Two-Edged Blade v(bts-2

by Mercedes Lackey

  Two men, and one woman; all three had probably worked themselves up from the ranks. She smiled a little to herself. If they had come up from the ranks, they weren’t going to appreciate what the Skybolts’ Captain had done to her people. Ardana was going to get short shrift from them, if she hadn’t already.

  The woman spoke; she had the seat on Kero’s left, and looked a little older than the other two. “We’ve decided in your favor, Kerowyn,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft and melodic. “We agree that you had every right and every reason to sever your contract, and that you did so legally.”

  That was all she had ever wanted to hear. “Thank you—” she started to say, but the woman interrupted her with an upraised hand.

  “Your Captain was and is a fool,” she said, “but there’s nothing in the Guild Code preventing fools from being in command, or from getting their people hurt or killed. We aren’t in the business of telling Captains how to command; we only deal with violations of the Code. The Guild allows only one kind of retribution for Captains of her sort—the kind you took. Severing contracts neatly and legally until she is in command of nothing. Do you understand me?”

  Kero put a lock on her reaction of disappointment and nodded. “What you’re saying is pretty much what I’d expected,” she replied, trying not to think of those friends still trapped under Ardana’s command until the end of the Company contract. Only then could they sever their relations with her.

  Of course, they would have one advantage over Kero. There would be no record of insubordination in their files.

  The woman smiled ever so slightly; the barest hint of a curve to her weathered lips. “Unfortunately, no matter what we put in your record, it is unlikely that any bonded Company will ever accept you again. I hope you realized that, if not when you severed, at least when you’d had a chance to think all this out. Mercenaries who sever contracts in the field, even under extreme provocation such as you experienced, tend to be viewed with a jaundiced eye by other commanders. After all, by their way of thinking, if you do it once, what’s to stop you from doing it again? To them, it’s just another form of desertion under fire.”

  Well, that was what I thought, although I’d rather she hadn’t said it. Kero sighed. “I understand that, sir,” she said, rocking a little back and forth to ease her aching feet.

  “But I wonder if you really know what that means in terms of the immediate present,” the woman persisted. “This is the lean season. The only places hiring right now are Companies. I understand that you have very little in the way of savings. You are going to find it all but impossible to find work here in Selina, and you won’t have the wherewithal to go elsewhere.”

  Kero blinked. “But—what about going bonded freelance?” she asked, wondering what on earth she was missing. “I thought bonded freelancers were always in demand. All anyone is going to check is whether or not I am bonded—”

  “If you can find work,” the woman told her. “You have no experience outside of a Company. This is winter. No caravans, no warfare, no hunting where someone might need a tracker who is also a fighter, no work as a city guard and damned near no bodyguard work. Nothing’s moving. No one is going anywhere. I can promise you that there is no work in Selina for someone of your talents.”

  Kero swallowed. I never had any idea it was going to be this bad. But groveling isn’t going to help. I have to put a good face on this. Falling apart is not going to earn me anything, certainly not their respect. I think I have that now. I don’t want to lose it.

  She stiffened her back and raised her chin. “I’ll have to manage,” she replied. “I have other skills. I can handle horses, or train them, no matter how difficult they are. I can work a tavern if I have to. I even have some experience with medicine. Tarma—my teacher told me to learn other things, because I might have to fall back on them.”

  The other two nodded, although the woman looked dubious. “Even if you get free-lance work, you’ve never worked anywhere except within a Company,” she persisted. “You have no idea what it’s like to work freelance. It’s hard enough for a man, but for a woman—”

  “I’ll manage,” Kero replied. “I’m tougher than I look. Thank you for your judgment in my favor. I had heard that the Guild was fair, and I will be very happy to confirm that.”

  The woman shook her head, but said nothing more. Kero bowed slightly, and turned. The friendly man was still standing beside the second door; he beckoned a little, and she followed him out of it.

  “You’re entitled to three days here in the Guildhall,” he told her. “Three days, bed and board, for you and your beast.”

  She sighed. That was one worry out of the way. Three days of grace, three days where she wouldn’t have to fret about where she was going to lay her head. “I’ll take you up on that,” she told him. “Because right now I couldn’t find my way to an inn, even if I could afford to pay for it.”

  “I thought as much,” he replied, with real, unfeigned sympathy. “I took the liberty of having your things taken to one of the rooms. The food is nothing to boast about, and the room isn’t fancy, but it’s safe, and it has a bed.” “And right now, that’s all I need,” she said wearily. “I’ll work on solutions for my problems when I’ve got a mind to work with. Maybe I’m being too optimistic, but I can’t believe that someone with my skills can’t find work.”

  After a day and a night of solid slumber, and half a day of hunting, she came to the conclusion that the woman Arbitrator was right. There was no work in Selina for a merc of any kind, much less a female.

  That left other options. First, before the day was over, she sold everything she didn’t actually need; that left her with one suit of armor, her weapons, her clothing, and Hellsbane and her tack.

