Reign of Ash Read Free

that softened her words.
    Blaine sighed. “With luck, these men will see we’ve got no quarrel with them and let us go.”
    “I’d put the odds of that as slim to nil,” Piran sighed. “If nothing else, they’ll want the horses. And maybe Kestel.”
    Despite their situation, Kestel grinned. “Let ’em try,” she replied, palming a dagger from somewhere on her body.
    “Shh,” Dawe warned as footsteps drew closer.
    Muffled voices sounded outside the tent. One was the voice of the man who had brought them to the camp. The other voice, deeper and more mature, was muffled. The tent flap swung back and a tall man entered, flanked by two guards. The man was broad-shouldered, with short-cut, dark blonde hair. Several days’ worth of stubble shadowed gaunt, high cheekbones. He wore a woolen coat over what might have been gray uniform pants, and his clothes looked as if he had been roughing it for quite some time.
    “My officer says he’s got a bunch of escaped convicts,” the man said, not bothering to look up as he entered. Then he lifted his head and stopped in his tracks, staring at Blaine.
    “You’re supposed to be dead,” he breathed, and his face had gone pale as a ghost.
    “So are you,” Blaine responded, feeling as if he had been sucker punched. “Niklas?”
    “Blaine McFadden died in Velant,” the man repeated, his voice just above a whisper. “That’s what we heard.”
    “Sorry to disappoint,” Blaine replied. “Although several people did their damnedest to make that happen.” He paused. “Aunt Judith said you’d died in the war.”
    A crooked grin spread across the man’s face. “Sorry to disappoint,” he echoed. “We were on the front lines, and it’s been a damn long walk home.” He sobered and turned to one of the guards. “Cut their bonds. Bring me some food, get a healer for them, and fetch whatever ale you can find.”
    “Sir?”
    “Just do it, Lieutenant. I’ll take my chances with them.”
    The soldier did as he was told. Blaine rubbed his wrists. “Does this mean we get our horses back?” he asked as the others looked between the two men, trying to figure out the sudden lurch in conversation.
    Niklas laughed and stepped forward, extending a hand to Blaine and then folding him into a back-thumping embrace. “By Torven’s horns, Blaine. I never thought I’d see you again.”
    “You know this bloke, Mick?” Piran asked warily.
    Blaine nodded. “This is Niklas Theilsson. We grew up together. We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember.”
    Niklas gave Blaine a quizzical look. “You go by ‘Mick’ now?”
    Blaine sighed. “I did in Velant. These are my mates from Edgeland.”
    The look in Niklas’s blue eyes gave Blaine to guess the other was trying to put the pieces together. “Perhaps introductions are in order.”
    “We met in Velant and survived because we had each other’s backs,” Blaine started, a slight note of challenge in his voice as if he expected judgment from Niklas. When their host said nothing, Blaine continued. “Verran Danning is a master locksmith and sometime minstrel,” he said, giving Verran’s thieving a quick cleanup. “Dawe Killick was a silversmith. Kestel Falke was a courtesan and an assassin.”
    Kestel grinned. “It was the assassin part that got me my passage to Velant,” she said, a flash of warning in her eyes.
    “And finally, Piran Rowse —”
    Niklas interrupted with a chuckle. “I know Piran by reputation,” he said. “Your court-martial is still legendary.”
    Blaine and the others turned to look at Piran. “Was there more to the story than you let on, Piran dear?” Kestel asked in her sweetest voice.
    Piran reddened. “Might have been. No more than Mick here forgetting to tell his mates he’s a bleedin’ lord.”
    Niklas swung an arm to indicate his nearly empty tent. “Please, have a seat. I think we have a lot to discuss.”
    Blaine nodded to the others, and they sat cross-legged on the ground.