We should have defaulted, Kero thought angrily, cursing under her breath as the metal scales on Shallan’s armor came off in her hands. We should have defaulted anyway. Anything is better than this. The Guild would back us, once they heard about the “supplies. “
The “war” had turned out to be waged within a House; two factions of the same merchants’ guild. Kero wasn’t sure what it was about—mines, or some other kind of raw material, she thought—and she wasn’t sure she cared. Neither side gave a rat’s ass about the welfare of the troops they’d hired—the Skybolts were just so many warm, weapon-wielding bodies to them, and if they thought about it at all, they probably assumed that the Company members welcomed a certain number of losses, as it made for fewer to split the pay at the end.
Kero had been made the officer over the scouts, and that made it all the worse for her. She was the one who had to take Ardana’s stupid orders—distilled from the even stupider orders of their employers—and try and make something of them that stood any kind of chance of working.
Kero dug into her kit for some of the half-cured horse-hide that was all they had been able to salvage from those poor, slaughtered nags, and laboriously patched it into the back of Shallan’s mail-coat. Then she stitched the scales that had come off back into that, cursing when the holes broke where they’d rusted through.
Fewer and fewer of her friends came back after each foray; she’d managed to keep most of the scouts alive, but as for the rest—
It was pretty demoralizing. Ardana didn’t have any strategy worth the name. The merchants dictated, and she followed their orders, directing the Skybolts—skirmishers all—to fight like a Company of light cavalry. They’d been cut down to two-thirds normal strength by the Menmellith affair—now they were down to half of that. Mostly wounded, thank the gods, and not dead—but definitely out of the action.
She shook the corselet and growled under her breath. Like the situation with her command, it was so tempting to just do what she could and leave the rest to the gods—but—Damned if I’m going to leave my friend half-protected. She cut the stitching on the faulty scales, took a rock from her hearth to use as a hammer, a bit of wood to use as an anvil and a nail for a awl, and punched new holes below the old ones, then stitched them back on.
Miserable cheap bastards. If I’d gone with Eldan, who’d be doing this for her?
If she’d gone with Eldan—the thought occurred a dozen times a day, and it didn’t hurt any the less for repetition.
I didn’t go with Eldan. I came back to my people. If Ardana won’t take care of them, I have to do what I can to make up for that.
And part of that was making sure her scouts stayed well-protected.
She held up the corselet and shook it, frowning at it, just as Shallan burst through the tent door, ripping one of the tie-cords loose as she did so.
“We’re being hit!” she cried, as a fire-arrow lodged in the canvas of the tent wall. Kero lurched to her feet, just as something large and panicked crashed into the tent wall.
Kero came to lying on her back, with her left arm and shoulder on fire. Literally; there was a fire-arrow lodged in her arm.
She screamed, as much from shock as pain, and rolled over into the mud. She put out the fire, but she broke the arrow off and drove the head deep into her shoulder, and passed out again from the pain.
The next time she woke, she wished she hadn’t. She couldn’t believe how much she hurt. Without opening her eyes, she took slow, deep breaths the way Tarma had taught her, hoping it would make the pain ebb a little.
- just had Need—
She had never been wounded before without having the sword with her—and now she realized just what a difference that made. She forced her eyes open, and blinked away tears of pain until she could see.
Canvas.
She turned her head to the left, since turning it to the right only made things hurt worse. Evidently she wasn’t the only victim of the camp raid; there were a dozen others laid out in various stages of injury within easy reach.
Someone stood up just beyond the last one; the Company Healer, Eren. She tried to move a little too far, and gasped; he jumped as if he was the one who’d been shot, and somehow turned in midair so that he came down facing her.
He didn’t say a word; just moved while her eyes blurred, and seemed to materialize beside her.
“What is it?” he asked, resting his hand lightly on her bandaged shoulder. The pain ebbed enough for her to speak.
“I need that damned sword,” she whispered. “It’s—I need it, that’s all.”
To her relief, since she hadn’t told anyone about everything the blade could do, he just nodded. “If you have it, can I get rid of you?” She nodded, and he narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment. “Anything that saves my strength is a bonus. I’ll send somebody off for it.”
He took his hand away, and the pain surged over her in a wave. She just endured for half an eternity—then, with no warning at all, the pain was gone.
She gasped again, but this time with relief, and opened her eyes slowly. Shallan knelt beside her, with one hand over Kero’s right, which in turn she was holding clasped to Need’s hilt.
“What happened?” she asked, only now able to think of anything besides her own pain.
“The last straw.” Shallan looked like she hadn’t slept in a while. “Or rather, several last straws. First we got hit by the natives. They’re tired of having their farms trampled, their houses looted, and their daughters raped.”
“But we didn’t—” she stopped at the look Shallan gave her.
“Much,” Shallan amended. “You officers haven’t been told everything. No rape, anyway; the lads know us women’d have them singing a permanent soprano when we found out about it. But when we’re hungry and cold and mad as hell, things happen. Anyway, mostly it hasn’t been us, they just didn’t give a damn about who it was.”
“What happened, then?” Kero asked, shamed past blushing. Have we come that low so fast?
“You were about the only real casualty in that particular raid. We lost a couple of horses, couple of tents, but mostly it looked worse than it was. All these—” she waved her hand at the wounded lying beyond Kero “—were from the guerrilla ambushes they’ve been laying for both sides. You’ve been out of things for about four days. They’re whittling us down by ones and twos is what they’re doing. Caught one, the other day. Twelve-year-old kid. Said they’re trying to make life miserable for us, the Skybolts, so we’ll pack up and leave. He said their leader figures when we leave, the fight’s over.”
“I—can’t fault his reasoning.” This was not why she’d gotten into fighting, to destroy the lives of ordinary people.
Shallan shrugged. “No more can I,” she admitted. “Well, the absolute last straw just showed up today. The merchant-men. Demanding to know why we haven’t won this thing for them, since we’re supposed to be so good.”
Outrage filled her and died just as quickly. These fat, complacent sideline-sitters didn’t know fighting, and didn’t care. They probably worked their beasts the same—use them up, throw them away. After all, we’re only mercs. No one is going to miss us....