The Inquisitives [1] Bound by Iron Read Free Page B

are you doing? You didn’t use a leech, did you? I don’t want one of those things in my hair!” She put her hand to the back of her head and felt around. “Where—hey, where did—” She paused, looking at Cimozjen in confusion. “Magic?” She smiled in amazement, then her look faltered. “But … but I’ve no coin, good man. I can’t afford …”
    “Do not trouble your heart, young miss,” said Cimozjen. He bowed his head. “I am sworn by oaths to Dol Dorn, the Puissant and Powerful. The Sovereign Host rewards my faith and humble service with a few blessings to share with others, and for that I am grateful.”
    “An acolyte of Dol Dorn, eh?” said the woman, as if she fully understood the deeper secrets that implied. “Still, I am surprised that you could defeat a member of the Iron Band. They’re said to be the best warriors we’ve ever fielded. Outside of the Order of Rekkenmark, of course.”
    “You’re sure you’re well enough now?” asked Cimozjen, tryingto change the subject. “You’re not injured elsewhere?”
    The young woman pulled her hood back over her head and started to rise. “What I mean to say is, well, over the years I’ve seen their sigil armband in a place of honor on several family mantles, and the tales they told … well, I suppose maybe those stories were exaggerated. But I hope not overmuch.”
    Cimozjen smiled as he, too, stood. “Rest assured, young miss, he was not a fellow of the Iron Band.”
    Confusion clouded her brow. “But he showed me the armband. There’s nothing else quite like them.”
    “Whatever he may—pardon me, young miss, would you repeat that?”
    “He showed me the armband.”
    Cimozjen held up one finger and marshaled his thoughts. “I must beg you to forgive me my poor manners, if you please, young miss,” he said.
    He turned to the dwarf, who lay on his back, rocking back and forth with both hands over his nose. The unfortunate thief groaned more or less constantly, the sound muffled by his callused palms.
    Cimozjen stalked over, kneeled down, and felt along the dwarf’s left arm, then along the other. Just above his right elbow he felt a metal ring. Gripping the dwarf’s ragged cuff in both hands, he roughly tore the shirt to expose the armband. It glinted slightly.
    “Ass!” yelled Cimozjen. He punched the dwarf solidly in the stomach. “It’s worn on the left arm!”
    He grabbed the dwarf’s scalp and yanked, raising him to a sitting position. The dwarf whimpered behind his hands, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. Cimozjen reached one hand beneath the rear of his tunic and drew a long, heavy dagger. The keen blade sang as he freed it from the scabbard.
    The dwarf’s eyes popped open.
    Cimozjen held up his blade and turned it side to side. “Remove that band from your wrist, or I’ll pull it off the stump of your shoulder,” he hissed.
    The dwarf pulled his hands away from his ruined face and, fumbling, took the armband off. He tried to offer it to Cimozjen, but his hands, bloody and trembling, let it drop to the damp ground.
    Keeping tight hold of the thief’s hair, Cimozjen picked up the armband using the blade of his dagger. He inspected it closely in what little light remained. He turned back to the dwarf. The pain he felt twisting his neck added gravity to his stare.
    He smiled mirthlessly. “Perhaps you’d care to show me where you found this?” he said. His cold tone carried the dire consequences of the dwarf’s alternative.
    “H-happy to,” stammered the dwarf through his hands.
    “Good.” He used his blade to open the flap of his haversack. He let the armband slide off the dagger and into safekeeping, then spun his weapon expertly. “Otherwise, to find out, I would have to resort to measures that I find … distasteful. And if you were to cause me to break my vows like that—”
    “You don’t need to be getting into explanations now, if’n that’s fine by you.” The thief rummaged one hand around