all during the ride back from Eske, Corson rehearsed to herself various ways of explaining what had taken place. Most of these accounts were true, but she doubted that Steifann would accept them, all the same. It’s not fair, she thought. Something like this always happens to me!
When she’d set out with the Guild’s agent, she still hadn’t known her destination, though she had not been surprised to find her guide leading her north instead of south. But when they were joined by several other swordfighters along the way, she knew she’d been mistaken about the nature of her commission.
If a small troupe of warriors was needed for the job, it was most likely a matter of clearing a nest of bandits out of the woods, to make the roads safer for parties of merchants. It would be bloody work, Corson knew, but she still hadn’t suspected how much trouble lay ahead.
Talking with the others when they camped for the night, she found that they knew no more about the business than she did. Like her, they were not usually particular about their work, provided that the wages were satisfactory. Too much curiosity did not accord well with their profession. No doubt the Guild had taken such pains to be secret lest warning of the attack should reach their intended quarry. Corson took note that most of her fellow travelers were outlanders-southerners like herself or mercenaries from Liruvath-who were unlikely to have ties among the local brigandry.
Her guesswork was not far from the mark, but she only realized exactly what they were hunting when their leader called a halt on the bluffs overlooking a small, rocky inlet near the fishing village of Eske. By that time, it was too late to do anything but see the job through to the end. Hidden among the boulders on the dark shore, she had waited with the rest, silent, watching for the signal to attack, and already trying to think of an explanation that would satisfy Steifann. When the time came, she did her part and earned her wages. She had no choice. To retreat or raise an alarm would be more than her life was worth.
“Take them alive if you can,” were the orders, and that had not proven difficult. The whole affair had been easy. Corson thought with distaste, like spearing penned and hobbled game, The three who’d arrived at moonrise had been hopelessly outnumbered. As soon as they’d signaled their confederates, they’d been seized with hardly a struggle, and their places taken by Corson and two of the others. It was just as simple to overcome the two who answered the signal, while they were busy hauling their boat onto shore.
When the boat returned to the waiting ship it rode low in the water, with two rowing, two lying flat on the bottom, one crouched in the prow, and two towed along, holding to the sides. Corson, who couldn’t swim, stayed on shore to guard the prisoners and watch for anyone who tried to leap overboard and swim ashore.
She knew that the ship would be taken quickly enough without her help. They were sailing shorthanded, after all. There could be no more than three of the crew left aboard, including Destiver.