The spearman came straight at Owen, while the swordsman swung wide, trying to catch him between the two weapons.
Neither of them reached him.
Hugh moved first. He stepped across Owen’s path and met the spear with his own sword.
Clang!
The point went wide. Before the spearman could pull it back, Hugh was already inside his reach. He struck the man off balance, hooked his leg out from under him and drove him into the ground, pinning him there before he could recover.
Thud!
At almost the same moment, Agnes left the girl tucked behind a tree and cut across to meet the swordsman. She turned his blade aside, caught his weapon arm and twisted it up and out of position. He went down hard, and when he tried to lift his head, the edge of her sword was already resting against his neck.
"Ghh—!"
It had taken only seconds.
Owen stood there with his longsword still in his hand, a little stunned. He had known they were both awakened and that they carried swords of their own. This was the first time he had seen either of them actually fight. He had been bracing himself to take on both men alone, and neither of them had even come close to him.
The two bandits thrashed against the people holding them down.
"Who the hell are you people?" the swordsman shouted.
The anger was going out of their voices, though, and alarm was taking its place. They had badly misjudged who they were dealing with, and they were starting to realize it.
Agnes looked over at Owen.
"What would you like done with them, Young Master?" she asked. Her voice was just as pleasant and composed as when she asked whether he wanted breakfast, even with a struggling man pinned under her blade.
Owen walked over to the two men.
"Where are your friends keeping the other Ashcombe sister and her maid?"
Neither of them answered. The spearman turned his face away. The swordsman glared up at him.
"We’ve got nothing to tell you."
"Your friends murdered every soldier guarding that carriage," Owen said. "I’m asking you again. Where are they?"
Nothing. Whatever these two feared from Owen, they clearly feared their leader more.
Owen’s patience was running out. He kept thinking of the bodies lying beside the road and the terrified girl behind that tree, whose sister was still out there somewhere. He had no idea how long it would be before the rest of the bandits decided to move their prisoners, or worse.
"Hugh," he said. "Cut off their fingers. One at a time, until one of them tells us where the camp is."
Hugh didn’t move straight away.
He looked at Owen as if trying to work out whether he meant it. Owen could see the surprise on his face. Whatever Hugh had expected from him, it hadn’t been this.
Then Hugh’s jaw set, and he nodded. "Yes, Young Master."
Before he could take a step, Agnes moved.
She didn’t hesitate at all. She forced the swordsman’s hand flat against the ground and brought her blade down.
"AAARGH!"
His scream tore through the trees, and he bucked and thrashed beneath her, but she held him without any visible effort.
Then she turned and did the same to the spearman.
"Gaaah!"
The spearman cried out and tried to drag his injured hand away from her. Sweat was pouring down his face now, and all the defiance had gone out of him. He had finally understood that she wasn’t only threatening.
"Where is your leader keeping them?" Agnes asked.
Both men were still resisting, but their voices had lost their certainty.
"Please," the swordsman gasped. "Please stop. He’ll kill us if we tell you. He’ll kill us!"
Agnes didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t insult them or look especially angry. She simply went on, calm and patient.
"Every moment you keep quiet is another moment those women stay in his hands," she said. "Where are they?"
Owen watched her with growing disbelief. This was the same woman who had spent the past week organizing his clothes, bringing him meals and speaking to him warmly every morning. He had never imagined she could handle prisoners with this kind of ruthlessness.
When neither of them gave her anything useful, Agnes went further than Owen had told her to.
She turned her blade on the swordsman again, but not on his hands this time. One quick stroke, and his screams rose to something far worse, high and broken. Beside him, the spearman went white as he realized exactly what she had done.
Agnes turned toward him and lifted her sword again.
That broke him.
"Stop! Stop, please! I’ll tell you!" the spearman babbled. "I’ll tell you where the camp is, I’ll take you there myself, just please, stop!"
Without thinking, Owen’s hands dropped protectively in front of his own groin.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hugh do exactly the same thing.
"That’s enough, Agnes," Owen said. "Let him talk."
Agnes lowered her sword.
The spearman spilled everything. His group was operating out of a temporary camp deeper in the forest. Their leader was holding the other Ashcombe sister and her maid there, along with everything they had taken from the carriage.
"Who are you people?" Hugh asked.
"Adventurers," the spearman said, his voice shaking. "We used to be. Monster hunts, escort work, that sort of thing. Then the boss said there was more money in taking it from merchants and lesser houses than in protecting them. We knew how escorts fought. That made it easy."
"How many at the camp?"
"Several. A good few, all armed." He swallowed. "And the boss keeps a beast near him. A big one. It’s dangerous."
"Can you take us there?" Owen asked.
"Yes! Yes, I’ll take you, I swear."
Agnes stepped away from the prisoners and turned to Owen. "Is there anything else you need from me, Young Master?"
Her voice was warm again, exactly as it always was, and somehow that was the most unsettling part of all.
"Agnes," Owen said. "Don’t go beyond what I tell you again without telling me first."
Agnes bowed her head. "Yes, Young Master. I understand."
She didn’t argue or try to justify herself. Owen found he didn’t know quite what to make of that either. He had been the one to order fingers taken. He couldn’t pretend that had been a small thing just because she had gone further. But what she had done had sat badly with him, and it still did.
They had what they needed. The swordsman was in no condition to walk anywhere, and Owen had no intention of leaving him behind to crawl back to his friends.
"Hugh," he said. "Finish him. The other one comes with us."
Hugh did it quickly. The spearman watched, shaking, and didn’t make a sound.
"We can’t go after the camp yet, Young Master," Hugh said as he stepped back. "Not like this. We need to get the girl somewhere safe first, and we’ll need more than three of us. We can’t leave her alone out here."
Owen agreed.
They went back toward the road with the prisoner stumbling ahead of them. The Ferrers soldiers had kept the convoy secure while they were gone and were still going over the bodies around the abandoned carriage.
Hugh went straight to the soldier in charge of the escort and explained what they had learned. He asked for a small detachment to come with them into the forest, while the rest stayed behind to guard the carriages and the girl.
The Ashcombe daughter grew anxious the moment she understood what Owen meant to do.
"My sister," she said. "Is she still alive?"
"He says both of them are being held at the camp," Owen said, nodding toward the prisoner.
He didn’t tell her everything would be fine. He couldn’t promise that. "We’re going to bring her back," he said instead.
Before they left, Agnes knelt beside the girl. She asked whether she needed water, then looked at the scratches on her arms and cleaned the worst of them with a cloth from the carriage. She spoke to her gently the whole time, and the girl’s shoulders slowly came down a little.
Owen watched them for a moment and said nothing. The kindness was real. He could see that. It was just hard to put it next to what he had watched her do in the forest.
Then the spearman led them back into the trees.