Warlords and Wastrels

by Julia Knight

A delicate shrug. No expression marred her features–she looked down on the crumpled form of the man who called himself her father with no feeling at all. “Even if he is, why should I care? He left me to slavery.”

  “Maitea, as I said, you are now free.” Scar smiled, softening. “Once I was as you are, and a good man set me free and told me to do as I would. You were brave back at the village. You deserve the chance I’m giving you, same as that man gave me. I set you free–it’s up to you what to do with that freedom.”

  Maitea sat as unmoving as a stone, even when Morro came to sit next to her and talk in soothing words that Petri didn’t trust for a moment.

  He moved over to Scar as she checked the mystery man’s weapons. “Morro’s a magician,” Petri said in a murmur. “He should be bound as well.”

  She glanced over at Morro and back to Petri. “He’s right–we’re starving, and it’ll get worse before winter is done with us. We need all the help we can get.”

  Petri gripped her wrist, and she turned, startled and snarling. He didn’t let go. “He’s a magician. Not to be trusted. Ever. Kill him now, before he kills us.”

  She yanked her arm from his grip and laughed. “Him? He’s a runt, like Kepa said, magician or not. Why should I listen to you?”

  “Look at me, Scar. I know them, dealt with them before to my cost. Magicians use people for what they want. They don’t care who dies because of it. They tried to take Reyes last year and almost managed it. Rumour has it that Ikaras had to find its new queen because a magician slit the throat of their old king, for blood. A magician killed my father, left him as nothing but ashes blowing in the wind. They serve no one, not kings and queens, and not you. His offer is for his benefit, not yours. I’ve seen what they can do, know what they’re capable of, and I say we kill him now, while we have the chance.”

  Scar gestured at the unconscious bound man. “He saved my life from whoever this is. And I know you no better than I know him, do I?” She glanced over at Morro and Maitea where they sat heads together and talking quietly, looking as dangerous as any courting couple. “We’ll leave him, for now. But… Petri, you keep an eye on him. Watch him. We’ll see who we can trust.”

  Chapter Nine

  Now

  Once they caught up with Eder, they slowed to let the horses cool while Kass stared at the captain’s back and Vocho tried, and failed, to catch Carrola’s eye. The way became icy, then dusted with snow, and then no longer dusted but thick with it. It wasn’t long before the early sunset, what they saw of it behind looming black mountains scarved in snow under bellying clouds that promised more. Kass didn’t care about the cold. It seemed to slice away the fog in her head, leave her thinking more clearly, out of Reyes where there were no memories to haunt her.

  They found a place to camp that was at least out of the wind–a crack of a valley with steep slopes and stunted trees. Kass and Vocho along with the few guildsmen they’d brought set to pitching their tents close to one slope that curled about in an arm which they hoped might break the worst of the wind. Cospel saw to the horses, hobbling them in a stand of trees not much bigger than they were.

  Kass watched Eder’s troop as they pitched their own tents and wondered that they didn’t make use of the shelter of the slope. Eder caught her watching and strode her way, and she had to steel herself against how very like Petri he seemed–not in looks so much, but how he moved, the tenseness of him as Petri had been when she’d first met him. So tightly wound he might snap. She had to look away, concentrating instead on a guy line that was being stubborn.

  She heard the crunch of his boots in the snow behind her but didn’t turn.

  “You should pitch away from the slope,” he said, and his voice had lost its strident edge.

  She risked a look and wished she hadn’t, or that the sight of him, the thought of Petri alive still, didn’t rob her of breath.

  “Why’s that?” she managed.

  “That’s how we got caught in an avalanche last time.”

  She took a proper look at him now, shut up the little voice in her head that kept whispering about Petri. Maybe Eder was trying a friendly overture.

  “There’s not much snow yet,” she said. “We’ll chance it.” He shrugged and went to turn away but stopped when she said, “What seems to be your problem? With us, I mean? Because we’re going to have the hells of a time of it if you keep on as you have been.”

