Vambran began to shake his head. "Many do, but the Crescents do not."
"You are a soldier," she said, "and you fight at the direction of others. Reth or Hlath, Arrabar or more distant cities, it is always the same."
Vambran gave the woman a level look. "If you're so convinced that we're all alike, then why did your people bring us here, rather than simply kill us where they found us?"
"I have asked myself that question, too," the woman said, giving Vambran a peculiar smile that was a little unnerving. "Edilus thought perhaps that you could be ransomed for prisoners held by the enemy army. He saw the value in holding you, with your three dots."
Vambran blinked, having nearly forgotten that he bore the three symbols of reading, writing, and magic upon his forehead. "He thought I would be valuable to the enemy," the lieutenant reasoned.
"Yes. I told him that we would not negotiate with the mercenaries, that the Emerald Enclave did not parlay. Those of our order who are taken are considered dead and grieved for. He was not happy with my decision."
"Why?"
"Because his brother was among those taken," the woman replied. "I told him we would avenge his brother by spilling the blood of many soldiers again tonight."
Those words were uttered with such force, such finality, that for a moment, Vambran could only stare at the woman across from him. Her intensely emerald eyes blazed with a primal fire, and he knew beyond a doubt she meant every bit of it.
Vambran was going to try, anyway. "It doesn't have to be that way," he said, hoping she would see his own earnestness as sincere. "I can help you find a more peaceful solution. My soldiers and I have no quarrel with the Emerald Enclave. Indeed, we work toward similar goals. If you resign us to this cage, then a resource you have at your disposal will be wasted."
The woman laughed, but it was a bitter laughter, without mirth. "A resource. I would expect nothing less from a priest of the Merchant's Friend. The world simply is, it exists. 'Resource' is but a word your kind uses to measure what you wish to make your own. I do not acknowledge your notion of resources. Here, in the woods, everything belongs to all beings, and no one takes more than he needs right then, right there. I drink from the stream, yet there is still plenty of water for others, both downstream from me and those who would come later to the same spot I did to drink. The stream, the water, is not a resource; it dwells as an integral part of nature. You and your resources are laughable."
Vambran's jaw clenched in anger and frustration. "And you and your ilk seem so determined to belittle others' ways of life, though not all who walk a different world than yours subvert your ideals so robustly," he said, raising his voice at the woman. She blinked and sat back ever so slightly. Vambran doubted she had been spoken to in such a manner in a very long time. "I was born and raised in a city of merchants, and it is the life I know. To expect me to abandon all that I was groomed for because you see your way of life as superior to mine is both short-sighted and arrogant.
"I would not presume to tell you that you should leave the woods behind forever and come dwell in the city. It is not your element. You, having most likely never been to Arrabar, would not be at ease there. You would not be able to find your way from street to street. The first cart vendor you came upon would most likely rob you blind and convince you it was a bargain. But these shortcomings do not make me a better person than you. I would not see myself as superior because I better understand the life I lead than you do. Why must you view me that way? Our paths may be different, but our values are not necessarily so separated. Though I may not care and nourish the forest as the Enclave does, that does not mean I cannot appreciate the work that you do, that I cannot value your ideals."
The woman sat and stared at Vambran for a long time. All around the great platform, no one said a thing; indeed, none of the other wood folk present were doing anything at all. They had all stopped their work at the mercenary's outburst. Vambran wondered if that was because of the passion in his words or because they were awestruck that he had the audacity to challenge the woman so.
At that moment, the pair's conversation was interrupted by a messenger arriving atop the platform. The woman turned away from the cage and moved to the new arrival. Together, they squatted down near the fire and began to converse in low voices.
Vambran turned and looked at the other five mercenaries. "I keep thinking that she looks familiar. But I've never been in the Nunwood before."
"Aye," Adyan drawled, "I was thinking the same thing. Can't quite place it, though. Do you suppose we've fought against her before?"
"I remember her face, too, but I don't think it was on the field of battle," Horial added. "But if we all three think we know her, then there's something to it."
Vambran started to nod, but before he got the words out, a disembodied voice began to speak to him. Vambran, are you alive? It was Emriana. Something's happened to Xaphira and Hetta, and Grozier has taken over the House. Please answer me, Vam. You can't be dead!
At his sister's startling revelation, Vambran rocked upright, stunned. He found it difficult to breathe. Shaking his head, he formulated an answer.
It's all right, Em. It's a lie. Uncle Kovrim and I are still alive. I'll come to you as soon as I can. Be safe.
He felt the connection break off at that point, and he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs in frustration. There was so much he needed to tell his sister.
"Emriana's in trouble," he said to the confused faces gathered around him. "Something's happened at home." He wanted to pound his fist against the stone wall of the shallow cave. "Grozier Talricci is in control, and Xaphira and Hetta-" and he stopped himself, feeling his throat constrict in sorrow and worry. "I have to get back to them," he said. "Em needs me." Then he closed his eyes in anguish. "But so do the men. I've got to get out of here!" he snarled, grabbing at the bars and shaking them.
A shadow fell across Vambran's eyes, and he looked up to find the woman standing over him, on the other side of the bars. Behind her, the camp had sprung to life, bustling with activity. He did not understand the portent of that, but he did not care. He had to get out. The lieutenant began to speak, to plead for his release so that he could save both his family and his followers, but he snapped his mouth shut again without uttering a word when he saw the look on the woman's face.
There was a very dangerous glint in her eyes.
She looked at Vambran and the others coldly as she said, "Soldiers have slain nearly every member of our order that they captured. They have bloodied the Emerald Enclave, asking for war. Now they will have it. And they will get more than they ever bargained for." She turned to go.
"Wait," Vambran said, willing her to reconsider. "My offer stands. Let us help you."
The woman turned back, rage clear on her face. "Rot in there," she said with a growl. "The Enclave does not negotiate."
"Vambran's alive!" Emriana practically shouted. "He answered me!" For the first time that day, she actually smiled. It felt good, knowing that at least part of what Grozier Talricci had told her was a lie. Her conversation with Vambran had given Emriana more relief than she could have imagined, and she began to feel some sense of hope again.
I told you not to believe Talricci's lies, Hetta said, warmth beaming from the presence inside Emriana. Your brother can take care of himself. I didn't raise foolish grandchildren, or children either, for that matter.