Free Her Knight's Quest: A Warriors of the Mist Novel by Alexis Morgan Page B

much.”
    Leaning back in his chair, Murdoch crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
    “I’m a soldier. I know this to be true because of the calluses I have on my hands.” He showed Murdoch his palms. “These tell me that I am a trained swordsman, but not if I’m any good.”
    Murdoch conceded that much. “I myself didn’t see you fight, but they tell me you wore the uniform of an officer. I doubt that means you were incompetent.”
    The trooper took that much in and nodded before he continued. “If you and your captain are to be believed, I served a man named Duke Keirthan, and through him, Lord Fagan, although I don’t know why.”
    He was making no sense. “How could you not know something as simple as who it is you serve?”
    Again, another long pause. “Believe me or not, but the memory of my life began when I awoke in this bed. I cannot recall anything about my life prior to that minute.”
    He stared up at the ceiling as if hoping to find answers there. “I remember nothing of the battle that brought me here or what I’ve done that would make me your enemy. However, I understand that I am your prisoner and will face judgment for my acts.”
    This time when he looked at Murdoch, his expression appeared unnaturally calm. “But if you want explanations, I have none to offer. I remember nothing of my life, nothing of me . Not even my own name.”
    Murdoch wasn’t sure he believed the man. In fact, he didn’t want to, but the glint of fear in the trooper’s eyes gave the weight of truth to his outrageous claim. It didn’t change the fact that the man had served the duke and had no doubt killed good men as part of that service.
    Maybe he deserved to die for his crimes, but not if he didn’t know what he’d done or why. In the past, Murdoch had known other soldiers who suffered temporary confusion after a blow to the head. The trooper showed no sign of a head wound, but that didn’t matter; the results were the same.
    Murdoch didn’t have it in him to see the man executed for crimes he didn’t remember committing. Once his memory returned—if it returned—there would be time enough to decide the trooper’s fate.
    “I believe you, although I’m not sure why I should.” He considered the possibilities. “I will ask Captain Gideon to withhold judgment until such time as your memory returns.”
    “And if it doesn’t?”
    “Then we will let the gods decide your fate.” Murdoch pushed himself back up to his feet, ignoring the tugging pain of his stomach wound.
    He paused before leaving. “Until then, what would you like to be called?”
    The trooper gave it some thought. When he answered, it was with the first spark of humor Murdoch had seen in his expression. “Call me Sigil. Since we don’t know my real name, it seems proper for me to be known simply by the duke’s symbol that I wore.”
    Murdoch offered his own hint of a smile in return. “Sigil it is then. We will speak again.”
    As he walked away, Sigil murmured, “I’m sure we will.”
    Then in a louder voice, he called out, “Can I know your name as well? And who it is that you and Captain Gideon serve?”
    “I am called Murdoch. We are the Damned, avatars of the gods.” With that happy thought, he returned to his room to await his dinner.

Chapter 8
     
    A ll Duncan wanted was to seek out his bed in the guest quarters and lie down. Blood still oozed through the stitches in his leg, and the surrounding flesh was swollen and raw. Maybe the ointment the herbalist had given him would help, but he hadn’t had time to apply it since she’d closed the wound.
    Spending several hours searching through the caravan hadn’t helped either his injury or his mood. Granted, he didn’t particularly care what the trader and his people thought of him. He’d killed two of their own and didn’t expect to be welcomed with open arms.
    However, considering he’d prevented the assassination of Lady Lavinia, the least they could do