Kero had been made the officer over the scouts, and that made it all the worse for her. She was the one who had to take Ardana's stupid orders—distilled from the even stupider orders of their employers—and try and make something of them that stood any kind of chance of working.
Kero dug into her kit for some of the half-cured horse-hide that was all they had been able to salvage from those poor, slaughtered nags, and laboriously patched it into the back of Shallan's mail-coat. Then she stitched the scales that had come off back into that, cursing when the holes broke where they'd rusted through.
Fewer and fewer of her friends came back after each foray; she'd managed to keep most of the scouts alive, but as for the rest—
It was pretty demoralizing. Ardana didn't have any strategy worth the name. The merchants dictated, and she followed their orders, directing the Skybolts—skirmishers all—to fight like a Company of light cavalry. They'd been cut down to two-thirds normal strength by the Menmellith affair—now they were down to half of that. Mostly wounded, thank the gods, and not dead—but definitely out of the action.
She shook the corselet and growled under her breath. Like the situation with her command, it was so tempting to just do what she could and leave the rest to the gods—but—Damned if I'm going to leave my friend half-protected. She cut the stitching on the faulty scales, took a rock from her hearth to use as a hammer, a bit of wood to use as an anvil and a nail for a awl, and punched new holes below the old ones, then stitched them back on.
Miserable cheap bastards. If I'd gone with Eldan, who'd be doing this for her?
If she'd gone with Eldan—the thought occurred a dozen times a day, and it didn't hurt any the less for repetition.
I didn't go with Eldan. I came back to my people. If Ardana won't take care of them, I have to do what I can to make up for that.
And part of that was making sure her scouts stayed well-protected.
She held up the corselet and shook it, frowning at it, just as Shallan burst through the tent door, ripping one of the tie-cords loose as she did so.
"We're being hit!" she cried, as a fire-arrow lodged in the canvas of the tent wall. Kero lurched to her feet, just as something large and panicked crashed into the tent wall.
Kero came to lying on her back, with her left arm and shoulder on fire. Literally; there was a fire-arrow lodged in her arm.
She screamed, as much from shock as pain, and rolled over into the mud. She put out the fire, but she broke the arrow off and drove the head deep into her shoulder, and passed out again from the pain.
The next time she woke, she wished she hadn't. She couldn't believe how much she hurt. Without opening her eyes, she took slow, deep breaths the way Tarma had taught her, hoping it would make the pain ebb a little.
If I—just had Need—
She had never been wounded before without having the sword with her—and now she realized just what a difference that made. She forced her eyes open, and blinked away tears of pain until she could see.
Canvas.
She turned her head to the left, since turning it to the right only made things hurt worse. Evidently she wasn't the only victim of the camp raid; there were a dozen others laid out in various stages of injury within easy reach.
Someone stood up just beyond the last one; the Company Healer, Eren. She tried to move a little too far, and gasped; he jumped as if he was the one who'd been shot, and somehow turned in midair so that he came down facing her.
He didn't say a word; just moved while her eyes blurred, and seemed to materialize beside her.
"What is it?" he asked, resting his hand lightly on her bandaged shoulder. The pain ebbed enough for her to speak.
"I need that damned sword," she whispered. "It's—I need it, that's all."
To her relief, since she hadn't told anyone about everything the blade could do, he just nodded. "If you have it, can I get rid of you?" She nodded, and he narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment. "Anything that saves my strength is a bonus. I'll send somebody off for it."
He took his hand away, and the pain surged over her in a wave. She just endured for half an eternity—then, with no warning at all, the pain was gone.
She gasped again, but this time with relief, and opened her eyes slowly. Shallan knelt beside her, with one hand over Kero's right, which in turn she was holding clasped to Need's hilt.
"What happened?" she asked, only now able to think of anything besides her own pain.
"The last straw." Shallan looked like she hadn't slept in a while. "Or rather, several last straws. First we got hit by the natives. They're tired of having their farms trampled, their houses looted, and their daughters raped."
