Skull Gate by Robin W Bailey

to prevent her from weaving spells, speaking incantations, or giving the evil eye. Frost spat in disgust. Nothing so simplistic could have stopped a real witch. She recalled how her hateful brother had once bound her in a similar fashion. She'd nearly brought their father's castle down on him.
    She tore away the blindfold and gasped. They'd beaten Oona! Black circles ringed both eyes, and her cheeks were puffed and bruised. The gag came away to reveal split and bleeding lips. Oona whimpered once when she saw her rescuer, then closed her eyes again. “Wake up!” Frost urged as she struggled with the intricate knots that bound the old woman's fingers. If she was careless, those aged fingers could snap like dry twigs, she feared. “Wake up!” But Oona did not move.
    Frost shivered, fearing her friend had died. Quickly she reassured herself, pressing an ear to Oona's breast, finding a heartbeat. She cast off the last cords and strained as she lifted Oona's still form. With an effort, she made it to the door. She took the stairs slowly, one at a time, her burden seeming heavier with each breath. “Tras!” she called. “Tras! Give me a hand!"
    Tras rushed in, sheathing his sword, and took the limp woman from her. “Hurry,” he said. “That beast of yours has damn well cleared the streets. Best get out of here before someone finds a bow and starts shooting from a window."
    Outside the inn the stranger still kept guard. Ashur paced up and down, snorting, kicking up road dirt. He trotted over at Frost's call. “How did you ever train him to do that?” the stranger exclaimed in a tense whisper. “Never seen such a thing before."
    Frost ignored him. “Once we're gone they'll find their courage again and come after us.” Her gaze swept around. “Unless they've something more important to think about."
    Tras Sur'tian frowned. “Like what?"
    She strode to the nearest bonfire, alert for anyone hiding in the darkened doorways. She seized a blazing brand in each hand, crossed to the nearest building, threw one through the open window, the other onto the roof.
    The stranger ran to the far end of the street, grabbed brands from another fire, sent them hurtling into the blacksmith shop, into a stable. Two men and a woman ran shouting from the stable, dodged away from the stranger, saw Frost standing with two more firebrands, and ducked into another dwelling.
    Tras Sur'tian watched it all, comforting Oona's head on his broad shoulder.
    When seven buildings were burning. Frost rejoined him. The stranger was at his side. “They'll be too busy saving their town to worry about us,” she said grimly.
    â€œA few belongings, maybe,” the stranger observed. “There'll be no saving the town.” He shrugged as he watched the crackling flames. “I guess that makes me as much a criminal as you, queen-killer."
    He said it quietly, and his eyes bored into hers as he spoke the words. An icy sky blue, those eyes, she could tell in the swelling fireglow. “You saved my skull back there,” she remembered. “For bounty?"
    He spat in the dust, then his gaze locked with hers again.
    No time to pursue the matter now, she decided. Fire was rapidly spreading, people were rushing into the street, and Oona needed attention. “We'll talk later,” she told him. “You have a horse?"
    He nodded, ran down the street, and disappeared between two structures where the fire had not yet reached.
    â€œHe seems to know you,” Tras said. “What do we do about him?"
    She chewed her lip; then: “Nothing for now; Oona comes first. After that, we'll see what we can learn about him."
    She mounted Ashur, and Tras Sur'tian passed her old friend up into her arms. Ashur could carry the weight of two better, she explained, and they had need of speed. Tras's own steed waited where he'd dropped the reins, undisturbed by the fire or shouting. The stranger galloped into