Mercedes Lackey - Two-Edged Blade

By Guild rules, anyone on the wounded list could sever his contract, though hardly anyone ever did.

Maybe if she walked, now, she’d wake them up, force them to see what they were being lured into.

It was worth a try.

She stood up, and suddenly every eye in the room was on her. Even Ardana stopped in mid-sentence, and stared at her in mild surprise.

“I’ve never heard such a crock of shit in my life,” Kero said, loudly and bluntly. She pointed an accusatory finger at the merchant. “ He is going to get every one of us killed.” She pointed at Ardana, “And you are going to let him get away with it. Lerryn has to be spinning in his grave like an express-wagon axle.”

Ardana’s mouth dropped open; beside her, the fat merchant registered equal shock. He wasn’t thinking; just reacting. Surprise that any of these “stupid mercenaries” had seen what the “master plan” was, and outrage that the same stupid mercenary would have the audacity to challenge him on it.

Kero looked around her, slowly and deliberately. “In fact, I don’t see anyone here I’d be willing to call a Skybolt.” She turned back to Ardana, ripped the badge off her sleeve, and threw it at the Captain’s feet. “I’m severing my contract. Go hire some of that scum outside the camp to take my place. If you can find one stupid enough to go along with this.”

She turned and started to shove her way through the crowd. Behind her, Ardana suddenly woke up, and stridently ordered her to halt.

She ignored the order—as she ignored those that followed, each more hysterical and shrill than the last. Finally orders were issued to someone else—to stop and arrest her for court-martial.

That was when Kero turned back and stared her former Captain in the eyes, putting hand to hilt. “I wouldn’t try that,” she said, mildly, into the deathly quiet that followed the simple action. “I really wouldn’t. You won’t like the result.”

And she drew about an inch of blade.

Ardana went red, then white. And her hand crept to her own hilt.

That was when a half-dozen of the scouts leapt to their feet, and tore their own badges off, throwing them beside Kero’s. Then ten more, then twenty, until the air was full of the sound of tearing cloth, and there were too many people between them for Kero to even see Ardana, though she could still hear her, stridently shouting for order.

Order which she was never going to be able to command again.

Kero turned and shoved her way past the remaining Skybolts, suddenly terrified of what she’d done.

She still has a couple of loyal followers. She has people that merchant has bought. She can order them to get me, make an example of me—it’s the only way she’ll get anybody to fall into line now —

She half fell across someone’s feet as she stumbled out toward her tent, to grab whatever she could and make for the road north while Ardana was still too confused to think. The tent was not too far away, and while she was winded by her weakness and her run, thanks to Need’s work she was fully capable of riding. And Hellsbane could easily outdistance any other horse in the Skybolts’ picket line, especially now.

She flung herself into the tent, and tore open her saddlebags.

Blessed Agnira, she prayed, fervently, while she stuffed belongings into the top. Blessed Agnetha—only keep her confused. Just give me that head start—

Hellsbane regarded the pile of dead and wilted grass under her nose with uniquely equine doubt. She gave Kero a sorrowful look, one as filled with entreaty as any spaniel could have managed, and pawed the hard-packed snow.

“Sorry girl,” Kero told her wearily, all too conscious of her own hunger, and of the cold that made her feet and hands numb. “That’s all there is. And you should be glad you can eat grass; you’re doing better than I am.”

She doubted that the warsteed understood any of that, but the mare was at least someone to talk to. And talking kept her mind off of how tired she was.

She’d avoided settlements since she began this run back up north, figuring that whatever Ardana had decided to do about her, it wasn’t going to be to Kero’s advantage. They’d ridden from dawn to sunset every day since she’d left the Skybolts’ camp, while the rain became sleet, then real snow, and the snow-cover grew thicker all the time. She’d been grateful then for all of Tarma’s training, for without it she’d never have been able to live off the land in late winter.

She and Hellsbane were both in sad condition, but they were at least alive and still able to travel if they had to. The hard run was almost over now; by nightfall she’d be at the Skybolts’ winter quarters; she’d collect her gear and get on out of there. Once she had her gear, which included her Mercenary Guild identification, she’d be in a position to take her case to the Guild itself.

She looked up at the leaden sky, and thought bitterly that it was too bad that Ardana would never be called to account for her blundering. Kero had no hope that Ardana would be punished in any way—after all, there was no point in punishing someone for being stupid—but at least there’d be that much warning in the Guild for anyone thinking of joining the Skybolts. And Kero would get her name and record clear of any charges Ardana levied against her.

Then I can go free-lance, she thought, chewing on some nourishing (if tasteless) cattail roots she’d grubbed up for herself out of a half-frozen stream. Her teeth hurt from the cold, and her hands ached as much as her teeth. Damn that bitch. I’m guiltless. She’s the one who should get it in the teeth, but I’m the one who’s going to suffer. With a record of insubordination, even if it was legal and justified, no bonded Company is ever going to be willing to take a chance on me again. I’ve got a brand of “troublemaker” on me for all time. But better that than dead.

She waited until Hellsbane had eaten her own rations down to the last strand of grass, tightened the girth, and remounted, the ache of her feet only partially relieved by tucking them in close to the mare’s warm body. Riding your horse just after she’s eaten isn’t exactly good horsemanship. Sorry Hellsbane, I don’t have much of a choice. I’d spare you if I could.

The mare shook herself, and snorted, but settled to the pace willingly enough. They rode on at a fast walk under lowering skies just as they had for days past counting, long, dull days that meant nothing more than so many leagues toward their goal. But Kero’s calculations had been right on the money; sunset saw her riding up to the village that supported the Skybolts’ winter quarters, a kind of snow-capped, stockaded heart in the midst of a cluster of buildings. Kero looked up and saw it in the distance, and felt the same kind of rush of relief and “homecoming” she’d felt on riding up to the Skybolts’ camp. She quickly repressed it, but not without a lump in her throat. This wasn’t and would never again be home. Not for her.

The village was made up of fairly unusual buildings, if one supposed this to be an ordinary village. Three inns, a blacksmith, an armorer, and several other, less identifiable places that were obviously businesses of some sort. No sign of a village market, no signs of craftsmen or farmers.

The one aspect that dominated everything was that stockade at the heart of the place.

Every town that served as winter quarters to a Company looked like this, more or less. The Company would build or buy an appropriate establishment; several buildings were needed for a Company of any size. Barracks for one thing, and you could add armory, training-ground, stables, and administrative office at the least. Once the place was up and tenanted and past its first year of occupancy, the rest would follow. The only craftsmen that would establish themselves would be smiths and armorers; for the rest, members of the Merchants’ and Traders’ Guilds would take care of anything material the wintering troops needed to spend money on. And for their nonmaterial needs, the innkeepers would take care of anything they might desire. The Skybolts hadn’t been established long enough to acquire an entire town about their walls as old members retired and chose to stay nearby and raise families. Hawksnest, the Sunhawks’ wintering quarters, supported a thriving population of noncombatants.