'The two proposals aren't necessarily linked, Sir. The offer of our medical personnel for the wounded of both sides is independent of any agreement on exchanging prisoners.'
Chan Skrithik nodded.
'I understand. And, to be honest, we've got some men-on both sides-who probably aren't going to make it without the kind of Healing you seem to be describing.'
'I thought that would probably be the case, Sir.' Vaynair's expression was grim. 'In fact, with your permission, I've already requested Two Thousand Harshu's permission to remain here and offer my own Gift for the immediate treatment of the most critically injured while you and he make up your minds about the other aspects of his proposals.'
'And did 'Two Thousand Harshu' give you that permission?' chan Skrithik asked. 'After all, you say you're his senior medical officer. Is he willing to effectively add you to our bag of prisoners if the negotiation of his 'proposals' falls through?'
'I'm sure he hopes that in that eventuality, you'll allow me to return to him,' Vaynair said levelly. 'In fact, he told me to ask you for assurances to that effect. However,' Vaynair looked chan Skrithik straight in the eye, 'he also authorized me to remain whether you gave that assurance or not.'
Chan Skrithik's eyebrows rose.
'That was very generous of him,' the Sharonian said. 'Or else he's a lot more worried about the care his wounded are likely to receive. In either case, I'm prepared to accept your offer-subject, of course, to that Sifter I mentioned. And,' chan Skrithik added grudgingly, 'if the Sifter passes you, I'm also prepared to guarantee your safe return whatever happens to the rest of our 'negotiations.''thinspace''
Chapter Thirty-Two
'-and I don't give a good godsdamn what you think, Fifty! The next time you drag your sorry ass into my office and get into my face over this, I'll shove my boot so far up it you'll taste fucking leather for a godsdamned week! Now get the hell out of my sight!'
For the first time in his military career, Therman Ulthar failed to salute his commanding officer before he wheeled and marched furiously out of Hadrign Thalmayr's office. The wiry red-haired officer's blue eyes were cored with rage, his lips were white with compressed fury, and the care he took to shut the door very quietly behind him was a clearer statement of his seething anger and contempt than any violent slam could have been.
He stalked out of the office block at Fort Ghartoun literally trembling with combined fury, outrage, and humiliation, and Sword Keraik Nourm glanced up from where he'd been mending the buckle on his weapons harness.
'Guess the Hundred tied his balls in a knot,' he remarked with a pronounced note of satisfaction. He shook his head and glanced at the other sword, sitting beside him on the barracks veranda and smoking a pipe. 'Graholis, you'd think someone who'd been these fuckers' prisoner would get it, wouldn't you?'
Sword Evarl Harnak looked back at Nourm thoughtfully for several seconds. Then he took his pipe out of his mouth, tamped the tobacco down, and put the stem back between his teeth.
'Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?' he repeated in a very different tone, and Nourm's eyes narrowed.
'Don't tell me you agree with him!' the first noncom said incredulously.
'Fifty Ulthar's a right smart young fellow,' Harnak replied indirectly, looking back out across the parade ground at the stables surrounded by infantry-dragons and alert sentries.
'He's only a fifty,' Nourm pointed out. 'You've been around as long as I have, Evarl. You've seen the dragon and smelled the smoke. You know most fifties still need swords like us to wipe their noses and change their diapers!'
'You think so?' Harnak looked back at him.
'Hells yes, I think so! I mean, take Fifty Sarma. He's a good kid, mostly. Still wet behind the ears and full of all that starry-eyed Academy crap, but a good kid. He just doesn't get it, though. Not where these bastards are concerned.'
'Actually,' Harnak said after a moment, his tone thoughtful, 'it seems to me the real problem isn't snotnosed kids fresh out of the Academy and too stupid to understand the real world, but some old sweats who're so stupid they aren't even bothering to try to 'get it.''thinspace''
Nourm stiffened and his face darkened.
'What d'you mean by that crack?' he demanded.
'I mean I'm getting tired of people who don't bother to listen to what's really going on out here, that's what I mean.' Harnak's tone was harder, and his voice was lower pitched. 'I mean I'm getting tired of people who eat up that asshole Neshok's so-called 'intelligence briefings' like they were handed down from the gods. And I mean I'm getting tired of idiots so locked up with the hate inside them that they can't even wake up and smell the fucking coffee!'
Nourm's eyes flared wide and he sat back in his cane-bottomed chair abruptly.
'What in the hells are you talking about?' Anger crackled in his own voice, but there was confusion, as well. 'Godsdamn it, you were one of their prisoners! You know damned well they didn't even bother to give the Hundred a decent healer! And you were godsdamnd there when they shot Magister Halathyn!'
'You poor, pathetic excuse for a sword,' Harnak said almost pityingly. 'My gods, you've been kicking around the Service for this long, and you don't recognize a pile of unicorn shit when they put it on your plate and call it scrambled eggs?'
Nourm's wide eyes narrowed at the slang phrase. It could be used to describe orders that were unusually stupid or confused or to describe someone's particularly blatant-and unconvincing-cover-his-ass excuses. But it was also used to describe 'confirmed' intelligence that was just plain wrong … or a deliberate lie.
'What do you mean?' he demanded harshly.
'I mean I was there,' Harnak grated, taking the pipe out of his mouth and stabbing the stem in Nourm's direction. 'I was there at Fallen Timbers when it all fell into the shitter. Hells, Osmuna-the first man down-he was in my fucking platoon and I was the one who found him with a frigging hole blown all the way through his godsdmaned chest! Don't you sit there and tell me what the fucking intelligence pukes have been feeding you! I was there, godsdamn it. I saw what the hells happened!'
The pipe in his hand quivered, and Nourm's expression changed suddenly as he recognized the barely leashed fury in that quiver.
'Then tell me,' he said in a very different voice. 'Tell me what happened.'
Harnak looked at him for several heartbeats, as if weighing the risks, then inhaled deeply and shrugged ever so slightly.
'Hundred Olderhan was right all along,' he said then, softly. 'I don't know who shot first, Osmuna or their man. I don't think anyone ever will know. But I know who fucking shot first at Fallen Timbers, and it wasn't them. It wasn't the godsdamned civilian standing there with his hands empty, trying to fucking talk to us-just talk to us- when my own shitty excuse for a fifty shot him right in the throat against the Hundred's direct orders!'
Nourm recognized the look in Harnak's eyes now, and the agonizing shame he saw there was more convincing than any anger might have been.
'Did you know Hundred Olderhan made the only two of them we didn't manage to kill his shardonai?'
Harnak continued, glaring at the other sword. 'You know whose son he is-you think he did that because we'd acted so fucking honorably? And I'll bet you didn't know the Hundred offered to cut Thalmayr down right there in front of everything that was left of my platoon when that asshole sitting in that office over there wanted to put manacles on the Hundred's shardonai. Well, I know. I was the sword Hadrign ordered to do it … and the one the Hundred ordered to stand fast!
'And Magister Halathyn? They didn't kill him-we did.' Anguish tightened Harnak's fierce, low voice.
'It was an infantry-dragon, a godsdamned lightning-thrower-you seen any of them in these people's armory, Nourm? 'Cause I sure as fuck haven't seen any of 'em!'
Harnak jerked his head in the direction of the Fort Ghartoun armory building and his mouth twisted as if he
