Scourge of the Betrayer by Jeff Salyards Page B

coming from the downstairs common room.
    Braylar said, with much bitterness, “A room without a window. You deserve to be caught and hung.”
    “But, but you said you didn’t know. Didn’t you? You don’t know they’re here for us, or who they are even, isn’t that right?”
    He ignored me, circling one last time like a bear staked to a post, waiting for the dogs to descend, and then he shoved me roughly back toward the bed. “They’ll be here in a moment. It’s likely they’d sooner kill us as not. And I won’t be taken alive. I’ll take out as many as I can, and then—”
    “But why? Even… even if they are here for you, why not surrender? So long as you live, there’s a chance to—”
    “To what? Escape? Be rescued?” He laughed. “You’ve read too many romances, Arki. I doubt they’ll take me prisoner, but if they do, it will only be to hang me on the morrow. That’s the good scenario.”
    “The good? To be hung? What’s the bad?”
    “They ask questions. Questions lead to more questions, none of which I’ll answer truthfully. That will lead to torture. Then I’ll answer very truthfully. All men do in time. So, I kill as many as I can before they cut me down. And then they’ll turn on you—”
    He broke off and listened. I heard it, too. The stairs were creaking. Men were ascending.
    “Surrender if you like. However, I wouldn’t advise it. Torture is very unpleasant.” He pulled his dagger out, spun it, and held it out to me hilt first. “I suggest you slit your throat first. Cleaner.” He nodded. “Quicker.”
    I refused the dagger and held my satchel to my chest. “They could be anyone. They, they might not be here to kill us, or arrest us. And I’ve done nothing wrong! They—”
    He snatched his dagger back. “We all make choices.” And then he moved to the left side of the door so it wouldn’t hit him when it swung in, his flail and buckler at the ready.
    There was more creaking, the floorboards now. Whoever they were, they were close, coming down the hall, almost to our door. I clutched my satchel and wondered for a brief instant if I should have taken the dagger, before reminding myself that I was innocent. I just hoped whoever it was cared about such things.
    We waited. I looked at the door, sure someone was right in front of it, equally sure I’d be the first thing anyone saw if they broke through. But I couldn’t move. My body didn’t respond, even as my mind screamed danger was on the other side of the door. And then I heard another creak, and almost emptied my bloated bladder. This creak was followed by another, and another still, as whoever had been in front of our door moved further down the hallway.
    I looked at Braylar, and there was confusion in his eyes, and for the briefest moment, I thought doubt as well. I don’t remember doing it, but I’d begun holding my breath at some point, because I exhaled then, and felt faint.
    A few more moments went by, in which I heard nothing at all, and then there was a horrendous crack, the splintering of wood down the hall. And then chaos erupted. Shouting, a man screaming, ordering someone else to surrender peacefully, more shouting, all of it running together, several voices at once, made incoherent.
    I sat against the wall as the source of the commotion made its way back down the hall again. From the sounds of it, men fought other men, some shouting that an injustice was being done, others shouting for silence. There were collisions, the prisoners no doubt struggling against their captors as they were ushered past us, slamming into walls and doors as they went.
    Braylar waited until he was certain danger had moved down the stairs, and then he cracked his door, just enough to look out and gauge the situation.
    I whispered, “Who is it? Who did they apprehend?”
    He tilted his head and opened the door an inch or two more. “I don’t know.”
    “What’s happening?”
    He didn’t respond, but opened our door entirely