David Weber - Hell Hath No Fury

"Two Thousand Harshu thought you might make such a counter offer," Toralk said. "He instructed me to tell you that he doesn't have the authority to agree to such a broad exchange. He instructs me to point out to you that, as he's sure you'll appreciate, having transported at least some of the prisoners your people took when you attacked us beyond our reach, the prisoners in his hands represent an invaluable intelligence asset. He lacks the authority to surrender that asset until and unless both sides are in a position to discuss the return of all prisoners."

"Does he?"

There was something about Toralk's reply that bothered chan Skrithik. Something about the careful word selection. He couldn't put his finger on exactly what it was, yet it sent a chill through him, and he found himself hoping it was only because his bone-deep anger at Janaki's death had made him hypersuspicious of anything an Arcanan said or did.

"Very well," he said, hoping his flicker of apprehension hadn't been obvious to Toralk and Vaynair,

"suppose I make a different counter proposal. If he wants his soldiers back, I want not simply my civilians, but their construction equipment."

Toralk blinked. Clearly, chan Skrithik had managed to surprise him at least a little for the first time. The Arcanan frowned, cocking his head slightly while he considered what chan Skrithik had said, then shrugged.

"I can't say how Two Thousand Harshu would react to that suggestion," he admitted. "I would have to return and discuss it with him. Would that be acceptable?"

"Possibly." Chan Skrithik smiled thinly. "Your 'Two Thousand Harshu' is the fellow who first proposed the exchange. I hadn't even considered it. Obviously, I'll have to think about it, as well, won't I?

However, at the moment, I'm … disinclined to settle for anything less. And I suppose I should point out to you that what we're talking about is a couple of thousand 'civilians' equipped with the same weapons which blew your first batch of butchers into dog shit at Fallen Timbers. You might find an effort to

'compel them' to surrender rather more expensive than you'd like."

Toralk's face tightened slightly at the words "first batch of butchers," but he had himself well under control. Instead of some angry response, he simply nodded.

"You might be right, Regiment-Captain. That doesn't mean either side would be happy about the expense involved, however."

"True enough," chan Skrithik agreed with a thin smile.

"I would like to add one more thing, Regiment-Captain," Vaynair said, and chan Skrithik swung his gaze back to the magistron.

"What?"

"The two proposals aren't necessarily linked, Sir. The offer of our medical personnel for the wounded of both sides is independent of any agreement on exchanging prisoners."

Chan Skrithik nodded.

"I understand. And, to be honest, we've got some men-on both sides-who probably aren't going to make it without the kind of Healing you seem to be describing."

"I thought that would probably be the case, Sir." Vaynair's expression was grim. "In fact, with your permission, I've already requested Two Thousand Harshu's permission to remain here and offer my own Gift for the immediate treatment of the most critically injured while you and he make up your minds about the other aspects of his proposals."

"And did 'Two Thousand Harshu' give you that permission?" chan Skrithik asked. "After all, you say you're his senior medical officer. Is he willing to effectively add you to our bag of prisoners if the negotiation of his 'proposals' falls through?"

"I'm sure he hopes that in that eventuality, you'll allow me to return to him," Vaynair said levelly. "In fact, he told me to ask you for assurances to that effect. However," Vaynair looked chan Skrithik straight in the eye, "he also authorized me to remain whether you gave that assurance or not."

Chan Skrithik's eyebrows rose.

"That was very generous of him," the Sharonian said. "Or else he's a lot more worried about the care his wounded are likely to receive. In either case, I'm prepared to accept your offer-subject, of course, to that Sifter I mentioned. And," chan Skrithik added grudgingly, "if the Sifter passes you, I'm also prepared to guarantee your safe return whatever happens to the rest of our 'negotiations.'"thinspace""

"-and I don't give a good godsdamn what you think, Fifty! The next time you drag your sorry ass into my office and get into my face over this, I'll shove my boot so far up it you'll taste fucking leather for a godsdamned week! Now get the hell out of my sight!"

For the first time in his military career, Therman Ulthar failed to salute his commanding officer before he wheeled and marched furiously out of Hadrign Thalmayr's office. The wiry red-haired officer's blue eyes were cored with rage, his lips were white with compressed fury, and the care he took to shut the door very quietly behind him was a clearer statement of his seething anger and contempt than any violent slam could have been.

He stalked out of the office block at Fort Ghartoun literally trembling with combined fury, outrage, and humiliation, and Sword Keraik Nourm glanced up from where he'd been mending the buckle on his weapons harness.

"Guess the Hundred tied his balls in a knot," he remarked with a pronounced note of satisfaction. He shook his head and glanced at the other sword, sitting beside him on the barracks veranda and smoking a pipe. "Graholis, you'd think someone who'd been these fuckers' prisoner would get it, wouldn't you?"

Sword Evarl Harnak looked back at Nourm thoughtfully for several seconds. Then he took his pipe out of his mouth, tamped the tobacco down, and put the stem back between his teeth.

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?" he repeated in a very different tone, and Nourm's eyes narrowed.

"Don't tell me you agree with him!" the first noncom said incredulously.

"Fifty Ulthar's a right smart young fellow," Harnak replied indirectly, looking back out across the parade ground at the stables surrounded by infantry-dragons and alert sentries.

"He's only a fifty," Nourm pointed out. "You've been around as long as I have, Evarl. You've seen the dragon and smelled the smoke. You know most fifties still need swords like us to wipe their noses and change their diapers!"

"You think so?" Harnak looked back at him.

"Hells yes, I think so! I mean, take Fifty Sarma. He's a good kid, mostly. Still wet behind the ears and full of all that starry-eyed Academy crap, but a good kid. He just doesn't get it, though. Not where these bastards are concerned."

"Actually," Harnak said after a moment, his tone thoughtful, "it seems to me the real problem isn't snotnosed kids fresh out of the Academy and too stupid to understand the real world, but some old sweats who're so stupid they aren't even bothering to try to 'get it.'"thinspace""

Nourm stiffened and his face darkened.

"What d'you mean by that crack?" he demanded.

"I mean I'm getting tired of people who don't bother to listen to what's really going on out here, that's what I mean." Harnak's tone was harder, and his voice was lower pitched. "I mean I'm getting tired of people who eat up that asshole Neshok's so-called 'intelligence briefings' like they were handed down from the gods. And I mean I'm getting tired of idiots so locked up with the hate inside them that they can't even wake up and smell the fucking coffee!"

Nourm's eyes flared wide and he sat back in his cane-bottomed chair abruptly.

"What in the hells are you talking about?" Anger crackled in his own voice, but there was confusion, as well. "Godsdamn it, you were one of their prisoners! You know damned well they didn't even bother to give the Hundred a decent healer! And you were godsdamnd there when they shot Magister Halathyn!"