Mercedes Lackey - Two-Edged Blade

But it was too late to change now, and besides, she was too tired. It was all she could do to keep her narrative clear, and answer their questions with some semblance of intelligence.

Finally she came to the end of her story, and the Arbitrators came to the end of their questions.

They sent her out through a second door on the opposite side of the room, where she found a small chamber identical to the one she’d waited in before her “audience.”

It was a tiny, windowless box of a room, stuffy, and airless. There were three chairs, all empty, all equally uncomfortable, which was just as well. She wouldn’t have been able to resist the implied comfort of a padded chair, and once settled into something like that, she’d have fallen asleep for certain.

She took her seat to await their decision in the middle of the three chairs, a high-backed, unyielding piece, so tired that only the deep ache of hunger kept her awake.

That, and the fact that her imagination began to run wild. Being alone like this, with nothing to think about except her performance and possible fate, only made her worry more.

What if they don’t believe a word I said? What if they think I’m lying ? There had been no way to tell what they were thinking while she was talking; if they hadn’t been breathing occasionally, she would nave taken them for corpses. But what possible motive could I have for lying? Ambition? I was promoted under Ardana. Revenge? She never did anything to me directly. But that might not make any difference. People had mutinied against their leaders with no apparent reason before this. She worried the fear until the edges were frayed, but she couldn’t dismiss it. It seemed to be taking forever for the Arbitrators to make their decision.

She got up and paced the floor, hands clasped tightly behind her back, trying to walk softly, but unable to keep her boots quiet against the hard wooden floor. What if Ardana’s flunkies went here first, instead of the winter quarters? What if they told Ardana’s version, and the Arbitrators believe her ?

It was possible. If they had changed horses, and gone by the trade roads, they could have beaten her here easily. But she can’t argue away the casualty rate. She can’t argue away her lack of strategy.

There were plenty of excuses Ardana could make for those things, though, and Kero’s imagination was quick to supply them. Illness, inexperience, treachery on the part of their allies, unfamiliar territory, a chain of command fundamentally new to their positions....

She had managed to work herself up to such a pitch that when the door opened behind her, she jumped and uttered a muffled (and undignified) squeak of alarm. She was so rattled that she turned and just stood there staring at the newcomer, heart pounding, unable to speak for a moment.

Standing framed in the doorway was her second questioner, the friendly middle-aged man who had cross-examined her so skillfully. He stared at her for a moment, obviously taken aback by her nervous response to the simple act of a door opening behind her.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I’m kind of—jumpy. I’m letting my nerves get the better of me.” He recovered his aplomb, and smiled, and this time she had the feeling it was a genuine smile and not the facade he’d worn for her the first time they’d met. “I’m the one who should apologize,” he said. “I knew very well what you’d been through, and I didn’t make allowances for it. I’m lucky all you did was jump—with that poor fellow whose case was heard first, I might have found myself on the floor with a knife at my throat.”

She smiled wanly, and he waved her through the door. “The Arbitrators have decided in your favor, Kerowyn,” he continued, tugging his leather tunic straight with a gesture that seemed to be habit. “But they want you to hear it from them. Even though this is a decision for you, it may not be everything you were hoping for.”

All of the tension drained out of her, leaving her limp and ready to accept just about anything. She obeyed his direction, and found herself back in front of the table, facing the three granite-faced Arbitrators.

Now that she knew they’d decided for her, she looked at them a little more closely. All three of them were older than she’d first thought; old enough to be grandparents, though she had no doubt that any of the three could challenge her at their chosen forms of combat and quite probably beat her. They all had that indefinable air of the professional mercenary; cool, calm, unruffled, and quite able to take on whatever needs doing.

Two men, and one woman; all three had probably worked themselves up from the ranks. She smiled a little to herself. If they had come up from the ranks, they weren’t going to appreciate what the Skybolts’ Captain had done to her people. Ardana was going to get short shrift from them, if she hadn’t already.

The woman spoke; she had the seat on Kero’s left, and looked a little older than the other two. “We’ve decided in your favor, Kerowyn,” she said, her voice surprisingly soft and melodic. “We agree that you had every right and every reason to sever your contract, and that you did so legally.”

That was all she had ever wanted to hear. “Thank you—” she started to say, but the woman interrupted her with an upraised hand.

“Your Captain was and is a fool,” she said, “but there’s nothing in the Guild Code preventing fools from being in command, or from getting their people hurt or killed. We aren’t in the business of telling Captains how to command; we only deal with violations of the Code. The Guild allows only one kind of retribution for Captains of her sort—the kind you took. Severing contracts neatly and legally until she is in command of nothing. Do you understand me?”

Kero put a lock on her reaction of disappointment and nodded. “What you’re saying is pretty much what I’d expected,” she replied, trying not to think of those friends still trapped under Ardana’s command until the end of the Company contract. Only then could they sever their relations with her.

Of course, they would have one advantage over Kero. There would be no record of insubordination in their files.

The woman smiled ever so slightly; the barest hint of a curve to her weathered lips. “Unfortunately, no matter what we put in your record, it is unlikely that any bonded Company will ever accept you again. I hope you realized that, if not when you severed, at least when you’d had a chance to think all this out. Mercenaries who sever contracts in the field, even under extreme provocation such as you experienced, tend to be viewed with a jaundiced eye by other commanders. After all, by their way of thinking, if you do it once, what’s to stop you from doing it again? To them, it’s just another form of desertion under fire.”

Well, that was what I thought, although I’d rather she hadn’t said it. Kero sighed. “I understand that, sir,” she said, rocking a little back and forth to ease her aching feet.

“But I wonder if you really know what that means in terms of the immediate present,” the woman persisted. “This is the lean season. The only places hiring right now are Companies. I understand that you have very little in the way of savings. You are going to find it all but impossible to find work here in Selina, and you won’t have the wherewithal to go elsewhere.”

Kero blinked. “But—what about going bonded freelance?” she asked, wondering what on earth she was missing. “I thought bonded freelancers were always in demand. All anyone is going to check is whether or not I am bonded—”

“If you can find work,” the woman told her. “You have no experience outside of a Company. This is winter. No caravans, no warfare, no hunting where someone might need a tracker who is also a fighter, no work as a city guard and damned near no bodyguard work. Nothing’s moving. No one is going anywhere. I can promise you that there is no work in Selina for someone of your talents.”