  A twitch about his eyes at that, but he inclined his head in a cool manner. “My apologies. My problem, not yours.” He hesitated, seeming suddenly unsure of himself. “Maybe… maybe we could discuss it. In private. Without your brother.”

  She glanced over at Voch to find him trying surreptitiously to watch Carrola, and suppressed a sudden grin.

  “I always try to do everything without him, but rarely manage it. All right.”

  His tent was as she’d expected it–immaculate with everything in its place. He sat on his pallet, and she took the saddle that was against one wall.

  “Well, then,” she said.

  Why did she think he was going to come unwound? Something was going on in there that she couldn’t fathom and found she wanted to.

  Finally Eder blew out his cheeks, and some of the tenseness left him. “I’m no fan of the guild.”

  “I gathered.”

  “I’m sure you did. I have my reasons, though I won’t bore you with those. But you two especially. Bakar sent you to nursemaid me. I… don’t take kindly to the idea.”

  “Nursemaid?” She took in the pallor of his face, remembered Bakar saying something about them not being the only ones to have suffered last summer. “He’s more likely to have sent you and Voch to nursemaid me. I haven’t been myself just lately.” And didn’t that hurt to admit to anyone other than Voch? She’d told everyone who asked that she was fine when she’d been anything but. It was a relief to say it, made some part of her inside burst and drain away. “Not myself at all.”

  When he looked up at her words, the rigidness had gone from his face, left it soft and vulnerable. It took all her willpower not to lean forward and lay a hand on his.

  “I’ve not been much myself lately too,” he said softly. “I don’t accept help very gladly, I’m afraid.”

  “I gathered that too.” She tried a smile and got a tight one in return. She got off the saddle and crouched in front of him. “I don’t accept help all that well either. But I’m beginning to realise I may have to. I’m not here to do anything but what Bakar said. People are dying out there, and we’re here to stop it. Both of us. It’ll be easier if we at least don’t want to kill each other. Agreed?”

  He shifted awkwardly and a flush crept up his neck. “It’s not killing I was thinking of. Look, I don’t want your help because I need to know that I can do this. A test for myself after…” A deep breath as though he was about to tell her some great secret and had to gear himself up to it. “I want you to see that I can do this. That the guards aren’t some pathetic second-rate substitute for the guild, that we are as efficient as you. That I am worth your attention, even if I am just of the guards. Because of this.”

  With that he leaned forward and kissed her. She froze a second in shock, and he seemed to take her hesitation as consent. His hand found hers, and he leaned into the kiss, and she didn’t stop him. With her eyes half closed it could be Petri’s mouth on hers, his breath now on her neck, his hand on her waist. With her eyes half closed the last long months of guilt and recrimination might never have happened.

  The kiss went on until her breath was hot in her throat, until she wasn’t sure where she was or who it was kissing her. Then his mouth was on her neck, whispering sweet words into her hair, and her own words were coming without any thought. “Petri,” she said into his neck, and he went rigid, yanked himself away, and she realised what she’d done. The might-have-beens vanished. She jerked back, shaking her head, leaving Eder gape-mouthed in anger.

  He stared at her, the gape twisting into something else before
he leaped to his feet in a burst of energy that startled her. He got no further than that because a sudden noise outside brought her up too. A shout from over where they’d picketed the horses, Cospel’s voice. Close on the heels of that, a jumble of sounds as Eder’s troop jumped up from their places at the fire and Vocho shouted for Kass to “Get the hells out here, quick.”

  She was already half out of the tent, into a deep gloom lit only by the troop’s fire. Voch and Carrola were standing on one side and jumped apart when Eder followed her out of the tent. A glance towards the stand of stunted trees, where Cospel’s voice had come from, told her all she needed to know.

  Wolves, a score of them, more, flowing under the stunted trees, going for the hobbled horses. She ran, joined Voch and Carrola, Eder half a step behind. One of the horses was down and screamed briefly before a mouth took its throat. Blood splashed the snow as the wolves darted in to yank away what flesh they could before they ran off. Cospel flailed uselessly at them with a branch. They ignored him, intent on feeding.

