“You protect women by treating them roughly?” Spinner snapped.
“They need to learn who they belong to,” bal Ofursti snapped back.
“Belong to?” Alyline shouted. “You think they are your property?”
“You women, anyone who doesn’t want to be taken by them, come over here,” Spinner said.
Some of the women darted away; others moved more slowly, looking fearfully at the men who’d tried to drag them away. At first, three or four stayed but then they also edged away. Several of the Earl’s Guards grabbed at them, but most evaded the soldiers’ hands, and only four, plus the one who was on the ground when they arrived, remained held.
Haft advanced another step and hefted his axe. “Unhand those women,” he growled, looking at the soldiers who held them.
Two did and hefted their weapons—they licked their lips nervously, looking at the armed men facing them. Another woman jerked her arm free of the soldier who still held her. They ran to the shelter of the soldiers who backed Spinner and Haft.
“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Haft said, pointing his axe at the soldier who hadn’t released the woman he held. “Plotniko, tell him carefully, make sure he understands. If he doesn’t let her go in five seconds, he will die.”
Plotniko said it twice to make sure the Earl’s Guard understood. The soldier hefted his sword and looked quickly to his comrades. Every man now had his weapon in his hand, but only one looked at the one holding the woman—those nearest him shifted to increase their distance from him. The Earl’s Guard who stood over the fallen woman stepped back from her.
“Four,” Haft growled.
The soldier licked his lips.
“Three.”
He looked wildly about, still saw no support.
“Two.”
He shoved the woman from him and stepped back with his sword lowered.
“You believe in living dangerously, don’t you? Be careful it doesn’t kill you.”
“You want our women for yourselves, is that it?” bal Ofursti sneered. “You already have women, but you think yourselves the equal of the earl that you need more?”
As soon as Plotniko translated, Haft stepped up to the Dartmutter officer and backhanded him across the face. “One woman is enough for any man,” he snarled, “but she must be willing.” He looked around. “I think none of these women are willing to be with you.
“Know this! In this company, any man who takes a woman against her will, will hang!”
Spinner stared at Haft, astonished. That had never been a rule. Neither had the situation arisen before. A quick glance at Alyline’s approving expression told him it had become the law.
Haft disdainfully turned his back on bal Ofursti and walked to the sobbing woman who still lay crumpled where he’d first seen her. As soon as Haft’s back was turned, bal Ofursti stepped toward him, but in unison the Border Warders shouted, “Don’t!” and leveled their bows at him. Bal Ofursti slowly stepped back to where he’d been and lowered his sword.
Haft knelt next to the sobbing woman and asked gently, “Are you injured?” She flinched, but he spoke to her again without touching her. She didn’t understand him but recognized his tone; she twisted around to grasp his leg. “Come,” he said in the same gentle manner. “I’ll take you away from him. You’re safe now.” He put a hand on her arm and stood, lifting her. She stood weakly and willingly went with him. Then two of the other handmaids took her from him and bore her behind the shield of Bloody Axes.
“Now, what do we do with you?” Spinner asked slowly.
“We will go,” bal Ofursti replied coldly, and began to order his men to gather their gear and saddle their horses.
“Stop!” Haft ordered when he saw the Earl’s Guards move to obey their commander. “The last time we let an armed man leave, he joined a bandit company and came back to attack us. If you want to leave, you may. But you leave your weapons and armor here.” Spinner looked at him, surprised. When he thought about it, he realized what Haft must have in mind.
“What?” bal Ofursti yelled at the translation. “You can’t send us away unarmed! The Jokapcul or the bandits will kill us if they catch us without weapons.”
“We can’t let you go armed so you can attack us later,” Haft said firmly. “Leave without your weapons or stay with us and keep them. It’s up to you.”
Bal Ofursti stared at him, thinking. He glanced at Spinner and the others, but mostly stared at Haft. He and his men couldn’t leave unarmed, but if they stayed, they would be suspect until he did something to demonstrate trustworthiness to these nobles—or gain position above them. Still, then he and his men could keep their weapons and remain together, which would allow him to do what he needed to do. It was an easy decision.
