Free Ink Mage by Victor Gischler

we’ll be using quite a bit more than ink, I can assure you.”
    Needles ? “Will it—” She swallowed. “Will it hurt?”
    A pause too long for comfort. “Yes. Very much.”

CHAPTER TWELVE
    At a distance, the disguise worked. A Perranese warrior on one horse, leading a captive on another.
    Up close was a different story.
    Tosh didn’t have the narrow eyes or the saffron skin of the Perranese, but he tried to sit straight and haughty in the saddle. Perranese foot patrols who spotted them down side streets merely saluted from a distance and kept going. Alem rode with his wrists together in front of him, rope wrapped around loosely to give the appearance they were bound. When Perranese soldiers looked like they might come too close, Tosh would veer off down another path. In this way, they zigzagged toward the city gate, often turning in the opposite direction and having to circle around again.
    Snow fell. It was cold.
    Alem leaned forward in his saddle to speak low to Tosh ahead of him. “This is taking forever.”
    Tosh frowned back at him. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”
    Alem did not have a better idea.
    The plan, as Alem understood it, was to use the disguise to make it to one of the city gates and then do … something. Thinking about it now, in the battle-torn streets of Klaar, Alem realized it was a completely and utterly terrible plan. He supposed they’d figured to sneak through the gate in some way, but Alem couldn’t imagine how. Occasionally, he’d spot a citizen of Klaar darting furtively among the rubble, but most of the city’s population was in hiding. Most members of the army or militia were dead. Three times, they came across a scattering of bodies where the men of Klaar had turned to make a stand only to be cut down by the swarming invaders.
    They reined in the horses under the tattered awning at the entrance of a burned-out shop, the shadows offering some slight concealment and cover from the snow. Alem almost didn’t recognize that he was at the wide square just inside the city’s front gate. On any normal day, the square would be filled with carts and stands, peddlers hawking wares, the healthy bustle of commerce.
    Now the stands and carts had been cleared away so the Perranese army could use the square as a staging area. A steady line of troops trudged in through the open front gate. Many pulled carts piled with enough goods and supplies to suggest a long stay. Perranese troops also lead occasional groups of captured Klaarians. Alem didn’t recognize any of them. Maybe they’d been gathered from the low-lying villages.
    Alem felt a stab of concern for his grandmother. He hoped the Perranese would leave an obviously harmless old woman alone, but he couldn’t quite convince himself. The invaders didn’t quite seem evil, but they did go about their business with a ruthless efficiency. If they’d been ordered to clear the villages, Alem doubted they would make exceptions.
    “Are we just going to sit here until they notice us?” Alem whispered.
    “We’re waiting,” Tosh said.
    “For what?”
    “I don’t know, okay?” Tosh said. “Just be ready to ride like the blazes if I give the signal. Can you ride?”
    “I can ride. Don’t worry about me.” Alem had spent all his life around horses. When on a hunt, invariably some fat noble’s ass would get saddle sore, and Alem would be picked to ride the horse back to the stable. He always took the long way back, riding the forest and mountain trails of Klaar. Yes, he could ride. He could ride like the bloody wind.
    They waited.
    Ten minutes became twenty and then half an hour. The square appeared to be controlled by a bull of a Perranese sergeant, head bald except for a glossy black topknot that swung like a whip whenever he turned his head to shout at another group of men. If the men marched through the front gate too slowly, he shouted at them. Too fast, and he shouted at them. If he needed them to halt so a troop