Mercedes Lackey: Two-Edged Blade

There’d been a really bad rainy season a couple of years ago; they’d had to cross a flood-swollen river, and Kero’s packhorse had gone under. That was before she’d taken to wearing the blade all the time; she’d thought for the crossing that it was safer strapped to the packs. She’d just barely made it onto the riverbank when the pain of the overstrained soul-bond started. The Company Healer had thought it some sort of curse, until she’d gasped out an explanation of just what it was she’d lost—between spasms of blinding agony that left her helpless even to speak. The entire Company had gone out into the storm to look for the damned thing and bring it back.

They’d found it, before sunset—but that put her in a position of debt she was determined to repay. After a lot of careful thought and consultation with the Company hedge-wizard she’d found a way; she’d coaxed the blade (with much emphasis on how many females were in the Skybolts) into extending its anti-magic protection to include a fair amount of ground in her immediate vicinity. Actually, her protections covered more area than the Company mages could, which made her rather popular when the mage-bolts began to fly.

Thinking about that, she patted the hilt of the sword the way she patted Hellsbane’s neck. Now that I’ve got you cooperating, my lady, you’re even more useful than you were to Kethry. I’ve heard more than one Skybolt say he’d sooner trust your abilities than that hedge-wizard of ours.

For a moment, at the back of her mind, she seemed to hear a kind of sleepy murmur of pleasure; but it was too faint for her to be certain. She’d never yet figured out how much—or how little—intelligence the sword had. Or how much it understood or even heard of what she said to it. These occasional little whispers, like the vague mutterings of a sleep-talker, were the closest she ever got to communication.

Many of the Skybolts were a little fearful of the blade, as well as respectful of it and its powers. So that set her apart as well.

Then there was the problem of sex....

Not within the Company. There’s too much potential for trouble, and I have to live with these people.

There were pairings within the Company, and some of them worked very well. But some of them didn’t, and when that happened, it spilled over onto everyone else. And in the middle of a campaign that could get people killed.

Tarma had warned her about that, too, and she’d been right. “You don’t sleep around in the Company, ” she’d said. “ They’re your family, and you don’t bed your brothers. Or sisters, ” she’d added as an afterthought.

Wise advice. But it made Kero very much a loner—and in a case like this, bivouacked leagues away from civilization, it also didn’t leave her very much to do.

All my jewelry-carving equipment is back at the winter quarters; I never thought I’d need it now. I suppose I could go find the Healer and get her to teach me how to knit those ankle-braces, she thought, combing her fingers through Hellsbane’s coat. Or I could roach the mare’s mane. Or I could poultice the stone-bruise on Shallan’s remount. Or I could find some flat river pebbles and draw up another set of hound-and-stag stones for someone. Come to think of it, Shallan wanted a set.

As if the thought had summoned her, Shallan strolled up to the picket line, currycombs in hand, hoof-pick in her belt, short, white-blonde hair gleaming like a cap of silver-gilt in the sun.

“What’s the word?” Kero asked her. “Anything new on the grapevine?”

“Word is that we’re supposed to take prisoners,” she replied, tossing one of the currycombs to Kero. “Word is there’s some pretty good circumstantial evidence that these whoresons really are Karsite regulars, but nothing direct. Lerryn wants to prove it, and the rest of the Captains are in agreement.”

“So we take prisoners?” Kero asked. “Which means afterward, we make somebody talk.”

“Contract says they’re bandits,” Shallan pointed out with bloodthirsty glee. “ Karse says they’re bandits. Bandits don’t fall under the Code. Which means when we’ve got ’em, we make ’em talk. However.”

“And if it turns out they’re Karsite regulars?” Kero persisted.

Shallan shrugged fluidly, the leather of her tight black tunic moving with her shoulders. “Five years ago, ‘bandits’ murdered just about every man in Feldar’s Teeth after they’d surrendered. Three years ago a half-dozen men from the Doomslayers—actually prisoners of war, and waiting for Guild ransom—were tortured by Karsite priests. And what was ransomed later was a clutch of completely mindless husks. Two years ago, more of these ‘bandits’ overran the Hooters’ winter quarters and killed the civilians—while the Hooters themselves were out putting down a rebellion in Ruvan, and weren’t even near Karse.” Shallan’s voice betrayed the tense anger her face and posture wouldn’t reveal. “Each time, the Guild levied a big fine. Each time Karse just paid it. No denial, not even a comment—they just paid it.”

Kero frowned, dusting her hands off on her mud-brown leather breeches. “That’s odd.”

“Odd? Great gods, it’s a slap in our face! It’s like they’re saying we’re so lowly, such vermin, that they want everyone to know what they did.” She dropped her voice, so that Kero had to lean closer to hear. “Look, Kero, I know I’m a year younger than you are, but I’ve been in the business since I was fourteen. My mama was a Sunhawk. I’ve seen a hell of a lot, most of it not real pretty by civilian standards, and most of it doesn’t bother me any more. This is my job, you understand? And I don’t get worked up about things that go on in it—but I’ll tell you right now, for what I’ve seen the Karsites do to my friends and their friends, well, I’d kill ’em for free and dance on the graves after.”

Kero knew Shallan was tough, for all that Shallan was a head shorter than she was, and looked frail enough for a wind to blow away. That fragility was entirely false; Shallan was as tough as the black leather she wore, and as impervious to damage, and in all the time she’d been with the Skybolts, Kero had never seen Shallan frightened.

But she was frightened now, afraid of the Karsites, and all her brave words about “killing them for free and dancing on the graves” couldn’t hide that.

For a heartbeat or two, Kero felt trapped by the blue intensity of Shallan’s eyes. Then she broke free of that hypnotic gaze, aided by Hellsbane’s restive stamping. Shallan could do that, now and again; but only when she felt so strongly about something that it was worth living or dying to her.

“I don’t know about taking prisoners,” she said quietly, turning away and going back to work on the gray’s dusty hide. “The more I hear about the Karsites, the less I want to do with them. Almost seems like if you acted like they do, you’d be in danger of becoming like them. But if Lerryn wants prisoners—well, that’s an order, isn’t it?”

“Aye, that,” Shallan agreed. Kero did not like the tone of her voice.

Dear gods, she sounds like she’d be perfectly happy to volunteer for the crew who’re going to be “persuading” these prisoners to talk—assuming we catch any. And now that I think about it, she’s not the only one to sound that way about these so-called bandits, or the Karsites in general.

She felt a little sick. For all that they were the enemy, for all the atrocities they had meted out, she couldn’t picture herself handing the same treatment back to them. Kill them, yes, but cleanly. She couldn’t agree with Shallan’s attitude. They’re so damned vindictive about this, all of them. But maybe I’m the one who’s out of line, here. Shallan’s lover lost a sister in some fight or other—there’re others in the Skybolts that lost friends and family along through here, over the past five years or so. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I just don’t feel that angry at them because I just can’t seem to get really attached to anyone, not even my own blood-kin.