“We’ll stay. What are your orders, Lord Haft?” he said with a bow.
“The first thing, Captain,” Spinner answered, “is you’re relieved of command.” Bal Ofursti gasped, but Spinner continued before he could protest. “We’ll decide what to do with you later, but before then we have to—”
Haft interrupted him. “Sergeant Phard!”
“Sir Haft!”
“Those aren’t soldiers, they’re a rabble—they wouldn’t even stand up for one of their own when I threatened him. They need proper leadership if they’re going to be of any use to us. Assign someone to take command of them, if you please.” Plotniko continued translating.
“Yessir. Corporal Armana, front and center!”
A banty little man who looked too small to wield the axe that hung from his belt stepped smartly out of the rank and came to attention in front of the Bloody Axe commander. “Sergeant Phard!” he reported.
“Corporal Armana, do you think you can turn that undisciplined mob over there into proper soldiers?”
Armana clasped his hands behind his back and half turned to look over the Earl’s Guards. When he turned back, he announced loud and clear, “If I can’t, I don’t believe it can be done, Sergeant!”
“They are yours, Corporal. Don’t hurt any of them too badly.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Armana turned to face Haft. “Sir Haft, with your permission!”
“Permission granted.” Haft grinned wickedly at the Dartmutters. He suspected they were about to encounter a level of military discipline most of them had never seen.
Plotniko quite happily translated the exchange.
As he ambled toward his newly assigned unit, Armana said in broken Zobran, “Master Plotniko, will you be so good as to translate for me? I can’t understand a word of the doggerel these Dartmutters speak, and I doubt any of them understands a civilized tongue.”
“Most happily, Corporal Armana. Do you want me to translate what you just said?”
“If you will.” While Plotniko repeated Armana’s statement, the corporal casually looked at each of the Earl’s Guards and moved closer to them. He laced his fingers together in front of his chest, then extended his arms, palms out. He pushed, and the crack of his knuckles echoed sharply from the surrounding trees.
“Well, lads,” Armana said when Plotniko finished. “We’re going to get along fine, I just know it. All you have to do is remember that I’m God, and to do everything I tell you. I’ll have you in proper fighting trim in no time.” As he strolled among them, he didn’t seem to pay more attention to any one individual more than another. He came within arm’s length of the biggest of the Dartmutters. “Now, just in case any of you think that just because the smallest of you is bigger than me, you can simply not obey me whenever you feel lazy—” His hand flashed out, fingers folded so the knuckles formed a wedge, and slammed into the man’s solar plexus hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs and bend him double. He clamped a hand on the back of the Earl’s Guard’s neck and drove him forward. The man let go of his stomach with one hand to break his fall but still landed heavily. Armana dropped one knee into the small of his back, snatched the wrist of the arm he’d tried to break his fall with and twisted
it around behind his back.
“Now, lads,” he said calmly, looking at the men as he seemed to push up on the big man’s arm without effort, “understand this about me. I killed my first enemy soldier before most of you were weaned. I’ve forgotten more about being a fighting man than all of you have learned combined—and I remember most of what I’ve learned.” He let go of the man’s arm and patted him roughly on the back of his head.
“There there, lad. You’ll be fine.” He stood and began to step away. The downed man made a noise and swept a hand around to trip him, but Armana lifted his foot out of the way of the sweeping hand and smashed down on it. The Earl’s Guard screamed and rolled away, clutching his hand.
Armana looked around, then spoke calmly. “There was your first lesson—take it to heart. We noncommissioned officers of the Bloody Axes really do have eyes in the backs of our heads.” He took a step or two, then stopped and looked at his new command again. “One more thing. The next man who attempts to lay a hand on me won’t get a little love tap. I’ll hurt him.
“Now, tell me what your sentry rotation is, then everyone not on duty bed down.”
The Earl’s Guards gaped at him for a long moment before Sergeant Afi finally said, “Guardsman bal Graenn has first watch, sir.”
