They’d found it, before sunset—but that put her in a position of debt she was determined to repay. After a lot of careful thought and consultation with the Company hedge-wizard she’d found a way; she’d coaxed the blade (with much emphasis on how many females were in the Skybolts) into extending its anti-magic protection to include a fair amount of ground in her immediate vicinity. Actually, her protections covered more area than the Company mages could, which made her rather popular when the mage-bolts began to fly.
Thinking about that, she patted the hilt of the sword the way she patted Hellsbane’s neck. Now that I’ve got you cooperating, my lady, you’re even more useful than you were to Kethry. I’ve heard more than one Skybolt say he’d sooner trust your abilities than that hedge-wizard of ours.
For a moment, at the back of her mind, she seemed to hear a kind of sleepy murmur of pleasure; but it was too faint for her to be certain. She’d never yet figured out how much—or how little—intelligence the sword had. Or how much it understood or even heard of what she said to it. These occasional little whispers, like the vague mutterings of a sleep-talker, were the closest she ever got to communication.
Many of the Skybolts were a little fearful of the blade, as well as respectful of it and its powers. So that set her apart as well.
Then there was the problem of sex....
Not within the Company. There’s too much potential for trouble, and I have to live with these people.
There were pairings within the Company, and some of them worked very well. But some of them didn’t, and when that happened, it spilled over onto everyone else. And in the middle of a campaign that could get people killed.
Tarma had warned her about that, too, and she’d been right. “You don’t sleep around in the Company,” she’d said. “They’re your family, and you don’t bed your brothers. Or sisters,” she’d added as an afterthought.
Wise advice. But it made Kero very much a loner—and in a case like this, bivouacked leagues away from civilization, it also didn’t leave her very much to do.
All my jewelry-carving equipment is back at the winter quarters; I never thought I’d need it now. I suppose I could go find the Healer and get her to teach me how to knit those ankle-braces, she thought, combing her fingers through Hellsbane’s coat. Or I could roach the mare’s mane. Or I could poultice the stone-bruise on Shallan’s remount. Or I could find some flat river pebbles and draw up another set of hound-and-stag stones for someone. Come to think of it, Shallan wanted a set.
As if the thought had summoned her, Shallan strolled up to the picket line, currycombs in hand, hoof-pick in her belt, short, white-blonde hair gleaming like a cap of silver-gilt in the sun.
“What’s the word?” Kero asked her. “Anything new on the grapevine?”
“Word is that we’re supposed to take prisoners,” she replied, tossing one of the currycombs to Kero. “Word is there’s some pretty good circumstantial evidence that these whoresons really are Karsite regulars, but nothing direct. Lerryn wants to prove it, and the rest of the Captains are in agreement.”
“So we take prisoners?” Kero asked. “Which means afterward, we make somebody talk.”
“Contract says they’re bandits,” Shallan pointed out with bloodthirsty glee. “Karse says they’re bandits. Bandits don’t fall under the Code. Which means when we’ve got ’em, we make ’em talk. However.”
“And if it turns out they’re Karsite regulars?” Kero persisted.
Shallan shrugged fluidly, the leather of her tight black tunic moving with her shoulders. “Five years ago, ‘bandits’ murdered just about every man in Feldar’s Teeth after they’d surrendered. Three years ago a half-dozen men from the Doomslayers—actually prisoners of war, and waiting for Guild ransom—were tortured by Karsite priests. And what was ransomed later was a clutch of completely mindless husks. Two years ago, more of these ‘bandits’ overran the Hooters’ winter quarters and killed the civilians—while the Hooters themselves were out putting down a rebellion in Ruvan, and weren’t even near Karse.” Shallan’s voice betrayed the tense anger her face and posture wouldn’t reveal. “Each time, the Guild levied a big fine. Each time Karse just paid it. No denial, not even a comment—they just paid it.”
Kero frowned, dusting her hands off on her mud-brown leather breeches. “That’s odd.”
“Odd? Great gods, it’s a slap in our face! It’s like they’re saying we’re so lowly, such vermin, that they want everyone to know what they did.” She dropped her voice, so that Kero had to lean closer to hear. “Look, Kero, I know I’m a year younger than you are, but I’ve been in the business since I was fourteen. My mama was a Sunhawk. I’ve seen a hell of a lot, most of it not real pretty by civilian standards, and most of it doesn’t bother me any more. This is my job, you understand? And I don’t get worked up about things that go on in it—but I’ll tell you right now, for what I’ve seen the Karsites do to my friends and their friends, well, I’d kill ’em for free and dance on the graves after.”
Kero knew Shallan was tough, for all that Shallan was a head shorter than she was, and looked frail enough
