Kethry started. "Warrl-Windborn, no wonder you look like hacked meat! Let me tell you, you're lucky he didn't go for your throat! I hope you'll forgive me. but I-can't say Fm sorry -- "
The man actually managed a bare hint of smile, and patted her knee with a bloody hand. "That's-gah!-war, m'lady. No offense." He clenched his other hand until the knuckles were white as Dee picked pieces of fabric out of his wounds.
Kethry sighed the three syllables that began the sleep-spell, and felt her hands begin to tingle with the gathering energy. Slow, though -- she was coming to the end of her resources.
"But why did you come to us for help?"
"Don't trust them horse-leeches, they wanted to take the leg off. I knew yer people'd save it. Them damn highborns, they got no notion what 'is leg means to a merc."
Kethry nodded, grimacing. Without his leg, this man would be out of a job -- and likely starve to death.
"And th' Demons' ain't got no Healers nor magickers. Never saw th' need for 'em."
"Oh?" That was the root and branch of Devaril's constant arguments with Idra. "Well, now you know why we have them, don't you?" She still wasn't ready. Not quite yet; the level wasn't high enough. Until she could touch him, she had to keep his attention.
"Yeah, well -- kinda reckon ol' Horserace's right, now. Neat trick y' pulled on us, settin' the camp afire wi' the magickers. An' havin' yer own Healers beats hell outa hopin' yer contract 'members he's supposed to keep ye patched up. Specially when 'e's lost. Reckon we'll be lookin' fer recruits after we get mustered out." He grimaced again, and nodded to her. " T yer innerested, m'lady -- well, th' offer's open. T not, well, pass th' word, eh?"
Kethry was a little amused at the certainty in his words. "You're so high up in the demons, then, that you can speak for them?"
He bit off a curse of pain, and grinned feebly just as she reached for his forehead. "Should say. I'm Devaril."
Kethry was wrung with weariness, and her mage-energies were little more than flickers when Tarma came looking for her. She looked nearly transparent with exhaustion, ready to float away on an errant wind.
The Swordswornan knelt down in the dust beside where Kethry was sitting; she was obviously still trying to muster up energies all but depleted.
"Keth -- "
The mage looked up at her with a face streaked with dried blood -- Thank the Warrior, none of it hers.
"Lady Windborn. I think I hate war."
"Hai," Tarma agreed, grimly. Now that the battle-high had worn off, as always, she was sick and sickened. Such a damned waste-all for the sake of one fool too proud to be ruled by a woman. All that death, men, women, good beasts. Innocent civilians. "Hell of a way to make a living. Can you get loose?"
"If it isn't for magery. I'm tapped out."
"It isn't. Idra wants us in her tent."
Tarma rose stiffly and gave her hand to her part-ner, who frankly needed it to get to her feet. The camp was quiet, the quiet of utter exhaustion. Later would come the drinking bouts, the boasts, the counting of bonuses and loot. Now was just time to hurt, and to heal; to mourn the lost friends and help care for the injured; and to sleep, if one could. With the coming of dusk fires were being kindled, and torches. And, off in the distance, pyres. The Hawks, like most mercenary companies, burned their dead. Tarma had already done her share of funeral duty; she was not particularly unhappy to miss the next immolation.
Two of the Hawks not too flagged to stand watch were acting sentry of Idra's tent. Tarma nodded to both of them, and pushed her way in past the flap, Kethry at her heels.
Idra inclined her head in their direction and in-dicated a pile of blankets with a wave of her hand. Sewen already occupied her cot, and Geoffrey, Ta-mas and Lethra, his sergeants, the equipment chest, the stool, and another pile of blankets respectively. The fourth sergeant, Bevis, was currently sleeping off one of Kethry's spells.
"Where's your kyree'?" the Captain asked, as they lowered themselves down onto the pile.
"Sentry-go. He's about the only one of us fit for it, so he volunteered."
"Bless him. I got him a young pig -- I figured he'd earned it, and I figured he'd like to get the taste of man out of his mouth."
Tarma grinned. "Sounds like he's been hitching at you. Captain, for a pig, he'd stand sentry all bloody night!"
"Have him see the cook when he's hungry." Idra took the remaining stool, lowering herself to it with a grimace of pain. Her horse had been shot out from under her, and she'd taken a fall that left her bruised from breast to ankle.
"Well." She surveyed them all, her most trusted assistants, wearing a troubled look. "I've -- well, I've had some unsettling news. It's nothing to do with the campaign -- " She cut short the obvious question hurriedly. " -- no, in fact Geoffrey is sitting on our mustering-out pay. Leamount's been damned generous, above what he contracted for. No, this is personal. I'm going to have to part company with you for a while."
Tarma felt her jaw go slack; the others stared at their Captain with varying expressions of stunned amazement.
Sewen was the first to recover. "Idra -- what's the hell is that supposed t'mean? Part company? Why?"
Idra sighed, and rubbed her neck with one sun-browned hand. "It's duty, of a sort. You all know where I'm from -- well, my father just died, gods take his soul. He and I never did agree on much, but he had the grace to let me go my own way when it was obvious he'd never keep me hobbled at home except by force. Mother's been dead, oh, twenty-odd years. That means I've got two brothers in line for the throne, since I renounced any claim I had."
"Two?" Kethry was looking a bit more alert now, Tarma noticed. "I thought the law in Rethwellan was primogeniture."
"Sort of. sort of. That's where the problem is. Father favored my younger brother. So do the priests and about half the nobles. The merchants and the rest of the nobles favor following the law. My older brother -- well, he may have the law behind him, but he was a wencher and a ne'er-do-well when I left, and I haven't heard he's improved. That sums up the problem. The Noble Houses are split right down the middle and there's only one way to break the deadlock."
"You?" Geoffrey asked.
She grimaced. "Aye. It's a duty I can't renounce -- and damned if I like it. I thought I'd left politics behind the day I formed the Sunhawks. I'd have avoided it if I could, but the ministers' envoys went straight to Leamount; now there's no getting out of it. And in all honesty, there's a kind of duty to your people that goes with being born into a royal house; I pretty much owe it to them to see that they get the best leader, if I can. So I'm going back to look the both of my brothers over and cast my vote; I'll be leaving within the hour."
"But- " The panic on Sewen's face was almost funny.
"Sewen, you're in charge," she continued impla-cably. "I expect this won't take long; I'll meet you all in winter quarters. As I said, we've been paid; we only need to wait until our wounded are mobile before you head back there. Any questions?"
The weary resignation on her face told them all that she wasn't looking forward to this -- and that she wouldn't welcome protests. What Idra wanted from her commanders was the assurance that they would take care of things for her in her absence as they had always done in her presence; with efficiency and dispatch.