“I’m not some privileged ’sir,’ Sergeant, I’m a corporal, I work for a living.”
“Yessi—ah, Corporal. Guardsman Graenn has first watch.”
“You were the senior sergeant?”
If Afi noticed that Armana said “were” rather than “are,” he gave no indication. “I am.”
“Draw up a new watch rotation. Two man watches. Pick men who can stay awake together. Any sentry I catch asleep on duty will wish he’d never woken up.”
Haft grinned at Phard. “You made a good choice, Sergeant Phard.”
Phard nodded. “Corporal Armana should have had a command long ago.”
Haft joined Spinner and Alyline. “It looks like everything’s under control here. Except for what do we do with the captain.” He glanced at Alyline. He was glad the venomous expression on her face was directed at Captain bal Ofursti and not at him.
“Sergeant Geatwe,” Spinner called to the Prince’s Swords sergeant.
“Yes, Lord Spinner.”
Spinner shook his head and muttered, “Don’t call me ’Lord,’ ” then more loudly, “Take Captain bal Ofursti into custody, please. Disarm him and keep him secured and under guard until tomorrow morning.”
“My pleasure, Lord Spinner.”
The Prince’s Swords’ leader signaled two of his men to accompany him and advanced on the former Earl’s Guards commander, who looked dumbfounded at the proceedings.
“Your sword, please, sir.” Geatwe said, holding out his hand to accept the weapon.
Bal Ofursti looked at him blankly, as though he didn’t understand.
Geatwe made a gesture to one of his men, who stepped close to remove bal Ofursti’s sword belt.
Bal Ofursti may not have understood Geatwe’s words, but his intent was clear. He moved suddenly, punching the soldier in the chest, driving him back and jumping backward, meanwhile drawing his sword. “You can’t do this to me!” he shrilled, swinging his sword defensively from man to man.
Geatwe slowly shook his head. “You shouldn’t have done that, Captain.” In a flash, he was inside the arc of bal Ofursti’s sword and had him grasped around the chest. With a mighty twist, he yanked the man off his feet and threw him to the ground. He landed hard on bal Ofursti’s stomach with one knee, driving the air out of his lungs, and stomped on his sword wrist with the other foot. One of his men quickly stepped in and snatched the sword away.
“Now we have to bind you,” Geatwe said, and lifted his knee to flip bal Ofursti over.
The other soldier stripped the sword belt from the prisoner, yanked the scabbard from it, and used the belt to bind the man’s hands tightly behind his back. Geatwe stood and nodded. His men jerked bal Ofursti to his feet and followed the sergeant as he led the way back to their campsite.
“My men aren’t going to be very happy about this, you know,” Geatwe said conversationally. “Your behavior means some of them will have to lose sleep tonight watching over you. We’ll bind your legs anyway to make sure you can’t cause mischief overnight.”
“No! You can’t do this to me!” bal Ofursti yelled.
“And if you don’t keep quiet, we’ll have to gag you,” Geatwe continued calmly. He didn’t understand any of bal Ofursti’s words, but he knew quite well what he meant. “And not only can I do this to you, I am doing it to you.”
Spinner, Haft, and the others watched as they went, then Spinner signaled the other Prince’s Swords to follow. They turned to the Dartmutter women and saw that those who’d run into the trees earlier had rejoined them.
“And now for you,” Alyline said. Something in her tone made some of them shrink away even before they heard Plotniko’s translation.
Not bel Yfir, though. She stepped boldly forward, smiling conspiratorially at Alyline.
“Lady.” She bowed at precisely the angle one bows to an equal. “I wish to thank you for the way the noblemen rescued us from those commoners.” Her smile vanished. “Though I doubt they would have tried had you joined me this afternoon as I had asked. If we had stopped when I requested, those men probably wouldn’t have been made so irritable that they desired to take vengeance on our person.”
“Is she saying anything worth hearing?” Alyline curtly asked Plotniko.
“Well, she thanked you for the rescue, but I imagine you’d be angered by the other things she said.”
