The priestess gave a peremptory order, cutting off all further discussion. The rest of the party dismounted and began leading their horses off into a little blind canyon, probably to make camp, while she took charge of the prisoner. She rode up beside him, pulled his head up by the hair, and slapped his face, so hard it rocked him in his saddle—he would have fallen but for the grip she had on his hair. The slap echoed among the rocks as she let go, and he slumped forward over the pommel. Even as far away as Kero was, there was no mistaking the priestess’ smile of cruel anticipation.

Kero made up her mind then and there. Fine. He’s a Herald. There’s probably going to be a reward if I rescue him, and even if there isn‘t, he can get me out of here through Valdemar. I’m getting him away from that bitch.

Part of her yammered at the back of her mind, telling her that she was insane for doing this, for even thinking about rescuing the stranger. After all, she wasn’t in the clear yet, she was all alone, and the idea of rescuing someone else was sheerest suicide.

She ignored that part of herself, and wriggled backward, keeping herself right down on the rock and ignoring scrapes, until she was out of sight of the road. But though she ignored good sense, she did not ignore caution—there was no telling if the Karsites had deployed a scout to check the woods. She kept as low and as quiet as a hunted rabbit, slipping from one bit of cover to the next, working her way toward Hellsbane by a circuitous, spiraling route.

The woods seemed empty of everything but birds—of course, another scout, a good one, might not have disturbed them any more than Kero did. Still, there was no one out here that she could spot, which probably meant that the Karsites felt secure enough not to bother with perimeter checks. Which meant they also might not bother with perimeter guards. If so, her task took on the aura of the “possible.”

When she reached her horse, she tied up Hellsbane’s stirrups, fastening them to the saddle, before muffling the mare’s hooves in her “boots.” Hellsbane pricked up her ears at that; she knew very well what it meant, though it wasn’t something Kero did often. She was to guard Kero’s back, following her like a dog, until Kero needed her. Tarma had drilled both of them remorselessly in this maneuver; it wasn’t something every warsteed could learn to do, but Hellsbane was both obedient and inquisitive, and those were marker traits for a mare that could learn the trick. Hellsbane had learned her lessons well.