"But we didn't—" she stopped at the look Shallan gave her.
"Much," Shallan amended. "You officers haven't been told everything. No rape, anyway; the lads know us women'd have them singing a permanent soprano when we found out about it. But when we're hungry and cold and mad as hell, things happen. Anyway, mostly it hasn't been us, they just didn't give a damn about who it was."
"What happened, then?" Kero asked, shamed past blushing. Have we come that low so fast?
"You were about the only real casualty in that particular raid. We lost a couple of horses, couple of tents, but mostly it looked worse than it was. All these—" she waved her hand at the wounded lying beyond Kero "—were from the guerrilla ambushes they've been laying for both sides. You've been out of things for about four days. They're whittling us down by ones and twos is what they're doing. Caught one, the other day. Twelve-year-old kid. Said they're trying to make life miserable for us, the Skybolts, so we'll pack up and leave. He said their leader figures when we leave, the fight's over."
"I—can't fault his reasoning." This was not why she'd gotten into fighting, to destroy the lives of ordinary people.
Shallan shrugged. "No more can I," she admitted. "Well, the absolute last straw just showed up today. The merchant-men. Demanding to know why we haven't won this thing for them, since we're supposed to be so good."
Outrage filled her and died just as quickly. These fat, complacent sideline-sitters didn't know fighting, and didn't care. They probably worked their beasts the same—use them up, throw them away. After all, we're only mercs. No one is going to miss us....
"Ardana's called a meeting," Shallan concluded, the shrewd and calculating expression on her face telling Kero that she'd read every thought as clearly as if she'd had Kero's Thoughtsensing ability. "Think you're up to it?"
Kero attempted to sit. And succeeded. And for the first time in a long time felt unleavened gratitude for Need. "Give me a hand up, and a shoulder to lean on, and I'm up to it," she asserted, though her head swam for a moment. Her shoulder didn't hurt, it itched, itched horribly, which made her think that the sword was making up for the four days it had been away from her, all at once. With every moment she felt stronger, and as Shallan helped her to her feet, she was able to ignore what pain there was and keep herself upright with a minimum of help.
Which is just as well. I have the feeling I'm not going to like this meeting.
By the time they reached the mess tent, only iron will kept her from tearing the bandage from her shoulder and scratching the wound bloody. She ground her teeth with the effort it took to leave the thing alone.
Shallan found a place for them by dint of glaring at a couple of the skirmishers until they gave up their seats on the splintery half-log benches. A few more arrived after they did; not many, though, and when Kero looked around, she realized with a start that the Company was down to less than half the strength they'd had when they rode in here. Ardana's incompetence had decimated them that badly. But worse than the numbers was the fact that many of the mercs wouldn't meet her eyes, or looked away after a moment.
There was no sense of unity as there had been whenever Lerryn held a meeting. Only unhappiness and unease, and a feeling of resignation, as if they all knew the orders would be bad, and no longer cared.
Arda
na finally showed up, with one of the merchants following like a fat shadow, stalking to the front of the tent with a jerky, stiff-legged gait that reminded Kero of a half-mad, half-starved dog she'd seen once that was trying to face down a much bigger animal over a bone. Outmatched, but too crazy to admit it.
Ardana's scowl, which had become as much a part of her face as her flint-hard eyes, didn't do anything to change that assessment. She knows she can't handle this, but she can't give it up, Kero thought wonderingly. She's so eaten up with the importance of being Captain that she won't step down even though she's killing off her own Company. What is wrong with the woman? Did she get hit over the head when we weren't looking? What turned her into this monster?
The Captain tugged at the hem of her tunic constantly, trying to pull out wrinkles that weren't there. Like the scowl, it was a nervous habit that had emerged after her elevation to Captain.
"Our employers aren't happy with our progress," the woman said, into the sullen silence that followed her entrance. "They say they have reason to believe that we're slacking off."
