they’d get a full blast without Shanti or the Captain’s protection.
But Sanders was past fear where the Inkna were concerned. He’d extinguished all his fear in those torture sessions. They’d put him through the fires of hell, and he’d come out burnt and laughing. He would be damned if he’d bend his knee now.
“Act as if nothing is amiss. We’ll just walk along, calmly, letting them draw near. When they’re close, we’ll spring. Hopefully we’ll kill the Inkna before they have a chance to use their power. I want to capture one of those Graygual, though. We need to know their plans. Take that back and let the men know.”
“Yes, sir.” Jerrol didn’t hesitate to move back into the line. Sanders could hear the murmuring begin behind him as the message spread. Leather creaked and metal sounded, each man preparing for a confrontation.
Sanders didn’t want to tell Jerrol, but this skirmish would be important for the Duke’s men to witness. They hadn’t had any interaction with mind power, and they’d never seen a Graygual—not as far south as they were. Not yet. He wanted them to know, firsthand, what it felt like when invisible sandpaper raked over their eyeballs. The Duke’s men needed to know what they might be up against—the type of people that might come calling when the Captain was away.
As the group of five trotted closer, Sanders saw that Jerrol was right. Those horses were under pressure and close to exhaustion. They were in a hurry, and had been for a while. They didn’t care about obviously expensive thoroughbreds, which meant they were rushing to catch up with something infinitely more valuable.
Sanders wondered what that might be as he let his gaze drift to the side. Staring was the wrong way to make friends. He had to be patient. He had to act as if nothing was wrong. For a surprise to work, the other party couldn’t have any suspicion. When it came to the Inkna, the element of surprise, or having Shanti at one’s back, was the only way to play it.
Yes, the very best of friends. After his days in the dungeon, he could say that he was on intimate terms with the Inkna. They were such welcoming hosts, switching from one torturer to the other, taking turns hurting him as acutely as possible. Great bedside manner.
Sanders felt a grimace twisting his lips. Rage welled up, hot and heavy. His fingers itched to take his sword and run screaming at that group of disgusting people—they trained to be torturers. That was their trade. That was their sole purpose.
The grimace twisted Sanders’ mouth further. That foreign woman had turned his life upside down, but he’d break his back to help her put this land to rights. To scrape out all the filth like the Inkna and burn the vermin that put them in positions of power. He owed his future children justice. He owed the downtrodden his help—every able-bodied warrior did.
“They’re slowing Commander!” Jerrol hissed from behind. “They’re looking straight at you.”
“Shit.” Sanders turned his head slowly, the grimace still twisting his lips into a crazed sort of smile. He could see the approaching group clearly now. Three Sarshers , and two Graygual, one with four slashes on his chest and the other with three. He had no idea what rank that made them, but based on how they sat their horses, and their movements, they were certainly higher than an average foot soldier. Their swords were pretty, too. New leather on the grip and polished where the metal peeked out of the sheath. Not used often, which meant they were probably trained men who had been given a post, rather than warriors who had been elevated out of the dredges.
He’d long ago learned the differences in fighting style between those two types of men. And he’d once slapped the Captain on the back for making his army work for their positions.
“Play it easy, Jerrol,” Sanders said in a low tone, leaning over the pommel of his saddle in faux relaxation. “The Inkna that
But Sanders was past fear where the Inkna were concerned. He’d extinguished all his fear in those torture sessions. They’d put him through the fires of hell, and he’d come out burnt and laughing. He would be damned if he’d bend his knee now.
“Act as if nothing is amiss. We’ll just walk along, calmly, letting them draw near. When they’re close, we’ll spring. Hopefully we’ll kill the Inkna before they have a chance to use their power. I want to capture one of those Graygual, though. We need to know their plans. Take that back and let the men know.”
“Yes, sir.” Jerrol didn’t hesitate to move back into the line. Sanders could hear the murmuring begin behind him as the message spread. Leather creaked and metal sounded, each man preparing for a confrontation.
Sanders didn’t want to tell Jerrol, but this skirmish would be important for the Duke’s men to witness. They hadn’t had any interaction with mind power, and they’d never seen a Graygual—not as far south as they were. Not yet. He wanted them to know, firsthand, what it felt like when invisible sandpaper raked over their eyeballs. The Duke’s men needed to know what they might be up against—the type of people that might come calling when the Captain was away.
As the group of five trotted closer, Sanders saw that Jerrol was right. Those horses were under pressure and close to exhaustion. They were in a hurry, and had been for a while. They didn’t care about obviously expensive thoroughbreds, which meant they were rushing to catch up with something infinitely more valuable.
Sanders wondered what that might be as he let his gaze drift to the side. Staring was the wrong way to make friends. He had to be patient. He had to act as if nothing was wrong. For a surprise to work, the other party couldn’t have any suspicion. When it came to the Inkna, the element of surprise, or having Shanti at one’s back, was the only way to play it.
Yes, the very best of friends. After his days in the dungeon, he could say that he was on intimate terms with the Inkna. They were such welcoming hosts, switching from one torturer to the other, taking turns hurting him as acutely as possible. Great bedside manner.
Sanders felt a grimace twisting his lips. Rage welled up, hot and heavy. His fingers itched to take his sword and run screaming at that group of disgusting people—they trained to be torturers. That was their trade. That was their sole purpose.
The grimace twisted Sanders’ mouth further. That foreign woman had turned his life upside down, but he’d break his back to help her put this land to rights. To scrape out all the filth like the Inkna and burn the vermin that put them in positions of power. He owed his future children justice. He owed the downtrodden his help—every able-bodied warrior did.
“They’re slowing Commander!” Jerrol hissed from behind. “They’re looking straight at you.”
“Shit.” Sanders turned his head slowly, the grimace still twisting his lips into a crazed sort of smile. He could see the approaching group clearly now. Three Sarshers , and two Graygual, one with four slashes on his chest and the other with three. He had no idea what rank that made them, but based on how they sat their horses, and their movements, they were certainly higher than an average foot soldier. Their swords were pretty, too. New leather on the grip and polished where the metal peeked out of the sheath. Not used often, which meant they were probably trained men who had been given a post, rather than warriors who had been elevated out of the dredges.
He’d long ago learned the differences in fighting style between those two types of men. And he’d once slapped the Captain on the back for making his army work for their positions.
“Play it easy, Jerrol,” Sanders said in a low tone, leaning over the pommel of his saddle in faux relaxation. “The Inkna that
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