She froze in surprise for an instant, even as her husband's arms drove her to her knees. She lost her balance and would have toppled to one side had he not caught her.
At his curt gesture, she dropped the interdicting windcrafting and they were immediately assaulted by the sounds they would have heard had she not been holding it in place.
Voices echoed in the tunnel. Feet thudded in a careless clatter. Someone-perhaps even their quarry-was in the tunnels with them, and they were crouching in a narrow corridor like perfect fools. No amount of concealing furycraft would do them any good if one of the Vord sympathizers physically blundered into them.
The volume of the voices rose. The tunnels rendered them completely unintelligible, but their tone was clear: an argument. Then a pair of shadowy forms backlit by a dingy furylamp emerged from a cross tunnel ahead of them and turned to proceed farther into the stinking depths of the tunnel that led toward the auction house, away from Amara and Bernard.
She traded a look with her husband. Then the pair of them rose to their feet and began stalking after the retreating figures.
The tunnel widened and became much higher after only a few more yards, its shape far more regular, sloping gently upward as it moved farther into the city. Their footing was good. It was not difficult to move more swiftly than they had in days, their feet, long used to silence, making no more sound on the stones than they had over the soft earth. Amara felt a fierce surge of exaltation spread through her limbs, making weariness vanish, and found her hand upon her sword. She wanted to punish these men, whoever they were, who had turned against their own kind, to butcher them as ruthlessly and efficiently as possible. She wanted to strike back at the horrors who had overrun the Vale and visited so much pain and destruction upon its holders.
But vengeance wouldn't bring anyone back. Indulging her own need for action would not assist the First Lord in stopping the Vord. No matter that it felt right. She had to be cold, rational, just as Fidelias had always taught her. Or tried to teach her, at any rate. Crows take his treasonous eyes.
She took her hand slowly from her sword. There was still a job to do.
"... and you know what she's going to say when we get back," snarled the voice of a man in the group in front of them. They had drawn close enough to the sympathizers for their discussion to be understood. "That you should have brought them all back here to be processed."
"Crows take the highborn bitch," snarled another man's voice. "She said to find out what the Cursors were up to. She never said anything about recruiting them."
The first man's voice became plaintive, blending frustration and anxiety in equal amounts. "Can't you explain it to him? Before we're all killed for incompetence?"
A woman's voice-a familiar one, though Amara couldn't place it immediately in the echoing tunnel-answered him. "It doesn't matter to me either way. He'll kill the two of you. I have something else to offer him."
"Whore," spat the second man.
"One can retire from whoredom," the woman replied, her tone cool. "Idiocy is for life-which, in your case, is probably about thirty minutes."
"Maybe I should just enjoy myself in the time left to me, then," the man said in an ugly tone. There was the sharp sound of an open-handed blow on skin, followed by scuffling feet and tearing cloth.
"Ranius!" barked the first man, his voice high and panicked.
"She's just a whore," Ranius growled. "One who needs to be put in her place. You can have a turn after I'm d-"
There was the sharp, sudden sound of snapping bone.
It was followed instantly by a heavy thud.
"Oh, crows," the first man screamed, his voice rising to a falsetto shriek.
"Apparently he's done, Falco," said the woman, her voice perfectly calm and polite. "Do you want your turn?"
"No. No, no, no, look," Falco babbled, his voice quick and shaking. "I never had a problem with you. Okay? I never tried to lay a hand on you. I never said a thing to you while you were... questioning the prisoners."
The woman's voice took on a hard, contemptuous edge. "Those people died for Alera. The least you can do is say the words. Ranius and I weren't questioning them, Falco. We were torturing them to death. And you did nothing. Bloody crows, you're gutless."
"I just want to live!"
"Everyone dies, Falco. Scramble all you want, but in the end you wind up like Ranius, there, no matter what you do."
"You shouldn't have killed them," Falco said. "You shouldn't have killed them. He's going to be furious."
"They died hard," the woman said. "But it was a cleaner death than they would have had if we'd brought them back. Cleaner than we're going to get."
"Why didn't you stop Ranius?!" Falco whined. "You could have stopped him. You know what's going to happen to us when we tell him what happened to the Cursors. You're smart. You knew..."
Falco's voice trailed off into tense silence.
"You've still got half an hour," the woman said in a level tone. "You want to be quiet now."
"You did it on purpose," Falco blurted. "You wanted the Cursors dead. So they couldn't talk. You're betraying him." He drew in a breath and his voice turned horrified. "You're betraying them."
There was a low sigh from up the tunnel. "Crows take it, Falco..."
"You lied to him," Falco continued in a dazed voice. "How the bloody crows did you lie to him?"
"Lying is easy," the woman replied quietly. "Getting people to believe what you want them to believe is considerably more difficult. It helps to be able to distract them with something."
"Oh, crows," Falco moaned. "Do you know what's going to happen to us when he finds out?"
The woman's voice was calm-almost compassionate-and Amara finally placed it. "He isn't going to find out."
"The crows he won't!" Falco retorted. "They'll know. They always know. I'm not going to have my guts ripped out for those things to crawl in!"
"No," she said. "You aren't."
Falco's voice turned panicked again. "Get away from me!"
There were running footsteps. Then a hissing sound-a knife's blade cutting the air as it was thrown, Amara judged. Falco let out a scream of agony and, from the sound of it, stumbled and fell. There was the sound of quick, light footsteps, then a gurgling sigh.
Amara moved forward until she could see the woman clearly.
She wasn't pretty, precisely, but she was fit, her features strong and appealing. She wasn't particularly tall, but her stance was confident, her motions brisk and sure, blending into a sense of competence that permeated her entire presence. She wore leather flying trousers and a dark blouse. The latter was silk, and it was torn, revealing a swath of smooth skin. Her eyes were the color of rich earth after a rain. Blood speckled her face.