The Emerald Storm (The Riyria Revelations #4)

“Good. Bind her tightly. Wrap her wrists and fingers and find something to gag her with.” The guards approached again and jerked her arms so roughly behind her back that she cried out.

“Please don’t hurt her,” Lynette begged. “She didn’t do anything wrong!”

They tied her wrists, wrapping the rope around her fingers, pulling until the skin pinched painfully. As they did, the sergeant ordered Lynette to pick up the robe and hand it to him. One of the soldiers grabbed Arista by the hair, dragging her to her feet. Another took hold of one of her sleeves and ripped it off.

“Open yer mouth,” he ordered, pulling Arista’s head back. When she hesitated, the soldier slapped her across the face. Again, she staggered and might have fallen if not for the other guard still holding her hair. The slap was not nearly as painful as the blow the sergeant gave, but it watered her eyes again. “Now open!”

He stuffed the material into her mouth, jamming it in so far Arista thought she would choke. He tied it in place by wrapping more rope around her head and wedging it between her lips. When they tied one final length around her neck, Arista feared they might hang her right there.

“Now, that should keep us safe,” declared the sergeant. “We’ll cut those hands off when we get to the palace, and after you’ve answered questions I expect we’ll take that tongue out as well.”

A crowd gathered as they dragged her away and Arista could hear Lynette weeping. As they reached Coswell, the patrons of The Bailey turned out to watch. The men stood on the porch holding mugs. She heard the word witch muttered more than once as she passed by.

By the time they reached the square, she was out of breath from the quic pace and choking on the gag. The guard holding the leash was one of those hurt by the robe and he jerked hard whenever she lagged behind.

She stumbled frequently but stayed on her feet. Seeing her fall behind once again, the soldier pulled hard. This time she was off balance and fell. Her left knee struck the cobblestone of Bingham Square and she screamed, but the sound came out as a muffled grunt. Twisting, she landed on her shoulder to avoid hitting her face. Lying on her side Arista cried in agony from the pain shooting up her leg.

“Up!” the soldier ordered. The rope tightened on her throat, the rough cord cutting her skin. The guard growled, “Get up, you lazy ass!” He pulled harder, dragging her a few inches across the stones. The rope constricted. She heard the pounding of blood in her ears. “Up damn you!”

She felt the rope cut into her neck. She could barely breathe. The pounding in her ears hammered like drums, pressure building.

“Bruce?” one of the guards called. “Get her up!”

“I’m trying!”

There was another tug and Arista managed to sit up, but she was light-headed now. The street tilted and wobbled. It was becoming hard to see, as darkness grew at the edges of her vision. She tried to tell them she was choking. All that came out was a pitiful moan.

She struggled to reach her knees, but the dizziness worsened, the ground shifted and dipped. She fell, hitting her shoulder again and rolled to her back. She looked up at the soldier holding the leash and pleaded with her eyes, but all she saw in reply was anger and disgust.

“Get up or—” He stopped. The soldier looked abruptly to his right. His face appeared puzzled. He let go of the rope and took a step backward.

The cord loosened, the pounding eased, and she could breathe again. She laid in the street, her eyes closed, happy to be alive. The clang of metal and the scuffle of feet caught her attention. Arista looked up to see the would-be strangler collapse to the street beside her.

Standing an arm’s length away, the hooded man loomed with a blood-coated sword. From his belt, he drew a dagger and threw it. Somewhere behind her, there was a grunt and a sound like a sack of flour hitting the ground.

The hooded man bolted past her. She heard a cry of pain. Metal struck metal, another grunt, this one followed by a gurgled voice speaking garbled words. Another clash, another cry. She twisted around, rolling to her knees. She found him again. He stood in the center of Bingham Square holding his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. Three bodies laid on the ground. Two soldiers remained.

“Who are you?” the sergeant shouted at him. “We are imperial soldiers acting on official orders.”

The hooded man said nothing. He rushed forward swinging his blade. He dodged to the right and, catching the sergeant’s sword high, he stabbed the man in the neck with his dagger. As he did, the remaining soldier swung at him. The hooded man cried out then whirled in rage. He charged the last soldier, striking at him, his overwhelming fury driving the guard back.

The soldier turned and ran. The hooded man gave chase. The guard nearly made it to the end of the street before he was cleaved in the back. Once the soldier collapsed, the man continued attacking his screaming victim, stabbing him until he fell silent and still.

Arista sat bound in the middle of the square, helpless as the hooded man turned and, with his sword and cloak dripping blood, came for her. He pulled Arista to her feet and into a narrow alley.

He was breathing hard, sucking wetly through the scarf. No longer having the strength, physical or mental, Arista did not resist. The world was spinning and the night slipped into the unreal. She did not know what was happening or why and she gave up trying to understand.

He dragged her into a stable, pushing her against the rough-hewn wall. A pair of horses shifted fearfully, spooked by the smell of blood. He heldher tightly and brought his knife to her throat. Arista closed her eyes and held her breath. She felt the cold steel press against her skin as he drew it, cutting the cord away. He spun her around and cut her wrists loose, then the cord holding the gag fell free.

“Follow me, quickly,” he whispered, pulling her along by the hand. Confused, she staggered after him. Something was familiar in that voice.

He led her through a dizzying array of alleys, around dark buildings and over wooden fences. Soon she had no idea where they were. He paused in a darkened corner, holding a finger to his scarf-covered lips. They waited briefly then moved on. The wind picked up, carrying an odor of fish and Arista heard the sound of surf. Ahead, she could see the naked masts of ships bobbing at anchor along the wharf. When he reached a particularly dilapidated building, he led her up a back stair into a small room and closed the door behind them.