A few months ago, that pronouncement would have been met with angry shouts. Now—a low rumbling, a weary growl, was all the Captain got as a response. They don't care anymore. Not about our reputation, not about pride—they're like saddle-galled horses, still going only because they're being prodded and quitting hurts more.
Ardana's lips tightened in what Kero read as satisfaction when no one said anything. "I told them we're going to end this now. Tomorrow I want every one of you up and ready to ride—"
And the orders she outlined were nothing less than suicide. A straight charge, right up onto the line, when they had nothing backing them and their opponents had holed themselves up in the ruins of a village. The place was a maze of half-ruined buildings; ideal for defense, and impossible for cavalry. And that was if the Skybolts actually were cavalry.
Kero listened with her mouth agape, unable to believe the monumental stupidity of such a plan. It's them, the merchants, she thought, slowly, putting what she was hearing together with what she was not hearing, but sensing from the merchant. She opened her mind to him, and was sickened by what she found there. Dearest gods. I should have read their thoughts when they were here the first time. I should have—
Because what she read was worse than anything she had imagined. These men had no intention of paying the rest of their fee—but they were going to solve the problem by making certain there was no Company left to be paid.
So far as they were concerned, this final charge would solve all their problems very neatly. Most of the Skybolts would die; the rest would drift away, leaderless—six months ago, that would have been unthinkable, but demoralized as they were now, it was not only possible, it was probable. And the suicidal charge would also decimate the enemy ranks enough that the free-lancers could mop them up, and would probably be only too willing for the sake of the looting involved.
I'm on the wounded list—I won't be going out there— that had been her first reaction, when Ardana had outlined the "battle plan." Now she blushed with shame at her own reaction. Even I've sunk that low, thinking only of myself. How can I fault the others?
But the fact that she was on the wounded list gave her a weapon this fat merchant could never have anticipated. She would sacrifice her career—but better that, than to see the last of her friends going down to physical and moral death.
By Guild rules, anyone on the wounded list could sever his contract, though hardly anyone ever did.
Maybe if she walked, now, she'd wake them up, force them to see what they were being lured into.
It was worth a try.
She stood up, and suddenly every eye in the room was on her. Even Ardana stopped in mid-sentence, and stared at her in mild surprise.
"I've never heard such a crock of shit in my life," Kero said, loudly and bluntly. She pointed an accusatory finger at the merchant. "He is going to get every one of us killed." She pointed at Ardana, "And you are going to let him get away with it. Lerryn has to be spinning in his grave like an express-wagon axle."
Ardana's mouth dropped open; beside her, the fat merchant registered equal shock. He wasn't thinking; just reacting. Surprise that any of these "stupid mercenaries" had seen what the "master plan" was, and outrage that the same stupid mercenary would have the audacity to challenge him on it.
Kero looked around her, slowly and deliberately. "In fact, I don't see anyone here I'd be willing to call a Skybolt." She turned back to Ardana, ripped the badge off her sleeve, and threw it at the Captain's feet. "I'm severing my contract. Go hire some of that scum outside the camp to take my place. If you can find one stupid enough to go along with this."
She turned and started to shove her way through the crowd. Behind her, Ardana suddenly woke up, and stridently ordered her to halt.
She ignored the order—as she ignored those that followed, each more hysterical and shrill than the last. Finally orders were issued to someone else—to stop and arrest her for court-martial.
That was when Kero turned back and stared her former Captain in the eyes, putting hand to hilt. "I wouldn't try that," she said, mildly, into the deathly quiet that followed the simple action. "I really wouldn't. You won't like the result."
And she drew about an inch of blade.
Ardana went red, then white. And her hand crept to her own hilt.
That was when a half-dozen of the scouts leapt to their feet, and tore their own badges off, throwing them beside Kero's. Then ten more, then twenty, until the air was full of the sound of tearing cloth, and there were too many people between them for Kero to even see Ardana, though she could still hear her, stridently shouting for order.
