Ves sauntered over to the pile of broken ceramic pipes, selected a few, then went back to Tel and tore off the tattered, muddy pant leg at the knee. He tied it all into a passable splint. “It’ll have to do,” he said.
Tel nodded.
Ves got to his feet with a groan. After a second, Mann followed suit.
“Who put you in charge?” Mann asked Ves, as the Corsair hefted Tel under his arm. The bearded Ristroan was pale, his eyes focused on nothing.
Pasha answered, rising to his feet, still shaking. “I don’t want to be in charge, and until a few days ago, you were everyone’s worst enemy. Tel’s barely conscious. That doesn’t leave anyone else, does it?” He followed Ves out of the chamber.
Mann smiled a little and followed, coughing into his sleeve.
It was as easy as Mann said it would be. Once in
