lord embrace only each other, but I was not chosen for that honor. I—was not found worthy, by the Reverend Father.” Her mind touched his briefly, and before he could slam

down a shield, she felt a strong awareness of herself as a woman. He had mindspeak, though untrained, and he was not a boy-lover. Perhaps she could use both facts to her advantage.

“Why were you unworthy?”

She tried to make her voice sympathetic, questioning but friendly. If she was to make an escape, she needed to understand her captor and his people. Any information she could gain would be worth her weight in gold for Bili the Axe.

He bowed his head. “I am not kath'ahrohs. To serve in the Sacred Band, one must be of pure blood—but 1 am tainted. One of your accursed Horseclans soldiers raped my mother when she was only fifteen. When my grandfather found out, he brought my grandmother and my mother to the Stronghold, where they would never be bothered by your kind again. I was lucky enough to be bom in the Stronghold, where I might learn the truth from Father Zakareeohs’ own lips.”

He was a fanatic, she thought, and she shivered. If he were an ordinary bandit, she might seduce him into getting close enough for her to somehow get his knife free, but with an Ehleenee fanatic that wouldn’t work. Especially one who had been brought up to regard the embraces of a woman as something to be tolerated, far less desirable than coupling with another warrior—or a young boy. He might want her, but he would never admit it to himself, much less to her. If he took her, it would be to humiliate her only, and she had no desire to be raped if she could avoid it.

He looked across at her in the wan moonlight, and it threw the sharp lines of his cheekbones into relief, like a carving from pale marble. “We will win in the end because the Lord is with us. You will see. We will win.”

Giliahna felt a quick stab of fear, and tried not to think of her dead half brother Myron and the knife he had wielded so ruthlessly. The physical scars of that night had faded to invisibility, but she would never forget the terror. If it came to a choice between a pawn in the hands of this Reverend Father or a clean death, she would die. But until the moment came when hope was gone, she would do her best to stay alive and get word of the danger to Milo and Bili.

Chuhk Barnes had barely made it away from the ambush with his life. He had been forced to literally hack his way down the road, and then he had spurred his horse to a gallop. At the first holding he came to he had flashed Prince Gy’s insignia and explained that he bore an urgent message to Bili of Morguhn. Those two names were enough to convince the man to exchange his mount for a fresh one. It was no warhorse, and it lacked mindspeak, but all he cared about was that it was not exhausted. He rode halfway through the night until he reached another outpost, and repeated the process. At his third stop, he was forced to sleep for a few hours and gratefully ate the home-cooked meal his host’s pretty daughter provided for him.

It was midday of the third day—the mud had slowed him down, he felt—when he ran into a patrol wearing Bili’s device. They approached him suspiciously, until he identified himself.

“Are you riding ahead of the High Lady Giliahna?” asked the head of the patrol. “We expected her days ago.”

“The rains held us up. But I do come with news of her and her party.” The thought of his comrades lying slaughtered by the bandits, and of his lady in their hands, made his young face grim.

“Not good news, eh? Best to bring it to the arkeethoheeks soonest.'Come with us, lad. We’ll take you by the shortest route.”

An hour later, he sat in Bili’s private study, drinking strong ale and telling that legendary warrior what had befallen Bili’s Undying half sister and her escort.

“Gy’s men must be getting soft when ten Freefighters can’t hold off thirty bandits,” Bili said softly.

Chuhk leapt to his fellow fighters’ defense. “They were better armed than most bandits—”

Bili waved him to silence. “No need to make excuses. I know the lot you ran into. They’re renegade Freefighters themselves—no honorable burklord will hire them; they’re too disreputable even to find favor in the Middle Kingdoms. My men have been harrying them for days. So they have Giliahna, do they?” For one moment he smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile. “They will pay us to take her back, if I know my little sister. She’s a fighter, that one.”

“She may be of your blood, and I know she is a courageous lady, but she is only a woman, after all.”