Order which she was never going to be able to command again.
Kero turned and shoved her way past the remaining Skybolts, suddenly terrified of what she'd done.
She still has a couple of loyal followers. She has people that merchant has bought. She can order them to get me, make an example of me—it's the only way she'll get anybody to fall into line now—
She half fell across someone's feet as she stumbled out toward her tent, to grab whatever she could and make for the road north while Ardana was still too confused to think. The tent was not too far away, and while she was winded by her weakness and her run, thanks to Need's work she was fully capable of riding. And Hellsbane could easily outdistance any other horse in the Skybolts' picket line, especially now.
She flung herself into the tent, and tore open her saddlebags.
Blessed Agnira, she prayed, fervently, while she stuffed belongings into the top. Blessed Agnetha—only keep her confused. Just give me that head start—
Sixteen
Hellsbane regarded the pile of dead and wilted grass under her nose with uniquely equine doubt. She gave Kero a sorrowful look, one as filled with entreaty as any spaniel could have managed, and pawed the hard-packed snow.
"Sorry girl," Kero told her wearily, all too conscious of her own hunger, and of the cold that made her feet and hands numb. "That's all there is. And you should be glad you can eat grass; you're doing better than I am."
She doubted that the warsteed understood any of that, but the mare was at least someone to talk to. And talking kept her mind off of how tired she was.
She'd avoided settlements since she began this run back up north, figuring that whatever Ardana had decided to do about her, it wasn't going to be to Kero's advantage. They'd ridden from dawn to sunset every day since she'd left the Skybolts' camp, while the rain became sleet, then real snow, and the snow-cover grew thicker all the time. She'd been grateful then for all of Tarma's training, for without it she'd never have been able to live off the land in late winter.
She and Hellsbane were both in sad condition, but they were at least alive and still able to travel if they had to. The hard run was almost over now; by nightfall she'd be at the Skybolts' winter quarters; she'd collect her gear and get on out of there. Once she had her gear, which included
her Mercenary Guild identification, she'd be in a position to take her case to the Guild itself.
She looked up at the leaden sky, and thought bitterly that it was too bad that Ardana would never be called to account for her blundering. Kero had no hope that Ardana would be punished in any way—after all, there was no point in punishing someone for being stupid—but at least there'd be that much warning in the Guild for anyone thinking of joining the Skybolts. And Kero would get her name and record clear of any charges Ardana levied against her.
Then I can go free-lance, she thought, chewing on some nourishing (if tasteless) cattail roots she'd grubbed up for herself out of a half-frozen stream. Her teeth hurt from the cold, and her hands ached as much as her teeth. Damn that bitch. I'm guiltless. She's the one who should get it in the teeth, but I'm the one who's going to suffer. With a record of insubordination, even if it was legal and justified, no bonded Company is ever going to be willing to take a chance on me again. I've got a brand of "troublemaker" on me for all time. But better that than dead.
She waited until Hellsbane had eaten her own rations down to the last strand of grass, tightened the girth, and remounted, the ache of her feet only partially relieved by tucking them in close to the mare's warm body. Riding your horse just after she's eaten isn't exactly good horsemanship. Sorry Hellsbane, I don't have much of a choice. I'd spare you if I could.
The mare shook herself, and snorted, but settled to the pace willingly enough. They rode on at a fast walk under lowering skies just as they had for days past counting, long, dull days that meant nothing more than so many leagues toward their goal. But Kero's calculations had been right on the money; sunset saw her riding up to the village that supported the Skybolts' winter quarters, a kind of snow-capped, stockaded heart in the midst of a cluster of buildings. Kero looked up and saw it in the distance, and felt the same kind of rush of relief and "homecoming" she'd felt on riding up to the Skybolts' camp. She quickly repressed it, but not without a lump in her throat. This wasn't and would never again be home. Not for her.
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