“This cost us time,” Davik said. “We need to get moving – but where?”

Taren whirled toward one of the captives, seizing his jaw. “You. Where has your master gone? If there’s an answer in you, we’ll get it one way or another.”

The man had just seen his fellows subdued in the space of half a minute, and sported quite a few bruises himself; he was utterly terrified. But he shook his head against Taren’s fingers. “N-no! I won’t…”

Davik sighed. “He gets credit for loyalty, at least,” he observed, tugging off his gloves and tucking them into his belt.

“Loyalty to a warlock,” Taren snarled. “We don’t have time for this.”

Before anyone else could react, she had her hands against the captive’s head on either side, her gaze boring into her eyes.

The man cried out as the force of her power came to bear on him, then that cry was just as swiftly cut off. His body strained upward against his bonds, arched and trembling, his fingers curling like claws, eyes wide, unable to look away from hers no matter how much he willed them to.

Moments slipped by. Davik was impressed in spite of himself. To have lasted any length of time at all against Taren’s interrogation, the man must have had a strong will. To last this long was a rare thing indeed.

Not that it would matter in the end. They hadn’t met anyone yet who could long endure the force of Taren’s mind. Resisting it would only leave the man broken that much worse in the end.

“The mill,” Taren declared suddenly, letting go and turning away from her captive. The man sank back with little more than a sigh, crumpling into an unconscious heap. As long as he’d held out, it was more than likely he’d never rise again.

“The mill?” Davik repeated. “What could he possibly want with the mill?”

“Does it matter?” she shot back. “He’s an outlaw and a warlock. We’re going to put him down by any means necessary.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he admitted, and gestured toward the other captives. “What about them?”

“We don’t have time to fuss about,” she growled. “They chose to follow him…”

“He is their liege-sworn lord,” Davik pointed out.

“He’s also a warlock and an enemy of the Crown,” she shot back. “To which everyone in this land also took oath. Now come on, let’s get moving.” She stomped toward the horses. “Leave them for the wolves.”

Someone in the group whimpered at that, but Taren merely slowing her stride slightly was enough to silence it. There were no further reactions.

Davik swung up into his saddle, giving one last look over the wake of the fighting. Then he shook the reins, bent down over the mare’s back, and followed Taren to the east.