“Come on.” Marrok gestured from the doorway with his sword. “Let’s go before they catch up.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Cahil and his…his…friends.” Marrok spit the words out. “I escaped.” Horror bleached his face, and blood dripped from a cut on his throat. “I’ve lost them, but they know we’re here.”

“How many?” I demanded.

Marrok straightened. “Seven.”

“Armed?”

“Swords, scimitars and Curare.”

“How soon?”

Marrok glanced over his shoulder and froze. He dropped his sword. It clattered on the stone floor. A big hand shoved him, pushing him to the ground.

Behind Marrok, Cahil, Ferde and five Vermin streamed into the common room.

14

WITH THEIR WEAPONS pointed toward us the Vermin and Cahil fanned out in front of the door. Two Vermin had scimitars, two had swords and one held a blowpipe to his lips.

“Everyone just stay calm,” Cahil ordered. His long broadsword made an impressive threat. The people in the common room stayed in their seats. Mostly merchants and salesmen, there wasn’t a soldier among them.

Marrok remained on the floor. A Vermin stood over him with the tip of his scimitar pointed at Marrok’s throat.

I glanced at Tauno. “You said they were gone.”

His face had paled and, although he held his weapon, he hadn’t nocked an arrow. Moon Man eyed the Vermin as if judging the distance between their necks and his scimitar. Leif’s machete glinted in the sunlight from the open doorway.

“Change of plans,” Cahil said.

Cahil had let his blond hair grow past his shoulders and it was unbound. Besides that, he remained the same. Same gray traveling clothes, same black riding boots, same washed-out blue eyes and same hate-filled expression on his bearded face.

“My friend wanted to exchange Marrok for Yelena.” Cahil inclined his head to Ferde.

I noted his use of the word friend. How could he call that creature his friend?

The Soulstealer’s plain homespun tunic and pants hid most of the red tattoos covering his body. With a scimitar in one hand and a blowpipe in another, he looked at me with cold calculation. Despite his lean and powerful build, I sensed his magic remained weak. Yet a bite of fear nipped my stomach.

“I hope you have a few more Warpers with you,” I said to Cahil. “The Soulstealer is no condition to fight three magicians.”

“I may have failed in my power quest,” Ferde said. “However, I now serve another who has learned blood magic.”

The sound of roaring flames reached me before the heat. A quick look over my shoulder confirmed the blaze in the hearth had grown. Terror boiled in my throat, prompting me to act before the Fire Warper appeared.

Pulling power, I sent a thread to Moon Man. Take out the man with the blowpipe. I’ll take Ferde. He agreed. Leif, I said, attack the man over Marrok then keep Cahil busy.

When? Leif asked.

“Now.” I shouted and projected my awareness into Ferde’s mind, bypassing his mental defenses and seizing control of his body. It was a self-defense move I had learned when Goel had captured me. Chained and left with no recourse except using my magic, I had sent my soul into Goel’s body.

Once Ferde realized I had invaded, he concentrated all his energy on ejecting me. I ignored his efforts. He threatened to kill me the same way he had murdered his other victims.

Memories stabbed; sounds of their screams pounded; the smell of rancid blood pierced and visions of mutilations assaulted. His black desires of power and dominance through torture and rape revolted me.

To stop him, I harvested his soul and wrung it, exposing his deep fears and the events that had caused his addiction to power. The favorite uncle who had tied him down and sodomized him. The older sister who had tormented him. The father who had belittled him. The mother he had trusted and confided in. The mother who had sent him back to live with his uncle as punishment for lying.

A Story Weaver may have helped Ferde untie the knotted strands of his life, but I wrenched them apart, broke the threads. He became the helpless victim again. I examined his memory for every bit of detail, looking for information about the Daviian Vermin. When I finished, I peered through his eyes.

My body lay on the ground, comatose. Moon Man fought a Vermin. They maneuvered around a headless body. Cahil hacked at Leif, whose machete was no match against Cahil’s longer sword. Leif would soon be forced to surrender. Tauno stood in the same spot as if rooted to the floor. Marrok had regained his feet and sparred with one of the Vermin near another body. The people in the inn had organized a bucket brigade to dump water on the fire.

Even though my time with Ferde felt like a lifetime, only seconds had passed. I raised the blowpipe in the Soulstealer’s hand and aimed. First Cahil. Reloading, I shot each Vermin with a Curare-laced dart, ending the fight.

Water wasn’t going to stop the Fire Warper, but with his cohorts neutralized, he conceded the fight. “Next time, my little bat.” The fire died with a hiss and puff of oily smoke.

I returned to my body. My limbs felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds each. Leif helped me to stand on weak legs.

Mrs. Floranne came over. She clutched her apron between her hands and worried at the fabric. “What should we be doing?”

“Send someone to fetch the city guards. We’ll need help transporting the prisoners to the Citadel,” I said.

She sent the stable lad.

“Have they all been hit with Curare?” Leif pointed to the prone figures.