“It been your idea,” Chardo complained. “We could’ve just brought ’im down and left. He wouldn’t have knowed what hit ’im.”
“My idea?” Now some heat entered Ferrin’s voice. “Damned right, Chardo. Ain’t none of the rest of you had any bright ideas lately.”
Doron shook his head. No group of men living close as they did could go day after day, week after week, without some minor quarrels. But this reminded him of times when he’d seen strong drink lower inhibitions, when men would say things they’d normally keep locked behind their teeth.
“Our luck’s turned, you said.” Vomehl stared into the fire. “So what we got ourselves now? Got us a demon-rider and nowhere to take ’im. Since you be the one with all the ideas, Ferrin, come up with one for this situation.”
Doron cleared his throat. “Calm down, everyone. We ain’t got no choice. We got ’im, and we got to figure out what to do with ’im. Vomehl, you think maybe you killed the Herald’s horse?”
“No, dammit. And I be a better shot than that! Cursed hell-horse must’ve dodged at the last moment.”
Doron tried to sound utterly reasonable. “Then how ’bout we leave ’im bound here and ride out at first light.”
“Why d’you say that?” Ferrin demanded, growing more belligerent than ever.
“Because,” Doron said, keeping his voice level, “if his horse ran off, hard tellin’ where it went to. Perhaps to get help. You want to face down a group of angry Heralds?”
“Doron’s right.” Jergen sat up straighter. “Been a mistake to capture ’im to begin with.”
“Whole damned bunch of you gettin’ weak-willed,” Ferrin snapped. “We got ’im and I’m goin’ to make somethin’ of it. We got nothin’ but books and paper, and it ain’t sure we can barter that. Least we can try to get a ransom out of ’im!”
Doron looked away. So much for his attempt to help his cousin. Now Ferrin would be calling all the shots.
At least that was normal.
It was not easy, projecting his Gift while suffering from a splitting headache. What was nearly second nature now became an effort. Tomar tried to concentrate harder, but that only made his head hurt worse. However, from what he could tell, the bandits were responding, their mental defenses lowered enough for them to start arguing among themselves. He could only hope this was not normal behavior. If he could just keep trying, he might be able to convince them nothing would be served by keeping him captive.
He looked at each man in an attempt to see who his Gift had affected the most. Certainly not Ferrin, obviously chief of this band. The bowman who had wounded Keesha had grown peevish, as had the two men named Chardo and Jergen. Tomar thought he had the best chance of influencing the fifth man, who had suggested leaving him behind.
The fifth man. The one who seemed oddly familiar, but whose name was quite common in Karse.
He listened to the bandits snipe at each other, aware he had loosened control over their tongues. They probably never confronted their leader this way. Even outlaws needed discipline, especially when away from their stronghold.
:It’s hard, Keesha,: he Mindspoke, aware without looking that his Companion lurked unseen somewhere in the trees and brush. :My head feels like it’s splitting open.:
:I know, Chosen. I can feel it. Keep trying.:
:They’ll have to sleep sometime. Maybe then you—:
:I doubt it. They’ll take turns watching through the night. They’re away from their base, and they won’t rest easy until they get home.:
Tomar sighed. Even if all of them slept, Keesha would be hard pressed to take down the entire group. And he was bound tightly, of no help whatsoever. He glanced around the fire at the outlaws who still argued among themselves. The fifth man kept silent, eyes glinting in the firelight. Who was he? Nothing about him stood out to Tomar. He could have been any number of men from this area of Karse. But, aside from being familiar, it was as if he had power of his own, though it lay banked, hidden from all but the most intrusive probes.
:Keesha, I think I’ve got an idea. These outlaws possess a lot of buried animosity. Instead of making them trust me, as I’ve been able to do with people in the past, I’ve lessened their inhibitions to the stage they’re quarreling. What would happen if my Gift was stronger? If I could lay bare the injustices they feel, their anger at each other over slights in the past?:
:Then what, Chosen? You’re hoping they’d come to blows and possibly wound each other?:
:If I could do it, that’s a possibility. And if I succeeded, there might be fewer of them for you to immobilize.: He swallowed heavily. :But my Gift isn’t that strong, and I can’t stand to see you hurt again.:
:Then let’s try this,: Keesha responded. :I’ll add power to yours and, between us, we could be more than one alone.:
Tomar inwardly nodded in assent. He felt the touch of Keesha’s mind intensify on his own, added to the familiar warmth that came with the connection. And then, as if he had taken some stimulant, strength poured into him from Keesha, augmenting his Gift.
:Let’s see how they deal with this,: he said to Keesha. :It’s worth a try and it could work.:
Doron felt tension mounting again, only this time on the verge of explosion. His own thoughts clamored in a jumble. He remembered times when he’d been pushed aside, when his opinions had been overlooked. Just because he was the youngest didn’t mean he should be—
He shoved his anger aside. Not that what he remembered was untrue, but he’d always had better control over himself than this. He glanced at Tomar, at the odd expression on the Herald’s face. Maybe that came from the blow to his head, or something else entirely.
“And why’d you decide to attack that particular caravan?” Jergen asked, staring at Ferrin. “Five men guarded it. You be the one who always said we only go after forces much smaller’n us. Six ain’t all that much of an advantage.”
“Greedy,” Chardo muttered. “Always wantin’ more and more and more.”
Ferrin’s eyes nearly popped from his head. “Shut your mouth, you useless piece of—”
“Call me a useless piece—”
“Hey, Ferrin, ’member the time you left me behind in our last raid?” Vomehl’s chin jutted out. “Oh, you’ll be all right, you said. Got that damned bow of yours.”
“And what ’bout you, Chardo?” Jergen growled. “Always runnin’ your mouth. Nearly got us in trouble last village we stopped in.”
“Who elected you captain?” Chardo’s hand drifted to the hilt of his dagger. “You be more insultin’ than Ferrin betimes.”
“Insultin’?” Ferrin stood. “I’ll show you insultin’, Chardo.” He glared at the men around the fire. “Only reason I put up with you is we be stronger together than alone. I be better’n the whole lot of you. Smarter, faster, and—”
Chardo jumped to his feet. “Think you be so tough, Ferrin? I could take you down and not breathe hard after. You treat me like I be stupid or somethin’!”
“Stupid? You be more’n that! Twice stupid, most like!”
Doron buried his head in his hands. Everyone seemed to be losing control. He glanced up in time to see Ferrin and Chardo stalking each other, knees slightly bent, circling the fire. The dagger in Chardo’s hand glittered in the firelight.
Jergen turned to Vomehl. “And keep your hands off that bow. Don’t want to end up with an arrow in my gut.”