  The rest of the horses plunged and reared, trying to escape but unable to due to the hobbles. Except Kass’s horse, which had caught a wolf in the back as it ghosted past, had broken the wolf’s spine and was now snorting and stamping to finish it off.

  Everything came clear to Kass then, in the pump of her blood. She felt wiped clean of everything that had plagued her, reduced to the sword in her hand, recalling the joy in it when that joy had been much dimmed for longer than a few months. Eder’s kiss seemed to have broken the spell she’d kept herself in, made things come clear.

  The wolves–thin pathetic things she saw now, starved from an overlong winter–scattered as they approached, took some last lumps of meat and loped out of view. One, a larger male with an eye missing, turned and snarled as Eder’s troop followed before he too disappeared into the gloom.

  A couple of Eder’s troop followed to make sure they stayed gone. Cospel, breathing hard, laid down his branch and looked at what was left of the luckless horse. Not a lot. At least three others had bite wounds too. Carrola swore under her breath and hurried over to Cospel and the dead horse, Vocho on her heels.

  Kass and Eder inspected the wounded horses–two had superficial cuts, the third wouldn’t be fit to ride for a few days. Eder soothed the horse with the more serious wound, a pat to the neck, a few soft words and a hand on its nose that settled it some.

  He studiously avoiding meeting her gaze, and his jaw clenched and unclenched before his words came out in a measured tone. “That’s a nasty wound to its leg, poor bastard. This is going to slow us down. One horse short is bad enough. If that wound goes bad…”

  She’d have thought the kiss had never happened, that his twisting shock when she spoke the wrong name had never been if not for a tremor under his words, so faint she might have missed it. Like he was wound so tight he might snap, and she had only wound him tighter, closer to breaking.

  “Eder, I’m—” His look of sudden panic stopped her words in her throat, and instead after a moment she followed his lead and made no more mention of it. “We should count our blessings it was only horses. We’re going to have to be more careful. Where there’s starving wolves there may well be starving bandits too. We’ll get Cospel to look at the wounds. He’s got some stuff somewhere that helps.”

  Kass looked over to where Carrola had her hand over her mouth, looking down at what was left of her horse. Vocho chanced an arm around her shoulder, and she took it. Eder noticed too, and that darkened his face, made all the muscles tense even more, so Kass was surprised he didn’t whirl apart there and then. He spun on his heel, and Kass had to wonder at herself, that she’d ballsed it up when he’d offered a softer side. It took everything Kass had not to follow him and ask to try again, try to unwind him as she had once before, unravel the mystery to find the man inside.

  Vocho looked down at what was left of Carrola’s horse, his arm around her shoulders–to his surprise. Also to his surprise, she hadn’t objected.

  “We can get another in the next village, I expect,” he said and realised how callous that sounded as soon as it left his mouth.

  “True,” she said and turned away. Cospel began to do his best to cover the beast up–to discourage the wolves from coming back more than anything. “It wasn’t a very good horse, but it was mine.”

  Vocho looked back down the slope. Eder stalked off towards his tent, and Kass was looking after him wistfully. Vocho hadn’t failed to note she’d looked somewhat dishevelled when she’d burst out of his tent. Oh, god’s cogs, no. Not Eder. Petri had been bad enough.

  “He’s going to be pissed as hells,” Carrola said. “It’ll slow us down.”

  “You can ride double with me, if you like.”

  A smile at that, anyway. “All right. Look, I’d best get back before he erupts. Thanks.”

  She slipped out from under his arm and hurried towards the troop tents, passing Kass on her way up.

  “Going to have to be more careful,” Kass said to Vocho. “Should have been more careful before now, really. We aren’t on the plains any more.” She turned to look down towards Eder’s tent with a thoughtful frown.

  “Find out what his problem is?”

  She hesitated. “Yes and no. He thinks Bakar sent us to nursemaid him and he doesn’t like it.”

  “Why would Bakar do that?”

  “That is precisely what I didn’t find out.”

