Free Three Coins for Confession by Scott Fitzgerald Gray Page B

done, report to Captain Rhuddry. She knows you’re
coming.”
    Chriani understood what message the sentry had run on Makaysa’s
command. He nodded this time.
    Guard Captain Rhuddry led the Crimson Shields, the guard regiment
of Alaniver. A veteran ranger, decorated in her home city and Rheran, though
from what Chriani knew of her record, she hadn’t spent more than six months
behind city walls in over two decades of military service. He knew her as less
dedicated to discipline for its own sake than to the fighting form that
discipline was meant to shape, which put her ahead of most captains in his
view. But for those whom discipline couldn’t shape — including
Chriani — Rhuddry had very little patience. He didn’t expect that
would change tonight.
    He fell into step with the others, striding behind and to the
left of Makaysa. He tried at first to slip back to last rank, but Grus’s boot
at his heel told him the veteran was watching for that particular move. So
Chriani waited until they passed through the main-path intersection between the
mess tents, the smell of roast meat and wood smoke hanging heavy, a twisting
mass of foot traffic converging from three different directions.
    He waited for his moment, sidestepping easily to avoid a supplies
cart slowing in front of them, bogged down on one side in a muddy rut. Then he
kept on sidestepping, away from Makaysa and the others and onto a track running
off behind the stores tents.
    Chriani felt Grus moving before he saw him, knew that the veteran
had been watching for his escape. Even still, he was barely fast enough as he
twisted away. He slipped beneath the warrior’s first punch, then came up into
his jaw with the elbow of his good arm, stopping the shout he was about to
make.
    As Grus stumbled back, Chriani dropped to a defensive crouch,
slipped back two paces. It was dark between the tents, the spill of firelight
from the mess fading to shadow around them. It would work to his advantage.
“The mages hate to be kept waiting,” he said in a cold whisper. “You’re sure
you want to do this now?”
    Grus’s answer came as a flying tackle from a standing start,
coming at him so fast that Chriani managed only to get his injured arm behind
him before he was hit. He wrapped his left arm around Grus’s neck, holding on
as the heavier warrior pushed him back, and knowing that one solid shot to his
injured arm might drop him.
    Grus apparently knew it too, hammering three times across the
wound with a fist that struck like iron. As bad as the pain had been on the
ride from the forest, it exploded like a hot brand now, shooting down Chriani’s
arm and back as a spasm that allowed Grus to drive him to the ground. He was on
his back in the mud, couldn’t move. The leering veteran loomed over him, ready
to kick.
    “Master Grus!” Makaysa’s voice sounded out from the shadow
scouring Chriani’s sight. Through Grus’s legs, he saw her standing at the
entrance to the side track, her rangers and a handful of others close behind,
watching with amusement. “You fight on your time, you follow orders on mine.
Now.”
    With a growl, Grus once again showed his devotion to following
orders by stepping quickly away. Chriani staggered to his feet, holding his arm
as the pain ebbed. By the time he made it stumbling to the main track, the
blood at his leather was seeping through his fingers.
    Makaysa sighed as she saw the extent of the wound. “You didn’t
think to mention that?”
    “I’m fine,” Chriani said through clenched teeth.
    Grus snorted, but Makaysa silenced him with a look. “Grus, lead
to the war-mages. I’ll get Chriani to the healers first, then meet up with you.
Go.”
    The veteran nodded, but his smirking gaze held Chriani’s for a
long moment as he and the others turned away.
    “Can you walk?” Makaysa asked. Her tone had softened, but Chriani
shrugged off her assistance as he made his way around the intersection and took
the main west track. “The