Heart of Ash (The Dark Arcane Series: Book 1)

Chapter Twenty Four

After the manacles had been clamped around their wrists, Conan had walked to join the smugglers. He hadn't had time to explain anymore for they kept him up the front with them, while Ashyn and the rest walked with their hands bound in front of them. Their horses had been taken from them, and were up ahead with Conan, though the rest of the smugglers walked behind them.

She'd been stripped of her weapons and her jacket had been taken from her, leaving her to brace herself against the chill of the wind in her pale shirt and dark brown waistcoat. She felt like cattle being paraded towards a market.

Sariem walked with her head down beside her. "We're—we're not going to die, right?"

It took her a moment to realise the woman had spoken.

"Die? I bloody hope not, I've got shit to do," she muttered, and tested the strength of the bonds once again.

She observed the walking of Mirken, the cleverness of his stride, the brutal angles of his face. He seemed to act as leader of the westernmost traders, the voice and commander, while the deadly man who had eyes of cruelty dealt in the darkest caverns was the blade and arsenal. Mirken gave orders, while the other man—who she named Vic One—was the punishment if those orders weren't followed.

"What are they going to do to us?" her voice was barely audible, like the sound of butterfly wings in a grassy verge.

Ashyn glanced sideways. Sariem looked truly frightened, tears staining her cheeks.

She scrambled for words, the image an immediate discomfort. "I—nothing. They're not going to do anything because we're getting out of here before that. Conan's on our side, remember?—"or so she thought"—He'll help." She hoped.

"But what can he do? He's got to keep pretending to be one of them."

"He can do lots of things, I think. They had loads of guns, did you see? He can get us some—"

This was apparently the wrong thing to say.

Fresh tears appeared in Sariem's eyes and her breath became wobbly.

Shit.

Perhaps mentioning the excessive firepower their captors carried was not a good idea.

"Hey, look, the guns mean these are rich smugglers, right? You can't get guns if you're a poor smuggler, and you certainly have to be well connected to get this many."

Sariem's face began to screw up so she carried on quickly, "But that also means lots of people will have to be involved, and the more people there are, the more mistakes that can happen. I've seen it happen all the time, all they have to do is employ the wrong person and suddenly their system's in ruins. Success leads to overconfidence, always."

"You think?"

"Of course. I've watched it happen a hundred times over." She may have sounded more blasé than she felt.

She sniffed, and wiped her face with her shoulder. "I know you must have realised what happened to Conan, the atrocities he must have witnessed. I—is it bad I want them to die?"

Ashyn couldn't help the disbelief on her face. "Bad? It's the opposite—it's justice. In fact, it's fate. They're taking their last breaths as we speak."

Great Mothers, she would have shaken the woman's shoulders if she could have.

"Imparting your wisdom, are we?" Nala asked, sidling next to her. "Don't terrorise the innocent, sweets."

Ashyn fought the urge to snap her teeth.

ψ

They walked the entire day without a break, without food or water. Conan had shot worried glances their way several times, which Ashyn chastised with a glare in return. He was a man concerned with their safety and although he tried to hide it well, he failed. She'd could only hope the smugglers beside him were dumber than they looked.