Two-Edged Blade v(bts-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  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 for a wind to blow away. That fragility was entirely false; Shallan was as tough as the black leather she wore, and as impervious to damage, and in all the time she’d been with the Skybolts, Kero had never seen Shallan frightened.

  But she was frightened now, afraid of the Karsites, and all her brave words about “killing them for free and dancing on the graves” couldn’t hide that.

  For a heartbeat or two, Kero felt trapped by the blue intensity of Shallan’s eyes. Then she broke free of that hypnotic gaze, aided by Hellsbane’s restive stamping. Shallan could do that, now and again; but only when she felt so strongly about something that it was worth living or dying to her.

  “I don’t know about taking prisoners,” she said quietly, turning away and going back to work on the gray’s dusty hide. “The more I hear about the Karsites, the less I want to do with them. Almost seems like if you acted like they do, you’d be in danger of becoming like them. But if Lerryn wants prisoners—well, that’s an order, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, that,” Shallan agreed. Kero did not like the tone of her voice.

  Dear gods, she sounds like she’d be perfectly happy to volunteer for the crew who’re going to be “persuading” these prisoners to talk—assuming we catch any. And now that I think about it, she’s not the only one to sound that way about these so-called bandits, or the Karsites in general.

  She felt a little sick. For all that they were the enemy, for all the atrocities they had meted out, she couldn’t picture herself handing the same treatment back to them. Kill them, yes, but cleanly. She couldn’t agree with Shallan’s attitude. They’re so damned vindictive about this, all of them. But maybe I’m the one who’s out of line, here. Shallan’s lover lost a sister in some fight or other—there’re others in the Skybolts that lost friends and family along through here, over the past five years or so. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I just don’t feel that angry at them because I just can’t seem to get really attached to anyone, not even my own blood-kin.

  She leaned into the strokes of the currycomb, and thought back to the incidents that had started her on this whole career, trying to recapture exactly how she felt when she saw her brother wounded, her father dead.

  Just—responsibility. That’s all I really felt that I can remember. That someone had to take care of the mess, and I was the only one possible. Dear gods, what’s wrong with me? Why am I so cold?

  Maybe it’s just that I’ve never really had anyone get close enough that I could honestly say I loved him, except Mother.

  But that didn’t seem natural either. Other people seemed to be falling in and out of love all the time, but for her, nothing ever seemed to get involved but her body, and sometimes, her mind.

  The first lover is supposed to be such a big thing—but with Daren there didn’t really seem to be more at stake than friendship and—well—the desires of the moment.

  She cast a glance over at Shallan when she thought the other woman wouldn’t notice. Her companion could—and did—wax passionate about causes and people at the drop of a gauntlet. This got her into trouble more often than not, but Shallan had no intention of changing, maintaining that it was better to live life hard and completely.

  Kero was just the opposite; after those flare-ups with Daren she had never again actually fought with anyone. She saved her anger and her energy for the battlefield; off the field, she thought everything through, planned for every possible contingency, then went coldly and self-reliantly straight for her goal.

  Sometimes I go after what I want with such single-mindedness that I frighten myself, she thought, watching Shallan grooming her horse as if by brushing out every speck of dirt sh
e could wipe the Karsites from the face of the earth. I’d hate to see what the others think of me.

  Uncomfortable thoughts, and not likely to improve her disposition. She was glad to have them interrupted by a shout from the direction of camp.

  She looked up over Hellsbane’s shoulder, as Tre waved, his dull scarlet shirt identifying him even at a distance. He’d never yet worn the thing out on scout, but he inevitably changed back into it as soon as they hit camp. “Kero! Shal! Back to camp on the double! Meeting!”

  She waved back to show that they’d heard, and tossed the currycomb to Shallan. The younger woman caught it deftly, and the two of them ducked under the picket line and trotted toward the mess tent.

  “I wonder what it’s about?” Shallan said, trotting along with an ease that reminded Kero of Warrl’s lazy lope. Her eyes glinted with an eagerness that Kero thought held just a hint of battle madness. “Maybe they’ve decided to put on a push so we can get this over with!”

  At that point, they reached the edge of the growing crowd, so Kero was saved from having to make a reply. Most of the Skybolts had already gathered at the mess tent when they arrived. They worked their way around to the side; as leader of a scout party, Kero had just enough rank to get in fairly close to their Captain.

  Lerryn Twoblades did not look like much of a fighter. He wore the same scuffed leathers as any of his Company; his only concession to rank was a round pin of carved silver Kero had made him, showing two crossed swords bisected by a lightning bolt. Thin and not particularly tall, and just now at rest, he wasn’t very imposing, either. But when he rose to speak, it was immediately apparent that he was whipcord and steel over bone, and moved with a lazy grace that spoke volumes to anyone who had studied hand-to-hand combat. Those limpid brown eyes missed nothing; those foppish curls covered a skull with frightening intelligence inside it. There wasn’t one single horse in the entire camp he couldn’t handle, up to and including Hellsbane, which had surprised the hell out of both Kero and her horse. And all he had to do was say three words, and it was no secret why the Skybolts were fanatically devoted to their Captain.

  He scanned the crowd slowly to let the muttering die away. Only when he had relative silence did he speak, in a calm, but carrying voice. “We’ve voted, and we’ve decided to make a push,” he said. “Otherwise we let these whoresons force us to piss away our troops against them, while there may be groups out there we haven’t bottled up taking pieces out of the Border.”

  There was the start of a cheer—when he raised his hand for silence. He got it, too—something that never failed to impress Kero.

