* * *
Brush slapping her in the face roused her, and she realized she was moving. She stumbled into a clearing, almost falling over a body at her feet. She looked around, blinking in confusion.
"Ton-Kel!" Paulo was before her, grabbing her shoulders, his relief plain in his face. "You're all right!"
She nodded, trying to think. What had happened to her? "Yes, I…ran into a bandit, but I'm fine now."
Someone grabbed her arm and spun her around and Baraccus looked down at her. Something must have been terribly wrong, because he looked upset. "Where have you been? We've looked all over for you. I felt…we were sure you'd been hurt."
He was worried about her. He'd really been honestly concerned. About her. She smiled. "I was, but I'm a healer, remember? I got a bandit, too."
She looked around and saw they were in an unfamiliar clearing. Sir Charles was there with Dale and the Red Triad. Galen with two of his guards stood with them, looking battle-worn. They all seemed to be shouting at each other, except for Dale, who kept silent and looked disgusted. There were bodies everywhere.
"What happened? It looks like you boys did all right without me." She glanced from one to the other, then at the bodies.
"They seem to have out-maneuvered themselves," said Paulo with satisfaction. "We'd all been pinned down back there—" He waved vaguely over his shoulder —"when a hole opened up and we made for it. Ran right into the rest of them while they were sneaking around to join their buddies. Got them trapped here the way they'd had us. They put up a hell of a fight."
He glanced over at Sir Charles, frowning. “We would have gotten more if Sir Charles hadn't interfered. He wanted to take a few alive, evidently. That's what they're going on about now; he kept trying to take prisoners, and they kept being killed by someone else.”
Ton-Kel stared across at the confrontation between warriors. Spattered blood marred the mirror finish of Sir Charles's armor, and rage robbed his handsome face of its usual dignity. Galen looked like a thundercloud looming over him, arms crossed on his powerful chest, his face dark with fury. The Red Triad, bloody but unwounded, turned their combined anger first on one, then the other. Dale watched his Cavalier and looked wary.
"When did Galen get here?" she asked.
"Right after we caught up with the bandits. Truth to tell, we were glad of the help," Paulo said. "At least, I was. Look at the bodies."
He turned her and pointed to the closest one, a man lying on his side with his face turned up to the sky. His hood had fallen away, revealing very pointed ears. "Elf," Ton-Kel murmured. She glanced at Paulo. "The others?"
He nodded. "Not just Elves. Mostly humans, of course, but a few Sobaka as well, even one or two Koshka. It looks like Westmere's Tainted have taken to banditry." He shrugged. "Can't say Galen wasn't warned."
She shook her head, puzzled. "Don't jump to conclusions, Paulo. There's something else going on here."
She moved away to examine another body. Clearly Koshka; the leonine face was twisted in a snarl, revealing the sharp fangs. Farther on was another Elf, a human — and two Sobaka, one clearly wolfish, the other more dog-like. At least twelve bodies lay in sight. How many others were off in the brush somewhere? "This doesn't make sense," she said. "There were this many — and they had Koshka and Sobaka as well as Elves among them — and they all died?"
Paulo gaped at her. Baraccus frowned as if she'd paid him a personal insult. "Against two, nearly three Triads? Of course." He looked around and shrugged. "In any case, they were more interested in escaping than fighting. Thanks to Sir Charles, a number of them did." He glanced over at the embattled Cavalier, his expression thoughtful. Or perhaps calculating. "Oh well. They learned their lesson. But there's far more of them than we thought."
She nodded, swallowing. "Well, at least you're all right." She turned, hesitating, then headed across the field, flanked by Paulo and Baraccus, to where the others still argued. The shouts separated into individual voices and words as the three approached.
"—honorably surrendered! You had no right—" Sir Charles was saying.
Galen overrode him. "If you expect honor from such as these, Sir Charles, you have not dealt often enough with them. They were trying to escape as soon as your back was turned."
"The Constable is right," barked Sir Ulrik. "These were not honorable foes. Their word is meaningless—"
"Honor is honor," Sir Charles interrupted, "and cannot be denied some and—"
Ton-Kel raised her voice, projecting as she'd done over crowds of revelers in years past. "My Lords and Ladies," she called, "pray attend!"
They fell silent, whether out of politeness or because they welcomed the interruption was hard to say. At least they were listening. Galen's face lightened with relief as he recognized her, and his concern warmed her like a touch. She looked quickly away.
Beside her, Baraccus held up his hands. "We are all alive. It is true we have no prisoners to question — unless either Mystic can make the dead speak." He raised an inquiring brow at Ton-Kel, then Gottfried, but received only headshakes. "But they can still give us some answers," he continued. "We need to examine the bodies and gather what clues we may. And be back in town before nightfall. Agreed?"
Galen unfolded his arms. "You are right. We must gather what we can while the chance remains to us." He looked around. "My men must be carried back to town. We'll need help." He nodded, and one of his two remaining guards turned and left the clearing.
The Constable drew a deep breath, scrubbing his face with his hands. "Sir Charles, I offer an apology," he said from between his palms. "But I have done what I thought best. I lost some good men today." He dropped his hands and looked tiredly around for bodies clad in brown. Then he drew himself up and the weariness left his face. "Let's get a good look at these rogues and see who they are."
Zizka snorted. "Tainted."
Galen eyes flashed a warning. "Some of them."
Ton-Kel hastened to head off another confrontation. "Let's get them all together. Are there very many out in the woods?"
Galen nodded. "A few. I doubt we'll ever find them all."
Sir Ulrik took off his helmet and set it on a broken stump beside him. "Then we must begin. There is much to be done before dark."
Though the guard returned fairly quickly with a few hardy volunteers from the town in tow, the Triads had already completed much of the work by the time they arrived. The bodies lay side by side, filling most of the clearing.
Galen walked along, pulling aside hoods, removing masks. Ton-Kel was not familiar enough with his guard or the people of Westmere to recognize individuals, but it was clear that many of the dead were known to him. She watched him control his anger and grief as former friends and allies were uncovered.
How was the enemy gaining this strange influence over the minds of his victims? Did he masquerade as someone they knew, someone they trusted? She watched the volunteers from town as they worked, wondering if one of them was no longer his own master. What about Galen's guards? True, most of them were dead now. But how many of the dead had served another purpose?
Already the shadows under the trees were darkening. There would be no chance to reach the swamps tonight. But it had become more important than ever to question the boggies and learn what they knew.
This time, she vowed silently, the Black Triad would allow nothing to interfere.