  The Guild gave her a decent price for the armor and weaponry—decent by the standards of a town in midwinter, at any rate. Decent, considering that her second-best suit of chain was now her best, and the suit she was willing to sell had been immersed in a river, drenched with rain, covered with mud, and generally abused.

  What she wound up with would pay for room and board for her and Hellsbane for a fortnight.

  She counted the pitiful little pile of coins carefully, but they didn’t multiply, and the numbers didn’t change.

  She started to put them back in her belt-pouch, and her hand encountered something that crackled. She pulled it out, puzzled for a moment, then felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized Eldan’s letter and voucher.

  It would be the easy answer. Her fortnight’s worth of coin, if augmented by living off the land, would take her to Valdemar.

  I don’t have to do anything, she thought reluctantly. All I have to do is go. I can just collect my money, and leave. I don’t have to listen to anything he says.

  She was lying to herself, and she knew it. She shoved the parchment back into the pouch and dropped the coins on top of them with a little groan. She lay back on the bed and rubbed her aching temples. I’ll go up there, and he’ll tell me how much he loves me, and he’ll offer me some sinecure—and I’ll take it, I know I will. Then I’ll be trapped. Because it’ll be his job, and probably it’ll be no more than a token, a pretense-job, to make me feel less like he’s giving me everything. And gods, I do love him, it’d be so easy to accept that....

  But love wasn’t enough, not for her. She had to have freedom, too. She had to know that she was earning her way, not just playing someone else’s shadow.

  No. She gritted her teeth stubbornly. No. Not unless there’s no choice. I’ll go to the Plains, first, and become a nomad like my crazy cousins. And I haven’t exhausted all my options. I still have two more days.

  As it happened, it wasn’t until sunset of her third grace-day that she found work. It wasn’t what she had expected; she was looking for work as a groom. She’d tried all the places mercs frequented, then the places that were the haunts of the city guard, and finally started trying tradesmen’s inns. No one had a place for her, not even
after she demonstrated her ability with a couple of surly, troublemaking beasts.

  One of the last places on her mental list was a peddler’s inn; a cheap place mostly used by traveling peddlers and minor traders. It wasn’t a place where she would have worked if she’d had a choice; but the fact was, she didn’t have a choice. She walked into the stable yard and right into a fight.

  The conflict was complicated by the involuntary involvement of a donkey and a pony, both kicking and protesting at the tops of their lungs.

  Kero was tempted to wade straight in, but years of tavern brawling had taught her not to get involved in an ongoing fight without reinforcements. There were an assortment of servants and stablehands gawking at the fracas. She grabbed them all and formed them into an assault force, which she led into the fray.

  When the pony and donkey were on opposite sides of the yard, several heads had been knocked together, and calm had been restored, she turned to what she thought was the head groom who now sported an impressive black eye.

  “I need work,” she said shortly. “I’m a bonded freelance merc, but I’m willing to do just about anything. Especially if it has something to do with horses. Think your master could find a place in the stables for me?”

  The man squinted against the light of the setting sun, holding a handful of snow against his eye. “There’s nothin’ open in the stables,” he said with what sounded like mixed admiration and regret. She turned to go, without waiting to hear what else he would say, the bitter taste of disappointment in her mouth once again.

  “Wait!” she heard behind her. She almost hurried her steps, not wanting to listen to another offer of a meal, or worse, an offer that she whore for the owner. But this time something stopped her. Perhaps it had been the honest admiration in the man’s voice; perhaps it was her own desperation. She stopped, and slowly turned.

  “We don’ need anyone in th’ stables,” the man said, limping toward her. “But we sure’s fire need a hand like you i’ th’ taproom.”

  “I don’t whore,” she said shortly, knowing that this inn’s serving-girls were expected to do just that.

  “Whore?” the man seemed genuinely surprised. “Hellfires, no! Ye’d be wasted as a whore! Need i’ th’ taproom’s fer a peacekeeper.”

  “A what?” She raised both eyebrows, trying not to laugh.

  “Peacekeeper. Break up fights, throw them as makes too much trouble out on th’ ear.” The man seemed earnest enough, and Kero kept a straight face. “Ye unner-stand, men won’ reckon on pickin’ fights wi’ a wench, see? Big hulkin’ brute, they kick up dust just t’ challenge ‘im. Wench, they don’ see as worth makin’ trouble with. Then, trouble does start, they won’ be lookin’ t’ a wench t’ stop it. See?”

  Oddly enough, Kero could see the sense of it. “How did you figure this out?” she asked.

  The man sighed. “Had a wench’s peacekeeper fer years. Lost ‘er t’ th’ Wolflings. That’s ‘cause all we c’n give is room’n’board. Been hopin’ t’ replace ‘er, but ain’t seen nobody I’d trust, much less a bonded, that’d work fer that.”

  Kero was still skeptical, but her time was running out, and she needed somewhere to go. This was the only decent offer she’d had. “And how do I know your master will go along with this?” she asked.

