Two-Edged Blade

situations where some of them are going to get killed....

... but it would be worse watching someone well-meaning but incompetent or untrained double those deaths. And worse to ride off on my own, knowing it was going to happen.

I haven’t a choice. They’re my people, and my responsibility.

And in that moment, she suddenly understood Eldan, and the way he felt about his duty and his own people. His “Company” was simply very much larger than hers.

She tightened her jaw, and raised her chin a little. “All right,” she told them all. “You’ve convinced me.”

Shallan let out a whoop, and the others started to congratulate her, but she held up a hand to forestall them. “Let’s first find out if we actually have a Company left.”

She turned to the Company accountant and quartermaster. “Scratcher, how bad is it?”

The man she queried did not much resemble a scholar; he was as lean and hard as any of the rest of the Skybolts, but there was a shrewd mind behind those enigmatic eyes. He chewed the end of his pen, studied the open book before him, and muttered to himself a little. Finally he looked up.

“With all the losses we took in people and supplies, Captain, we’re going to exhaust the bank just replacing them. We aren’t going to have enough to take us out again in the spring. We may not have enough to last the winter.”

The Guild representative stirred a little, and Kero took the chance to read his thoughts.

We could—should—extend them a loan. But I don’t have the authority—

She ground her teeth silently. Take a loan that would be years in repayment? And what if we have a bad year, or a bad run of years. What, then? She shifted her weight, and a crackle of parchment in her belt pouch made her frown.

What in—

Then she remembered. Eldan’s ransom. Which she couldn’t get. But the Guild?

She smiled slowly, and pulled it out, leaving the letter within. “Here,” she said, handing it to the Guildsman. “This is from the Herald I pulled out of the fire. I think you can see he’s played fast and loose with the conditions. Think the Guild can do something about that?”

The flat-faced mercenary took the parchment from her, opened it, and his lips pursed in a soundless whistle. “All that for a mere Herald? Are you certain he wasn’t a prince?”

She shrugged. “All I care about is that right now that little piece of paper can make us if we can redeem it.”

The Guildsman scrutinized the writing carefully, then suddenly, unexpectedly, smiled. “It specifies that the holder of the note is the one who has to redeem it in person,” he pointed out. “If you signed it over to us, in return for an immediate sum minus—oh—ten percent, our representative would be the holder.”

He’ll never forgive me. “Done,” she said, reaching for Scratcher’s pen. “Send it half in supplies and weapons. The Guild I trust.”

The rest was over quickly, leaving Kero alone in the wardroom, her hand clenched around the letter still in her otherwise empty pouch. Slowly, she drew it out.

She stared at it for a long moment, her mind tired and blank. Then, she folded it and tore it into precise halves, then quarters, then repeated herself until there was no piece larger than the nail of her little finger.

She stared at the pile of pieces, stirring them a little with her forefinger. A noise from outside made her look up and through the window that gave out on the practice grounds.

Shallan was running a new recruit against the archery-target, at the trot. He jounced painfully and his arrows went everywhere except in the straw dummy. Her own buttocks ached in sympathy.

She looked down at the collection of tiny white scraps, then abruptly swept them into her hand and cast them into the fire.

She stood up, and strode to the door. Her orderly was waiting for her with her cape in his hands, as if her thoughts had summoned him. She paused just long enough for him to flick it over her back and settle it across her shoulders, before striding out onto the practice grounds.