Even muffled–doubly so, with his hearing—the groan reverberates in Bastien's chest, and keeping his eyes steady on the young guardsman's face grows that much more difficult. But he does, jaw set and gaze steely long enough for the boy to decide they mean business.
"Twenty," he says. "Twenty four. I don't know."
It's a comforting, surmountable number. Or it would be, at another moment. Right now Viator's calls are summoning three pairs of heavy boots, their own calls in the corridor sure to bring more behind them.
So Bastien doesn't look pleased. He looks beaten, as he's been trying to look since the hood came off of his head, and gives his head a little shake, as if twenty-four is too many for him to dream of them escaping, before looking at Teren. "Let him go," he says.
They can take twenty-four men. But they can't take them right now, all at once, and if she kills the boy there's no telling what the retribution for it will be.
no subject
"Twenty," he says. "Twenty four. I don't know."
It's a comforting, surmountable number. Or it would be, at another moment. Right now Viator's calls are summoning three pairs of heavy boots, their own calls in the corridor sure to bring more behind them.
So Bastien doesn't look pleased. He looks beaten, as he's been trying to look since the hood came off of his head, and gives his head a little shake, as if twenty-four is too many for him to dream of them escaping, before looking at Teren. "Let him go," he says.
They can take twenty-four men. But they can't take them right now, all at once, and if she kills the boy there's no telling what the retribution for it will be.