  The man grinned. “ ‘Cause th’ master’s me. An’ ye’re hired, ‘f ye’ll take just room’n’board. Startin’ t’night.”

  It was better than she’d feared, but no place to rest or recover. Hellsbane had to winter in the corral since the stable was reserved for paying customers. She had to sleep on the floor with the rest of the help—with the exception of the serving girls, who spent the nights with customers. The floor was packed dirt, and cold, and half-healed wounds ached at night. She could understand his reasoning—he only had three sleeping rooms upstairs. But that didn’t make her position any easier.

  The food was fresh and filling, and she could eat all she could hold, but it was poor stuff. Thin soup and coarse bread for the most part. She never felt quite right, and never regained her lost weight even though she was stuffing herself at every meal.

  The innmaster, a cheerful little squirrel of a man, was fair and decent to her and backed her on every decision she made. He was all right, but the rest of the staff avoided her, especially after she brained a peddler who caught her out in the stable and tried to rape her.

  She lost track of the days; she was exhausted by the time the inn closed, and never seemed to get enough rest. Each day blurred into the next, and she was never able to get up enough energy to go out and hunt down other jobs as she had intended to. Her little store of coins steadily dribbled away as she had to replace clothing that wore out, and repair armor and tack.

  Even the sword seemed to have given up on her; she never felt so much as a prod from it anymore.

  She leaned up against the bar, carefully positioning herself in the shadows, and surveyed the crowd. There was a larger group than usual here tonight, which had Rudi bouncing with joy, but didn’t exactly make her feel like singing. More people meant more chances of fighting, and more people meant that some of them would likely buy places on the floor. Paying customers got the places nearest the fire, leaving the help to shiver in their blankets. A cold night meant aches in the morning.

  Maybe I can talk Rudi out of some something hot to drink, she thought, rubbing one thumb along Need’s grip. Or maybe wine. Then I can at least fall asleep quickly.

  Goddess, I’m tired. I wish I could have a bed for just one night. There was a little eddy of raucousness over by the door; she wasn’t sure who or what was causing it, and she decided to keep a sharp eye on it.

  The disturbance moved nearer; laughing and cursing in equal amounts marked the trail of one customer as he made his way toward the bar. Finally the cause of the commotion got close enough for Kero to see him, and she grimaced as she realized why no one was willing to take exception to his behavior.

  It was a city guardsman, drunk as a lord, and throwing his weight and rank around. No one here wanted to touch him and risk arrest, and he was taking full advantage of the fact.

  Her heart sank when she saw him peering around as if he was looking for something, then grin when he finally spotted her.

  He shoved a couple of drovers aside, and shouldered a potter out of his place next to her. “Well-a-day,” he said nastily. “ ‘F it isn’ Rudi’s li’l she-man. Watcha still doin’ here, sweetheart? Ain’ never foun’ a man f take ye outa them britches an’ put ye in a skirt?”

  She ignored him.

  At first, he didn’t seem to notice that she was staring off into the crowd with a completely bored expression on her face. She’d learned long ago that the worst thing she could do would be to respond at all to bullies like this one. Her only possible defense was to do nothing. Eventually they tended to get bored and go away.

  This one was remarkably persistent, though. And he got in one or two shots that came too damn near the bone and made her blood boil. But Tarma hadn’t taught her control in vain; she kept a tight rein on her temper and continued to ignore him, even though a crowd was collecting around them, waiting to see if he could goad her into a fight.

  He was drunk, but only enough to make him belligerent, not enough to slow him down or fox his reactions. She’d be a fool to give him the fight he wanted. Twice a fool, since it was against the law to lay a hand on a city guardsman.

  So she kept silent, and finally he did seem to get bored with his game. He started to lean close, and she saw what was coming; the old ploy of “accidentally” spilling liquor on someone—her, to be specific. She decided she’d had enough.

  Just a heartbeat before the guardsman moved, she reached out and pulled one of the watchers into her place, then slipped into the mob before the guardsman could stop her. Since she was shorter than most of the patrons, it wasn’t hard to keep herself hidden long enough to get into the safe haven of the kitchen.

  The kitchen staff stared at her as
she passed through and out the rear door, but they didn’t say anything. She waited just inside the kitchen door for a moment, making sure the kitchen yard outside was clear.

  There wasn’t so much as a cat moving out there. She closed the door behind her and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. They felt gritty and sore from all the smoke, and she wondered just how long it was going to be before Rudi closed up.

  Dear gods, I’m tired. Even though her stomach was full, she felt empty, without any energy. That guardsman—I hope he leaves. I don’t want to have to take him on. I don’t think Rudi could protect me from the town law if I had to hit him. I’m not sure the Guild could, and I’m not sure they’d be willing to, either.

  She walked slowly across the uneven kitchen yard, treacherous where snow had melted and refrozen in ruts. The moon was in its last quarter, and cast thin light that did little to help her in seeing her way. Might as well check on the stable. Maybe by the time I get back, that drunk will have gotten tired of looking for me. Or maybe he’ll get so drunk he’ll pass out. Either will do.