  “Yeah, well don’t go getting too wrapped up in trying to, Kass.”

  She gave him a sharp look that at least was better than the wistful sighs. But if it was Eder who was making her sharp, he’d rather the sighs. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. I learned my lesson.”

  With that she set off for their fire. Vocho followed more slowly. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake? He rather thought she was halfway there already.

  Chapter Ten

  Four months ago

  The morning after Morro joined them, Petri woke to Scar’s growl at the mystery man who’d attacked her, or tried to. Petri got up and found her dangling him from the bunch of his rags in her fist as Maitea watched impassively.

  Kepa stood next to Petri and winked at him. “Got a new guildsman now,” he said. “Ain’t so special after all, are you?”

  Petri took a step forward. A guildsman? Who?

  Scar dropped the man. He regained his feet slowly before he bowed with an insolent flourish that got him a double-handed blow to the face for his trouble, knocking him straight onto his back, where he laughed.

  “She’s right pissed with him though. Won’t tell her who he is, he ain’t even given his supposed daughter much of a name.”

  Petri only half heard Kepa as he went on. Something about the man in daylight. His dark hair, just beginning to frost with grey, was long and tangled but still had a remnant of a mare’s tail, which might once have curled artfully over his shoulder. The clothes were finely stitched, immaculately cut where they hadn’t been tattered into shreds. Not clothes for a mountain winter but a court somewhere, or the heat of Reyes down on the plains in the summer. What meagre furs the man had were scraps here and there, tied together with string. Petri was surprised he still had fingers.

  A pair of eyes peered out above the beginnings of a raggedy beard greyer than the hair, and there was something about them, about the man, that nagged at Petri. Something familiar behind the beard and rags, the laugh when she’d knocked him down. The man struggled back up to sitting, caught Petri’s eye and winked.

  Scar noticed the movement and whipped around to face Petri. “You know this bastard?”

  “I…” He couldn’t be sure. He took another step.

  “Come on, Silent Petri,” she snarled. “You know him or not? Here, I got his sword. Ring any bells for you?”

  She threw a sword his way, which he caught awkwardly in his left hand, dropping the baldric. A duelling sword right enough, the style of the hilt was a giveaway. This one wa
sn’t immediately familiar but, like the face, nagged at the back of his mind.

  Scar glared at Petri. “Well? I want to know the name of this laughing bastard before I gut him.”

  Her tone was off, and he looked up sharply. Something behind those hard eyes, that scar. If she wanted just to gut him, why hadn’t she already? A soft touch, Kepa had said, underneath the bravado.

  It came to him when he wasn’t trying. He moved closer so that the reek of the man’s rags was all he could smell and looked down at the hilt again. The twist of the basket, the stylised duellist that stalked around the pommel. He’d seen this sword before.

  “Domenech?”

  As soon as he said the name, the man’s features became apparent behind the beard–the cut of the cheekbones, the lines around clear eyes.

  “The very same!” Dom said and laughed again. “You’re looking well, for being dead. Any chance of helping an old man up?”

  “You know him? Good. Kepa, get him on a pony and tied back up. There’s something odd about him.”

  “Tie him twice,” Petri said. “Extra tight.”

  Scar cocked him a questioning look, and Maitea turned her unnerving gaze on him.

  “He’s an assassin. A very good one. You’re lucky to be alive, if he really wanted you dead.”

  Kepa and a couple of his friends took extra special care with the still grinning Domenech.

  Scar sauntered into view from behind Petri on his blind side. “How well do you know him?”

  “I fought him a couple of times. Regretted it both times, and I know of his reputation.” And who his allies are.

  “Good. Maitea here wants to know all about her supposed father. You can tell her on the way back. We’ll hold off on deciding what to do with the little shit until she decides whether she wants him alive or not.” Scar caught Maitea’s eye, and they shared a smile that faltered on Scar’s face when Morro hove into view. She lowered her voice as she turned back to Petri. “All the better to keep your eyes on him. Find out all you can and come to me when we’re home.”