“You didn’t,” growled Mithos across the table.

“Well. .” I began, but, unable to shake off his eyes as they burned dark and hard into mine, I decided to leave it there.

“That was the big adventure you promised us?” stuttered Garnet as realization dawned like an unwary sun in a very cold place. “That was what you brought us here for? You stupid, simple-minded, moronic. .”

“Lightfoot is going to arrive here any minute with a hundred troops?” said Lisha quickly, clarifying.

“Actually,” I faltered, glancing at the clock over the bar, “he’s slightly late.”

There was a thundering of chair legs on the wooden floor as they leaped to their feet. Almost simultaneously, there came the distinctive creak and slam of the inn’s door being flung out onto the chill evening air. I spun to see the white cloaks and silver scale of Empire troopers filing in, two abreast.

We weren’t exactly armed to the teeth right now, and a pitched battle against a force this size would have led pretty quickly to our being carried out in casserole-sized joints. There were no obvious ways out of this situation. Our options were starting to look like hanging or beheading (at best) when Lisha prodded me firmly in the ribs. I turned, my face aghast and sickly, to find her staring up into my face, her black eyes even narrower than usual. She took hold of my wrist and gripped it firmly, as if I was about to run (she knew me pretty well by now). Through barely parted lips she hissed, “You got us into this, Will. Now get us out.”

That was all she said, but the looks of menace I was getting from Garnet and Mithos underscored the point. Renthrette had closed her eyes, frustrated at herself for believing for a moment that I wasn’t a walking death trap with the mental agility of a beer keg. Orgos glanced around the room as it flooded with soldiers, as if he was still calculating the odds of a last-ditch stand. His hand strayed to the hilt of that huge sword of his, the one with the yellowish stone in the pommel.