Sea of Shadows (Age of Legends 1)

He shot his fist at her. Moria only laughed. It was a good sound to hear. Ashyn went to ask the guard to bring water. When she returned, Gavril was following Moria into the bathing room.

"Um, there's plenty of water," Ronan said. "You don't need to share."

Gavril gave him a hard look. "As the water is not yet here, I'm clearly not taking any liberties. I simply wish to speak to Moria."

"Then speak here."

More of that expressionless stare. "I don't know you, and I would prefer not to share my thoughts with you." He turned to Ashyn. "No offense meant to the Seeker."

"None taken," she murmured. "Go on."

Gavril closed the door behind them.

Forty-one

Guards came shortly after Moria and Gavril had bathed and changed into fresh clothing. Before they arrived, Ashyn and Moria finally had a chance to talk. Yet they discussed nothing important, nothing about all the things they ought to be talking about--Edgewood, their father . . . Ashyn had raised the subject of their father, but Moria had only asked how she was coping.

Gavril had spent the time prowling. Pacing the room, checking everything, trying to look through the battened windows. Which meant Ronan had to do the same, lest it seem as if he was content to wait for rescue while the warrior found it. Ashyn wanted to tell him to sit. Just sit. They already knew there was no way out, so leave Gavril to it. But she knew it would do no good.

Then the guards came and escorted them through the village. Now it was Ashyn's turn to look all about, getting a fresh picture of Fairview, should they have an opportunity to escape. Ronan did the same, but Gavril and Moria kept their gazes forward. Empty gazes, each lost in thought.

There was, Ashyn admitted, nothing to see. Even Tova and Daigo didn't show more than cursory interest in their surroundings. The village was locked up tight. This time, no one even opened a window to peek out.

An entire village held captive. How was it even possible? True, Fairview didn't have a garrison, but they had guards and able-bodied men. Women, too, would fight, if their homes and their men and their children were in danger.

There was no sign that the capturing force was simply too large to conquer. She'd seen perhaps a dozen mercenaries. She could hear the spirits whispering, but as always their messages were vague and unhelpful.

The guards led them into the village hall. It was a simple affair--just a long, whitewashed building. As they passed through the doors, she saw Barthol, the big leader of the mercenaries, and his confederate, the small man, Fyren. There were also four guards--mercenaries, all of them, she was sure, like the men who'd escorted them here. And the governor. He was the only one sitting. She presumed it was "his" chair, an ornate one big enough to hold his weight. But he shifted and fussed, as if he couldn't get comfortable. Then he saw them and went still.

"By my poxed ancestors," Fyren said, sliding forward. "They truly are alike in every way." A chortle. "Or every way I can see."

Ronan stiffened beside her.

Fyren continued forward. "Feast your eyes on this, my brothers. Can you imagine both of them in your bed? I know I can."

He leered. Moria reached for her waist and stopped as Fyren pulled a dagger from his belt.

"Looking for this, pretty one?" He twirled it, metal flashing. "A lovely blade. I thank you for it."

Moria lunged. Ashyn didn't have time to react--didn't even have time to see what truly happened. She heard Fyren let out a grunt, saw the blade swing, only to stop abruptly. Fyren twisted to see who had him by the arm. It was Gavril. He plucked the dagger from Fyren's fingers and handed it to Moria. She thanked him. Ashyn looked at the mercenaries. They all stood watching, as if amused.

Gavril pushed Fyren aside. The smaller man reached for his sword, but before he could pull it out, Moria had her dagger at his throat.

"You've been bested," she said. "Don't embarrass yourself further by pulling a blade on an unarmed man."

Snickers now, from the others.

"The girl is right, Fyren," Barthol said. "Step back."

"You aren't going to let her keep it, are you?" Fyren said.

Barthol shrugged. "I don't see the harm. It is but a dagger."

And one dagger would not help them against so many. Leaving it with Moria was more a statement than a concession--even if they were armed, they could not escape.

Ronan moved forward. "As long as you're handing out weapons, I had a blade--"

"You'll get them when you leave. Which will be soon."