Page 104 of Forbidden

“You heard me. Do it. Now.”

The gentleness of Erik’s voice never varied, but the outlaw finally understood what lay behind the fine manners. It was no precious lordling he confronted, but a warrior in whose yellow eyes the fires of hell burned. With jerky motions, the outlaw began emptying the purses he had tied beneath his clothing.

The tip of Erik’s dagger pointed to a table standing near the man.

Sullenly, the outlaw put the contents of the first purse on the table—two daggers with silver handles and steel blades. The stain on the blades spoke silently of blood.

The next purse revealed three combs of silver whose delicate designs suggested that they had once adorned the heads of fine ladies. A long, pale lock of hair was tangled in one comb, as though it had been ripped from a woman’s head.

Erik watched with apparent indifference, but his eyes missed nothing.

Bread, meat, cheese, and a handful of copper coins appeared on the table. The outlaw looked up, saw Erik’s baleful eyes, and cursed beneath his breath. Another purse spilled its contents onto the table. This time there was a gleam of silver and a single flash of gold.

“That be all,” the outlaw muttered.

“Not quite.”

“Lord, I be empty as a widow’s womb!”

Erik came out of his chair with a speed so great that the outlaw had no time to flee. One instant Erik was sitting at ease. The next instant he had one hand buried in the outlaw’s filthy hair and the point of a silver dagger resting against his dirt-caked throat.

“Do you wish to die unshriven with a lie still fresh on your lips?” Erik asked gently.

A single look into Erik’s eyes convinced the outlaw that he would rather trade glances with Satan himself than with the sorcerer who was watching him right now.

“I—I—” stuttered the outlaw.

“The amber. Fetch it out.”

“What amber? I be not rich enough to—aiee!”

The lies stopped as the dagger’s tip bit delicately into flesh. The outlaw’s hands dug frantically beneath his mantle. A purse appeared. A string was yanked. A broken bracelet fell out onto the table and gleamed in shades of gold.

Amber, pure and transparent, valuable beyond the means of any but a wealthy lord.

Into the silence came the sounds of Alfred hurrying up the great hall. There was a hesitation in his steps when he saw the point of Erik’s dagger pricking the outlaw’s throat. An instant later, a large battle dagger flashed in Alfred’s hand.

“Have you the silver?” Erik asked.

The gentleness of Erik’s voice made Alfred wish to be elsewhere.

Instantly.

“Aye. Thirty pieces.”

“Excellent. Give them to this ‘pilgrim.’”

Alfred dropped the coins into the outlaw’s shaking hand.

“Do you have a name?” Erik asked the man.

“B-Bob.”

“Bob the Backstabber, perchance?”

The outlaw went pale. Sweat stood visibly on his face.

“It is known throughout the Disputed Lands,” Erik said softly, “that the maid from whose wrist that bracelet came is under my protection.”