Fortunately, as she had guessed, these muscle-bound mercenaries were all very much in awe of the Weather-Mage’s temper.
“That’s all very well, but what were you doing in the infirmary?” the other guard demanded, changing the subject hastily.
Zanna sighed with relief. Here, at least, the truth—or almost the truth—would serve. “She wanted some herbs, to make a sleeping draft. And I’m late already, because I dropped my lantern in the courtyard and I didn’t dare go back for another. Please—won’t you help me find what she wants, so I can get back as quick as I can? The way she is tonight, I’m scared to keep her waiting.”
“Of course we will, lass,” the first guard told her kindly. “I’m sorry we stopped you, like, but it’s our job. Hey, Marek—give me that bloody lantern. The poor girl needs to see what she’s doing, you know.”
Because the Lady Aurian’s instructions had been very explicit, Zanna found the herbs she needed with little difficulty. Bidding a grateful farewell to the guards, she hurried back across the courtyard to the Mages’ Tower on shaky legs. Gods, that had been a narrow escape—and the danger wasn’t over yet. Why the blazes had the Lady Eliseth gone out tonight, of all nights? Now, Zanna could only pray that she’d have time to free her father before the Magewoman really did come back, and give the game away.
Zanna had been glad to see the back of the two courtyard guards, but her relief was short-lived. The two unsavory-looking specimens who guarded Vannor’s door in the tower sent her heart sinking into her shoes. Peering round the bend in the staircase, Zanna thanked her stars that she and the Lady Aurian had already come up with a plan to deal with this part of the escape, for there was no reason for the girl to be wandering around the upper stories of the Mages’ Tower at this time of night. No reason, that is—except one. Zanna took a deep breath, and stepped forward to climb the last curving flight of steps to the landing.
“Could you two handsome, hard-working gentlemen use some wine to cheer your night? I brought it for Lady Eliseth, but she’s asleep—and we wouldn’t want to waste it, would we?” Zanna held out her basket hopefully. Since she had never in her life tried to be coquettish, and was forced to take her example from the antics of the kitchen maids—and memories of the way her elder sister used to behave with boys—she could only hope it came out right.
Zanna’s knowledge of soldiers was as scant as her experience of flirting, or she would have been less surprised at the success of her ruse. When it came to an offer of wine, the purveyor would need to be a whole lot plainer than herself to be rejected. As it was, the faces of the soldiers who guarded Vannor’s door lit up like beacons. They were an unprepossessing pair, the first a mangy bear of a man covered as far as the eye could see in a mat of curling red hair. The second, smaller and wiry, might have been handsome once, but his face was disfigured down one side by a ragged red scar that twisted his mouth awry. That in itself was not so bad, thought Zanna—but his eyes were cold and narrow, with the feral, pitiless gaze of a man who lived to kill.
At least the big ruddy-haired guard was smiling. “Why, that’s a kind thought, little lass,” he said, reaching greedily for the flask.
“Just a minute,” the other, more suspicious but less quick on the uptake, cut in. “Why in the name of all the gods should some skirt be bringing us food and wine at this time of night?”
“Not because she fancies you, that’s for sure,” his companion jeered. “Why d’you think, you idiot?” He took a long swig from the flask. “It gets lonely down in them servants’ quarters, doesn’t it, my pet?” He turned to Zanna with a lewd wink.
“Oho,” said the small man, catching on at last. “Don’t hog the lot, then.” He made a grab at the flask. “I’m sure the little lass can’t have meant it all for an ugly old bastard like you.”
“Help yourself. It tastes a bit off to me—but I suppose it’s just the sort of horse’s piss that these Magefolk bastards would like.” The big guard handed over the flask and wiped his mouth. “I’m more of a beer man, myself,” he added. Just as Zanna was reflecting that she needn’t have bothered looking for the goblets, she found herself swept up in a pair of hairy, brawny arms. “And a woman’s man,” the guard went on, leering into her face.
Zanna gritted her teeth, forced herself not to struggle, and, from somewhere or other, managed to dredge up a smile. “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?” she replied—and wondered how she could keep her voice steady as she felt his hand creep up beneath her skirts.
“Here, hold on!” A rough hand grabbed her arm and spun her away from her admirer. “What about my turn, you stinking sack of dung!” The second guard, scowling darkly, thrust the flask of wine into his companion’s hand. “Here—you didn’t have much,” he said with mock generosity. “You finish it, while I get acquainted with the little lady.” Forcing Zanna against the wall, he covered her face with slobbering kisses while she fought against nausea and forced herself to keep still and endure it.
“Rot you!” The first guard drained the flask and flung it away to crash against the wall. “Give her back, you pox-ridden little bastard. I had her first!” With a meaty hand that covered most of the smaller man’s shoulder, he pulled his rival away.
The little killer grunted a curse and went for his knife, and Zanna seized the moment to wriggle free. “Quiet!” she hissed. “Do you want to bring the Magefolk down on us?”
As the thought penetrated what passed for their brains, the guards stopped grappling and turned to gape at her sheepishly. Zanna forced another smile. “There’s no need for all this fighting,” she said winningly. “Why, we have the rest of the night in front of us.”
“What a clever little lass you are,” the big guard beamed. “Come on, lovey—what about a kiss for me?” He reached out to embrace her—and toppled, choking, with his rival’s knife between his shoulder blades.
The man with the killer eyes planted a booted foot in the other’s back and wrenched his knife out of the body. “And now we have all night—just the two of us.” Clutching the bloody blade, he advanced on Zanna, grinning nastily as she backed away. “Don’t be shy, little lass. To start with, let’s see what you’re like under all those clo—”
Suddenly, his eyes glazed over. “Gods, what’s happening? You bitch, you’ve poisoned me…” He staggered and went down like a felled tree as the handful of powdered herbs that Zanna had dumped into the wine took effect at last.
Zanna slumped against the wall, breathing deeply, until the dizziness cleared from her brain and the urge to throw up was under control. Then, stooping swiftly, she scrabbled at the belt of the big, ruddy-haired guard, searching for his keys—her task made all the more difficult because she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. A lecherous fool he might have been, but he’d seemed harmless enough—after all, her behavior had seemed like an open invitation—and he had spoken to her kindly. Now he was dead, and it was all her fault. “I didn’t want this. I only meant to drug them,” she muttered helplessly, but it did nothing to erase the sick sense of guilt that rose up to choke her.
To confound her expectations, there was no ring of keys on the guard’s belt, but after a fair amount of cursing and a further rummage through the dead man’s pockets, Zanna finally found what she sought. Praying that it really was the right key, she fitted it into the lock—and sagged with relief as it turned over with a click. She took the key with her as she glided silently into the room beyond, and closed the door behind her.