The Lawkeeper of Samara (The Fourth Age of Shanakan Book 2) by Tim Stead Page A

badly the king wanted her. Badly enough, she guessed. After all, she had killed his son and heir.
    She wondered how they’d found her. She didn’t think that Hekman would have told anyone. Ella Saine, perhaps? She was supposed to be friends with the Princess Calaine.
    The soldier licked his lips. Having her arrow pointed at him made him nervous.
    “Put the bow down,” he said.
    “No.”
    There was no way she could win this. If she put the bow down she was dead meat. If she shot two of them the others would kill her. Better to go down fighting – that was the guard way and she saw no reason to change it. She drew the string back a fraction. She refined her aim. If she shot first she might just get three of them. Maybe.
    The leader sheathed his sword. It was such a surprising gesture that she held her shot back.
    “Look,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “We’re not here to kill you. The king wants you taken alive.”
    It didn’t really sound like something the king would do. He wasn’t exactly known for his restraint – hence the council, insisted on by the Mage Lord, she’d heard. The Mage Lord was one person the king had to listen to. But being taken alive might mean something less pleasant than death.
    “I don’t believe you.”
    “I swear it on the king’s life,” the man said. It was a grave oath. Not a man of the king’s own would break it. They were loyal to him.
    “And the king’s hospitality?”
    “I can’t answer for that,” the man said.
    There was a chance here. If she could get word to Hekman he would do something. It might not be enough, but it was a chance, and a chance of life trumps the certainty of death every time.
    “I’ll surrender to you if you swear again,” she said. “Swear that I’ll be alive in a day, and swear that you’ll take this bow back to Hekman. It belongs to him. On the king’s life.”
    The man looked at her. It was a difficult thing for him to promise. It meant that he would be bound to protect her for a day, and that Hekman would know that one of his own had been taken by the king. It was Arla’s price for sparing his life and saving her own, perhaps. She could see it all in his eyes, but he had no choice. If he refused to swear he would die, and so would Arla. If he swore they might both live, though the king might be displeased and Arla’s life extended by no more than a day. She did not see that it was a difficult choice.
    “I swear it,” the man said.
    “Say the words.”
    The man looked annoyed. Perhaps, after all he had thought to trick her. But Arla knew that once the words were spoken he would be bound by them, though she had never thought to trust her life to the honour of a king’s man.
    “I swear on the king’s life that I will preserve your life for a day, and that I will immediately see the bow you bear returned to Hekman the law keeper.”
    She could not ask for more.
    Arla replaced the arrow in its quiver with a fluid movement and offered the bow to the king’s men. They approached with caution. Their leader did not draw his blade again. He did not sneer or gloat, though he had half expected it.
    “Arla Crail, will you swear to me that you will come with us without resistance?”
    She looked him in the eye, and she saw nothing there to alarm her. Perhaps she even saw respect.
    “I will,” she said.
    “Then you will not be bound.”
    And so it was.

Fifteen – One Law
    It was late in the afternoon when the king’s man came to the law house. He came in and placed the bow and quiver on the desk in front of Ulric without a word. He turned to go.
    “Stay,” Ulric said. “What does this mean?”
    “I am not bound to speak to you,” the soldier said.
    “Bound or not you will stay and speak or there will be blood,” Ulric told him.
    The man smiled. “From you, fat man?”
    Ulric lifted a small crossbow out from under his counter and laid it on the top. “If need be,” he said. The black weapon gleamed with purpose. It