  “The Skybolts won’t be fighting,” he said firmly, “and I’m not taking any volunteers to go on temp to the other Companies. And that’s an order.”

  Agnira—there’re going to be some objections to that, and for sure—And there were; a storm of them. People began shouting and waving their hands to get his attention, for all the world like a crowd of unruly children. Lerryn simply let the hotheads have their say, then held up his hand again.

  “It’s not our kind of fight,” he told them, his eyes moving from face to face so that in the end, every one of them would have been willing to swear that the Captain talked to him, directly. “We aren’t trained, any of us, in the kind of line fighting there’s going to be. Most of us are runty little bastards,” he continued, with a rueful grin that included himself with them. “We couldn’t take on a big man in a shoulder-to-shoulder situation, not when we’ve built careers and training on speed and agility. We couldn’t use our short-swords or horse-bows, and those little round target shields would be damned useless against maces and axes. We can’t do any damn good with unfamiliar weapons, afoot, against heavy infantry. And if you all really think about that, and are honest, you’ll agree with me.”

  There was more muttering, and some vehement head-shaking, but not much. Lerryn’s words made sense even to the most belligerent among them.

  The Captain spread his hands in a gesture that said wordlessly, Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we all know the facts when we see them. “We’ve done our job,” he said. “No one can fault us—we’re the ones who tracked them, and we’re the ones who harried them and trapped them here in the first place. It’s time for the others to do their job, and now we have to get out of the way so they can do it without interference. Hmm?” He tilted his head slightly to one side; there was more muttering—Shallan, predictably, was one of the mutterers—but it quickly died away.

  “Don’t think we’re getting off easy,” he said, “I’m deploying half of you as outriders to make sure nobody gets away. If there’s a breakout, you’ll be fighting—and you outriders are as important as the front liners. More. That’s the place where we’ll have a good shot at taking prisoners. We don’t want anyone to escape to take word back to—wherever.”

  Tactfully not saying what everyone is thinking. Kero’s lip twitched. We can say it, but because he’s Captain, he can’t. Not till it’s proved. That “wherever” is Karse, and if they get back with word of this, the Karsites may send a bigger force before we’re ready for it.

  Lerryn looked them all over once again, the breeze blowing his long hair back from his face. “The rest of you, get the camp packed up and ready to move on the instant. Pack up your friends, if they’re out on patrol. Once the siege is broken, we’ll be moving as fast as we can, back to a secured zone.”

  Again, not saying what he can’t—but he expects there to be prisoners, and I’ll bet my next bonus he’s been toldwe’ll have custody of them. We’re the fastest, and if we can get the prisoners to a secure lockup, we can have them singing like woodlarks before the Karsites even know we have them. I‘d bet on Abevell for that secure lockup. Town’s practically carved into the side of the mountain.

  Lerryn waited for any further comment, but the Skybolts knew their leader, and that his decisions were final. Later, when they were all behind friendly walls, they’d find out why those decisions had been made. Until then, they were willing to take it on faith that there were reasons.

  “Dismissed,” he said, and singled out a dozen scout-leaders with a pointed finger before they all dispersed. Those chosen followed him back to his tent. The rest milled restlessly for a moment, then drifted back toward the camp in twos and threes to begin the breakdown.

  Kero was not among the select, but she hadn’t expected she’d be; after all, her group had already been out this morning, and Lerryn wasn’t the kind of Captain to impose double duty on someone without a compelling reason. She was relieved, both that the Skybolts were not going to be involved in the fight, and that she wasn’t going to be part of the harriers.

  It’s too much, she decided, making noncommittal answers to Shallan as they walked through the orderly rows of tents to their own. Running people down on horseback, like I was hunting rabbits—hellfires, I don’t even hunt rabbits on horseback! I’m just glad I don’t have to be part of that. I think maybe the Captain figured that out, too. He gave me that kind of look. I don’t think he likes it either.

  Shallan’s tent was the closest, and the blonde dove into it with another moan of complaint. “—and just my luck, Relli’s with Hagen, which means she’ll be in on it and I’ll have to pack her stuff up!”

  Sure enough, the tent was empty, and Shallan threw herself at her lover’s belongings with grim determination. Kero took herself off before she could be coerced into helping. Relli was something of a clotheshorse, and Kero did not want to take responsibility for the least little crease that “ruined” a tunic.

  Her own tent was the same size as Shallan’s but seemed larger, since she had to it herself. Technically these were four-man tents, but only if you stacked everyone together like logs, and no one had more than a single backpack of possessions. Two fit fine; one was perfect, so far as Kero was concerned. Lerryn didn’t care about sleeping arrangements so long as everyone was under canvas and someone took responsibility for the tent itself. If they took on anyone
without his own shelter and they ran out of Company tents, Kero might be ordered to share, but until then, she had her privacy.

  She was glad of it, as she packed her belongings down with practiced ease, and began rolling her bedding. The trapped bandits were going to be massacred. She knew how completely logical that was. And she didn’t like it. If she’d had a tentmate, she’d have had to talk about it, and she didn’t want to. The sooner I can shake the dust of this place from Hellsbane’s hooves, the better I’m—

  Suddenly she heard something on the edge of the camp. Confused shouting, too far away to make out words, but there was no mistaking the tone. There was something wrong, desperately wrong.

  For only the second time since she’d joined the Skybolts, she dropped her mental shields and searched for a coherent picture among the jangle of thoughts—looking for the person who knew what was going on.

  Lerryn.

  She found him, on the picket line, directing incoming scouts who were galloping up to the line in panic, while the Company hedge-wizard sent up the emergency “come in” signal beside him.