“I remember Valyn going on about that at some length,” she said. “The thing is, I also have a somewhat flexible notion of political loyalty. I certainly wouldn’t want to let something so petty as ‘treason’ come between me and a kindred spirit.” She trailed a few fingers along her arm, then nodded to Balendin’s tattooed biceps and wrists. “I like your art. Is there more under that shirt?”

Gwenna felt like her head was going to explode, but before she could say anything, Annick cut into the conversation, her voice clipped, professional.

“Why are you here, Balendin? Why did Long Fist free you?”

The leach allowed his eyes to linger on Pyrre for a moment. Then he let out a long sigh as he turned to the sniper.

“Annick, just because I had to string up your little slut doesn’t mean you should be so sour about everyone else’s fun.” He spread his arms. “The world is wide, and there are plenty more whores in it.”

The sniper barely twitched, the motion so quick and curt that Gwenna could have missed it, save for the small knife whipping through the air toward Balendin’s throat . . . then knocked aside by some invisible shield. The leach smiled indulgently.

“Long Fist has requested that I leave you unharmed, so I’ll make believe that you just slipped while cutting your meat.”

Annick’s lips tightened, her hand flexed, as though wanting another weapon, but she refused to take the bait.

“Now,” he said after a long pause, “where should I begin the story of my miraculous survival and sudden rehabilitation? In the mountains, perhaps . . .”

“It’s not a fucking mystery,” Gwenna spat. “You staggered out of the Bones, and the Urghul picked you up the same way they did us. You want us to be impressed that you got caught by a bunch of horse-fucking savages?”

Balendin’s eyes narrowed. “I would point out,” he said slowly, “that you, also, were captured by those same horse-fucking savages.”

“I didn’t say I was proud of it. I certainly wouldn’t flaunt the fact. You’re stuck here, same as us.”

“Oh, Gwenna,” the leach replied slowly, smiling once more. “I understand your frustration, but unlike you poor ladies, I am hardly stuck here.” He shook his head slowly, watching her expression through the smoke, his eyes bright. “You’re right, of course, that we were both captives of our nomadic friends, and for a time, Long Fist trusted me no more than he did you. Since then”—he shrugged—“our stories have diverged. While you wait here, tacit prisoners, Long Fist has invited me to join him. He has . . . elevated me. To a position of some importance. The man is a savage, but even a savage understands the value of someone with my talents, with my knowledge.”