"Actually," said Jace, "I was hoping for a taste of that quality ale."
Furlus handed Jace a flask. "You've earned it. Drink up, for more bloodshed and sorrow await us on the battlefield."
Vannas' held up the pouch that contained the White Flamestone. "No sorrow for us, Master Furlus. Not if I have my say."
Furlus smiled. "You're a good lad, Vannas."
What about my say? Jerret thought. He imagined his sword ripping into Vorden and the former Squire falling to the ground in death. The whispers still haunted his mind. The fact that Vorden had made him a puppet was unforgivable. Jerret wasn't concerned with war. All he cared about was killing Vorden.
***
When Lannon awoke it was nighttime, and he was being hauled roughly off a horse by a Legion Soldier and made to stand in the deep snow. He was further up in the mountains somewhere, with steep, rocky cliffs all around him. The Blood Legion had set up camp on a drift-covered slope-a series of durable tents similar in design to the ones used by Dremlock. A few Soldiers wandered between the tents, keeping watch, while two Elder Hawks soared overhead.
The bright moon in the night sky looked frozen. It was terribly cold, and Lannon's hands were badly frostbitten from being tied behind his back during the ride. He wanted to thrust them into the pockets of his fur cloak before he ended up losing some fingers. They were so numb he couldn't feel them at all.
"If you try to escape or use your sorcery," said the Soldier, "you will be killed instantly. We won't try to capture you twice. Is that understood?"
Lannon nodded. "Where are you taking me?"
"For now, to a tent," said the Soldier. "It's time to sleep, obviously. Tomorrow we will ride to our great fortress."
"My hands are in rough shape," said Lannon, turning around to show him what was likely an ugly sight. He thought the Soldier might take pity on him and do something to warm them or at least untie him.
"They look a little frostbit," said the Soldier. "It's a common affliction in these lands. We covered them on the ride, but they must have slipped out from under the blanket. Regardless, you'll get plenty of time for healing, and I've seen worse. Rest assured you won't lose any fingers."
Lannon didn't find the barbarian's words or manner to be very reassuring. "Can you untie me so I can warm them? I promise I won't try to escape."
"Perhaps later," said the Soldier, turning Lannon to face him.
"But I can't even feel them anymore!" said Lannon, growing desperate. "Is this how the Blood Legion treats its prisoners?"
The barbarian scowled. "Be thankful you're even alive, lad. We're at war with Dremlock, and you're one of our foes. Your head could have been cut off and stuck on a pole in the snow for your friends to find."
Lannon had nothing to say to that. He was shoved into a tent where two Legion Soldiers were drinking ale. He sat shivering, feeling hungry and thirsty, wondering if irreparable damage had already been done to his hands. One of the men stuck a flask of water to his lips and allowed him to drink.
"Can you untie me?" asked Lannon. "My hands are numb."
The bearded barbarians laughed. "A thin-skinned little Squire from Dremlock," one of them said. "How do you like our homeland? So you come up here to raid our fortress and lose your hands in the process. I call that justice!"
"You'll get used to the cold," the other said. "Or else you'll freeze to death."
They laughed and banged ale flasks together.
In anger, Lannon summoned the Eye of Divinity and found some of his strength had returned. He considered the implications of using it-whether or not it would get him killed. They obviously wanted him as a prisoner, probably to bargain with Dremlock or try to convert him to the will of the Deep Shadow, but he guessed his status could change instantly if he tried anything. He decided to wait, let his strength build, and watch for opportunities. However, he told himself that if they didn't free his hands soon he would be forced to take action.
Lannon was deeply frustrated with himself for getting captured while surrounded by an army of Knights who would have died defending him. He was also terrified that he would end up tortured, dead, or enslaved by the Deep Shadow. He silently cursed himself for being so foolish.
"Can't you just untie my hands?" he pleaded.
"I'll agree to it," said a barbarian, "if I can cut them off. Then you won't have to worry about them anymore and you can shut your mouth."
Again, they laughed and toasted with their ale flasks. Lannon's face grew hot with anger, but he did nothing. His patience was running out quickly, though. He found himself hating his captors. They seemed like nothing more than savages, and Lannon found it hard to believe that many members of the Blood Legion were Knights who'd been expelled from the Order. They all seemed the same to him-bearded, gruff giants who were full of spite.
Moments later, a bulky Legion Soldier armed with a crossbow entered the tent and sat down across from Lannon. He motioned for the other Soldiers to leave, and they grinned at Lannon before exiting the tent. The newcomer's face was weathered and scarred beneath his huge beard, his eyes sullen. He pointed the crossbow at Lannon's chest. "I hear you're blessed with powerful sorcery. But can you stop an arrow in flight? Now that would truly be some trick, wouldn't it?"
Lannon glanced at the crossbow, wondering what it would feel like to be pierced by the arrow. "I'd rather not find out," he admitted.
"I could shoot you and be done with you," said the solider. "Maybe I should, before you get your strength back. A sorcerer like you is really too dangerous to be left alive-in spite of what my master thinks. Tell me, Lannon Sunshield, are you planning to kill me and try to escape?"
Lannon shook his head. "Not at all. I'm just cold and hungry. I'm hoping someone will untie me so I can warm myself."
"My name is Dalvin, by the way," said the Soldier. "I am a Legion Master-which means I am now your master. You will address me with respect."
"Can you untie me, Master Dalvin?" Lannon asked politely.
"I'm still deciding whether or not to just kill you," Dalvin said. "Until I've worked out that issue, don't worry about anything else."
Lannon studied Dalvin in the lantern light, amazed at how rugged and scarred the Soldier was. It seemed Dalvin had been through a thousand battles with the Knights of Dremlock. Lannon probed him with the Eye of Divinity and glimpsed a defiant, unyielding spirit that guarded many deep fears-fears for his family, his homeland, and the future of the Blood Legion. Yet there was an even deeper fear lurking within him-the fear of those who fought alongside him who were corrupted by the Deep Shadow. Dalvin feared and hated Tharnin, but he viewed it as a necessary evil. Lannon also saw that Dalvin was likely to blindly cling to his beliefs if only to validate the cause he'd fought so hard for.
Dalvin gave Lannon a sly, knowing look. "I sense you're probing my secrets, lad. Well, you should be careful believing everything you see. I could be putting false information in your mind."
Lannon saw right through Dalvin's words. He watched as the Legion Master tried to shore up his will and shield himself from the Eye. Dalvin had no clue how deeply Lannon could peer into him. He was afraid of Lannon and was in fact considering killing the Squire. Lannon wondered how he could ease his fears.
"I don't care about your secrets," Lannon lied. "But I think you're afraid of me, and you shouldn't be. My hands are pretty much ruined from the cold. All I really want right now is to try to save them."
"You can't fool me," said Dalvin. "I know you're a dangerous one."
Yet Dalvin relaxed a bit, and so Lannon let the Eye of Divinity retreat inside him and resorted to a Knightly healing technique that involved meditation and focus. But with his hands still exposed, and the interior of the tent very cold, he wasn't sure he would make any progress.