Captured
Before Vai had gone ahead, he pressed the leather binder into her hands. At the time, it had seemed foolish, but he did not wish to forget to give it to her later. She needed to see the letters. At first, she looked surprised; her eyes becoming set: now was not the time. All it had taken was a silent shake of his head, his gaze on hers; she had relented. There was no reason not to accept. Thrusting it into her hands, he turned and left, preparing to deal with the camp. It had seemed a weak reason back then; she could fall as easily as he. His insistence she had accepted as whim, despite his atrocious timing. Now he was glad he had.
The mailed hand struck him sharply; coming down out of nowhere. Reeling, he recoiled; the knowledge he could do nothing tore at him, made only more bitter as the taste of his blood touched his tongue as his lip split.
"I said," the owner of the voice leaned in, her face pressed closed to his, "get on yer knees." Her hand cracked down sharply again, forcing his head to one side. Seizing him with both hands, she held him fast as her knee rammed into him. "Let's try this again, shall we?"
Her smile was anything but pleasant, and he had seen more warmth in predators as they toyed with their prey. Her eyes were cold, off-green; there was a elegance about her, a refinement that belied her brutality. It was as if her once fine features were roughed and hardened, but somehow, the pride still remained, stronger than before. She reminded him of a wildcat; one that dwelt high up in the crags.
Her skin was fair, not bronzed like so many others in the wilds; her tawny hair rugged and short. Despite her leathers and furs, her mail ringlets were finest steel. At first glance, the trappings she and the others wore suggested brutish thugs, unsophisticated and barbaric, but upon closer inspection there was more than met the eye. Not for the first time, he began to wonder if he had made a mistake.
He had felt their eyes on him. Felt that he was being shadowed; stalked. It was subtle, so unlike the 'stealth' the bandits had employed. To compare the two would be comparing a yapping hound with a panther, or some other hunting cat. He had known. They did not know he had seen them; catching slight glimpses, aware they were tracking him. The choice was his own.
It was at that point he wheeled around, distancing himself from Vai; slipping off without her knowledge. Choosing to face them on his terms, not theirs. Such rashness had taken them by surprise; leaving no signs of a struggle, leaving no dead in his wake. This occurred after he rejoined her, after setting the tents ablaze; after pressing the binder into her hands. Both travelled in silence, too weary to speak; too lost in thought. His thoughts were grim as night had fallen, as they cleared the confines of the wood.
He could have asked Vai, used her sources of information. They might have uncovered who was behind this. He could have investigated the Iron Throne on his own. He could have warned Vai, slain the stalkers as he had the last group. He could have chosen another path.
Somehow, the 'mights' and 'maybes' didn't seem solid enough, that valuable time would be wasted. The only sure-fire way to infiltrate was to be brought before them; taken into their stronghold. Or allow his captors to believe that is where they would take him. They might not know any thing more than he, but they would know their contact: perhaps the one who had issued the bounty. If not the source, then the one they would collect from.
Vai would never have permitted it; he had known it since their exchange at the Friendly Arm. Leaving Gareth on watch, as they made camp, he had mulled it over. Considered, questioned, turned it around and around. They were still a day and a half's ride from Beregost; they were in no condition to press on through the night. The tracker was experienced, yes; but he was worn down from the battle.
As Vai slept, he left, evading the watchman and leaving the last member of her company slumbering nearby. He had hesitated; a note would suffice. The less she knew, the better. He would meet with her in Beregost. He spied the hunters, and would set an end to his bounty. Anything less, and she might never forgive him. Anything more, and – she would be furious regardless. He would track them, he had intended, track them to their source. Briefly, before they had bedded down, she had made mention it would take several days to restock, and send word for reinforcements. She would meet with mayor Keldath Ormlyr. Beregost could not be left undefended. She did not need him for that, he penned, he had to act now, before the hunters escaped; he was sorry, he had added, ending the missive with a regretful scrawl.
He entrusted his life to Fate once more, seeking to kiss the hands of Fortune.