Seeds of Rebellion
Page 42

“You’d murder an injured prisoner?”
“Whining. Very well. Perhaps we should skip the pretense of a duel, since you’re conceding the outcome.” Ferrin brandished his sword menacingly. Then he paused. “I’ll spare you for good information.”
“You’ll get none. Go on, coward, strike me down unarmed.”
“Fine, take your sword.” Ferrin planted it in the ground in front of him.
Corge gritted his teeth. “I would, but my arm—”
“If you had twelve good arms, the result would be the same, and we both know it. I’m in a hurry. Retrieve the sword. Best me, and you’re free to go.”
Corge snorted. “What about your reputation for justice?”
“This is just. We both have swords. You tried to kill me when you had the advantage. Now I’ll try to kill you. Not my fault if I’m better at it.”
Aram quietly came up behind Corge and crooked one muscular arm around his neck. The half giant braced his free hand against the back of Corge’s head and applied pressure until the conscriptor slumped into unconsciousness. “We don’t have time for banter.”
“I suppose we can leave him alive,” Ferrin sniffed. “He won’t have much more to share with our foes than the displacer who fled. Incidentally, Aram, well done back there. You were amazing. Worth every drooma.”
“It helped that they fought like fog-bound sheep.”
Ferrin laughed. “They had no idea they were racing into combat against a half giant. Next time they may not be so brash. I’m keeping Corge’s horse. Are you two happy with your mounts? I noticed a few good ones that Aram didn’t butcher.”
“You said to fight dirty,” Aram reminded him. “Jason and I will retain our steeds. Chancy chose well, and we have no time to spare.”
“No argument here,” Ferrin agreed, grabbing some gear and mounting Corge’s horse.
“Should we scatter the other horses?” Jason asked.
“Not worth the time,” Ferrin said. “There are more horses in the village. When reinforcements get here, they’ll already be mounted.”
Aram maneuvered his horse close to Jason. “You did well back there,” he said, placing a large hand on Jason’s shoulder.
“Whatever. I should be dead. Thanks for bailing me out.”
“You were more effective than I expected with those rocks. And you survived your first swordfight. Many can’t say the same.”
“Dawn approaches,” Ferrin reminded them, kicking his horse into motion.
Aram nodded. “Let’s cover some ground before I shrink.”
They rode cross-country to the southwest as the eastern sky brightened behind them. As sunrise seemed imminent, Aram brought them to a halt near a small glade, dismounted, and stripped down to his breeches. He packed his armor, sword, and heavy cloak onto his big horse, collected a bundle from his saddle, and started toward the glade.
“Where are you going?” Ferrin asked.
“To get a little privacy,” Aram replied.
“Why?” Ferrin pursued.
Aram averted his gaze. “You think I want you watching? It’s humiliating!”
“We can turn away,” Jason said. “We won’t look.”
Aram’s meaty shoulders sagged. “All right.”
“Here comes daybreak,” Ferrin announced jovially. “Shall we avert our eyes?”
“We have almost a minute,” Aram said. “Sorry to be particular about this. You see, at night I feel like my true self. I don’t when I’m Goya or Burt. I hate the thought of people looking at big Aram and picturing some puny—”
Aram uttered a low, involuntary groan.
Ferrin and Jason glanced at each other and turned away.
Behind them, Aram panted and grunted. They waited.
“All right,” said a less manly voice.
Jason and Ferrin turned. Aram, face shiny with sweat, pulled a small pair of pants over his skinny legs. His shrunken hands trembled.
Ferrin struggled not to smile. He was unsuccessful.
Ferrin’s involuntary grin forced Jason to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Ferrin noticed and began to shake, eyes watering.
Aram hastily pulled on a shirt. Then he folded his arms, glaring grumpily up at the others. “Go ahead, let it out, have a good laugh.”
They did.
Feeding off each other, magnified by the knowledge that the laughter was so inappropriate, their mirth was uncontrollable. Ferrin buried his face, attempting to compose himself. Jason stared at the ground, trying to summon sober thoughts.
“We need to go,” Aram said indignantly, clambering up onto his suddenly oversized horse. Atop the huge stallion, he looked like a little jockey.
Jason coughed out a final laugh.
Ferrin shook quietly, wiping tears from flushed cheeks.
“Finished?” Aram asked. “You two are ruthless.” He looked down at himself. “I guess it’s quite a contrast.”
“We don’t mean to rub it in,” Jason apologized. “We’ve already seen you both ways. It isn’t that big of a deal.”
“It doesn’t help that you’re so shy about it,” Ferrin tried to explain. “It was more your expression than anything.”
“Let’s leave it behind us,” Aram said, nudging his horse with his heels. The stallion didn’t respond.
Ferrin buried his face in the crook of his arm. Jason ground his teeth.
After Aram flicked the reins and gave a couple of harder kicks, his horse started forward.
CHAPTER 11
FORTAIM
By the time Ferrin, Aram, and Jason had stashed their horses in the woods below the ruined castle of the Blind King, night had fallen. The glow of the waning moon provided the only light as they surveyed the silent hilltop.
“Very quiet,” Ferrin whispered, eyes intent on the dark castle from his crouched position behind a bush. “Almost looks abandoned.”
“They may be asleep,” Aram said.
“Something’s different,” Jason murmured, his gaze gliding from the crumbling walls to the single tall tower. “I know. There used to be two towers. One that looked ready to collapse. I guess it did.”
“Fortaim is in worse repair than on my last visit,” Ferrin agreed. “Shameful, really. The stronghold was once formidable.”
Staring at the dark windows, Jason bit his lower lip. If imperial troops had beaten them here, Galloran might already have been taken. Or worse. Trying to keep his composure, Jason told himself that they had no actual information yet. Hopefully, there was another explanation.