Alyline’s mouth twitched. “Don’t tell me, then. She isn’t worth breaking a fingernail on. Tell all the handmaids to go with Doli to our campsite. Doli, I want you and Zweepee to check them for scars like bel Bra has and report back to me. I will speak to the bed toys privately while you’re gone.
“Pfagh!” She realized she couldn’t speak to them in total privacy; they didn’t have a common language. “Plotniko, you’ll have to join us to translate.”
Plotniko sighed, but said simply, “As you wish.”
Alyline looked at Spinner and Haft. “You may as well go back. Corporal Armana seems to have the Earl’s Guards well in hand, and I won’t need any help with these four lilies.” She looked down at the knife that angled across her belly. “Before you go, someone cut a sapling I can trim for a switch.”
Spinner and Haft exchanged a wide-eyed glance, suddenly glad the Golden Girl wanted them gone. Haft drew his axe and sliced down a four-foot-tall treeling. He handed it to her without stripping any of its branches. Spinner and Haft left the Bloody Axes following close behind.
Bel Yfir exulted. She’d known the gilded noblewoman held high rank in this company, but the height of her rank came as a surprise. The noblemen were in charge when they had to deal with the soldiers, but once that was done, she was the obvious leader. Now she would get matters straightened out properly, ranking lady to ranking lady. She gazed scornfully at Plotniko and wished there was someone else who could translate for them. Well, the gilded noblewoman knew Zobran, she could easily enough learn Dartmutter.
Not all of the concubines reacted the way bel Yfir did. Bel Kyssa and bel Kyn saw how deliberately the gilded lady trimmed the sapling with her gold-handled knife. They well knew how a switch was made and what one was used for.
Alyline sheathed her knife and said, “Come with me.” She gave her switch a flick and nodded in satisfaction at its spring. She went directly to bel Yfir’s wagon and stood a couple of yards from its back, looking expectantly at the trailing concubines in their thin, flowing gowns. She shook her head at their moonlight-dappled shoulders and thought how impractical the gowns were as travel garments, even covered by the travel cloaks they often wore over them during the day.
When the four reached her, she pointed the switch at the wagon and ordered, “Unload it.”
Three of the concubines immediately realiz
ed what she intended and gasped. Bal Yfir, on the other hand, was oblivious—that translator needed to be chastised, she thought, and she wasn’t going to listen to him until he was.
“Gilded noblewoman,” she began with another precisely measured dip, “as the ranking people present, we have much to discuss about the conduct of this caravan.”
Plotniko started to translate, but Alyline cut him off. “Don’t bother translating. I’m not interested in anything the chief bed toy has to say unless it’s an apology.” She pointed at the back of the wagon with her switch, and the other three concubines began hauling chests and bundles out of it.
Bel Yfir was so enrapt with what she was saying she didn’t notice for several seconds. When she did, she spun on them and screamed, “Stop that! That is my wagon, my property! You do not touch anything of mine without my leave!” And she shoved at them to make them reload the items they’d removed. She screamed again when fire lanced across the backs of her thighs. She spun about, looking for the source of the pain, and crouched to rub her injured thighs. The others, not wanting to be switched as well, began pulling things out of the wagon as fast as possible, with no concern for order or neatness.
“I told you to unload the wagon,” Alyline said coldly.
Bel Yfir drew herself up, ignoring the pain in her thighs, and began to protest. But only a scream came out of her mouth as Alyline flashed her switch again and struck the chief concubine on the side of her right thigh.
“But—” bel Yfir wailed, tears running down her face.
The switch flashed again, to the side of her left thigh, then Alyline pointed it at the back of the wagon.
“You can’t—”
Alyline grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. She swung her switch twice, once across bel Yfir’s buttocks, once across her back. Bel Yfir crumbled to the ground, bawling.
“Tell her,” Alyline said slowly to Plotniko, “that I despise men who beat women, but I truly hate women who do.” She waited for the translation, then said, “Tell her as long as she lays there, I will continue to switch her. As soon as she stands and begins unloading the wagon, I will stop.”
Demontech: Gulf Run Page 11
