Mercedes Lackey - Oathblood

* * *

Jadrie moved in past the man relieving himself, creeping along on her belly like a rabbit under cover of the brush, freezing every time she heard a twig snap or thought she might have disturbed a branch. The hiss of liquid on snow covered her little mistakes, though, and it probably didn't hurt this man was still thinking more about the state of his stomach than about possible enemies. Now she was grateful for all of the hours spent learning to do this very thing, grateful that Tarma had taught her so well she could creep up on a dozing deer without waking it. Only when she was past the kidnapper and between him and the camp did she stand up.

Then she began sneaking through the scrub the way a common child would -- moving slowly, but not slowly enough, and disturbing plenty of twigs and branches on the way. Sure enough, the man saw her movement, then saw only a child trying to escape, and cursed, leaping to exactly the conclusion they wanted.

"Get back here, you brat!" he spat -- but not so loudly that he would alert anyone else. Jadrie knew why, another lesson in reading the state of an enemy camp. The leader of these men tolerated very little in the way of weakness, and nothing in the way of failure. This man and his fellows were already in disgrace because of their illness, and the leader's temper was in no fit state to be disturbed. The men were afraid of incurring further wrath, sick, and not thinking very clearly. This man, confronted by a harmless child running off, would not admit that he could not catch her himself. He would not raise a hue-and-cry, because that would cause the leader to punish all of them for allowing the child to escape in the first place. He would not want to waste time going back quietly for help -- time in which the child could escape. He was like a coursing-hound with a rabbit starting up just under his nose; all of him focused on pursuit to the exclusion of everything else.

And that was what made this whole plan possible. Tarma and Warrl had already taken care of the sentries, but there was a camp full of men to be eliminated before the partners could effect a rescue. Jadrie had already played this ruse twice; this was the third time, and it continued to work.

At the first word, she looked back over her shoulder, and broke into a run. Reacting just like a hunting hound, the man remembered only that if the leader discovered the girl had slipped past him, he would be in horrible trouble, and sped after her.

She led him on a path she had already scouted, and to a destination of her own choosing, over the hill and into the valley on the other side. She looked back over her shoulder from time to time, but he wasn't putting on any unexpected bursts of speed.

Even if he does , she thought, panting, there's always Warrl. Warrl, who was running alongside him, invisible in the darkness. Warrl, who could make a single leap and tear out his throat before he could shout....

But that wasn't where she was leading him; Warrl was only her backup. When he was far enough from the camp that no sound he would make could alert the other kidnappers, he learned that it isn't wise to run into unknown territory after even the most tempting of targets.

It was a lesson he would never profit by, however, though perhaps his ghost would be comforted by the fact that his teacher was the famous Need.

While her mother cleaned Need's blade, Jadrie went back in search of another victim, glad that it had been too dark for her to really see the end-game of each stalk. She wasn't-quite-ready for that. Better not to think about it for now.

Better concentrate on narrowing their odds. At some point -- soon -- the odds would be with them. She went back into the scrub and headed for the welcome yellow eye that was the campfire.

As she slipped through the brush, Warrl appeared beside her. She didn't start, perhaps because she had attuned herself so closely to these scrubby woods and her erstwhile partner that she had anticipated him before he actually arrived.

:Another,: he said in her mind. :This way.:

She followed him, as she had done the last two rimes. She suspected that he might be fiddling with the minds of their enemies, too subtly for detection. They certainly were drinking an awful lot of water, with the attendant requirement to go rid themselves of it. And they weren't thinking, either -- or they would have noticed that three of their number had gone out and not come back yet.

But maybe Warrl wasn't doing anything. After being so sick, the men were surely very thirsty. Maybe it was just sheer luck.

Maybe she wasn't going to argue the point.

This time she lured her quarry to Tarma; that was her choice, when she had one. Tarma was only braining the men with a stout log; it was her mother, under the influence of Need, who was wreaking sheer havoc on the hapless enemy. Now Jadrie really understood some of the comments that Tarma had made in the past about the sword, and she was altogether glad that she wasn't going to inherit such a troublesome treasure. Granted, Need's abilities could come in handy, but the idea of an inanimate object that was so downright bloodthirsty made her feel more than a little sick herself.

The man looked up as she deliberately broke a twig, and sighed instead of cursed. "Little one -- don't run," he said with weary patience as she looked back at him. "There is nowhere to go, not even a shepherd hut for leagues and leagues. You are sick, you will die of cold. Come back to the wagon-"

She ran, glancing back. He shook his head and lumbered after her, still calling to her.

"I will catch you sooner or later," he promised. "Then I will have to carry you back and lock you in. Do you truly wish to be locked in?"

She was a little ashamed at leading this fellow to an ambush, even if he was an enemy. He seemed to be the only one who was treating her friends with any sort of kindness.

At least it'll be Tarma, and the worst he'll have is a horrible headache-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a dull thud and the sound of someone crumpling into the brush and hitting the ground.

"Hated to do that, but better me than Keth," Tarma whispered. "At least we know we saved the one decent one. Now go get me another, kitten, you're doing fine."

* * *

Kira swiftly drew her tiny knife from her boot, and stared at the leader, menacing him as best she could. He looked down at the slender blade in mild surprise.

"Stay away from us," she told him. "I don't want to hurt you."

"What a pity I need to kill you, child," he said. "You prove more entertaining by the moment." He regarded her as he would have examined a particularly interesting insect, and she felt very much like a poor little bug that was about to be squashed.

I can't kill him -- maybe if I hurt him, Meri can get away-- But she knew with a sudden sick feeling that she couldn't even manage that; maybe if she'd been older, bigger, maybe if she'd seen and done more, but not now. Not when she was too small to take him bare-handed, not when it wasn't a daydream, not when she knew what human blood looked like. Her hand started to shake.

I'll just keep him occupied long enough for Meri to run. That was all she could manage.

He stepped toward her a pace, with his hands spread wide. He wasn't holding his own knife; he wasn't even trying to grab her. What did he think he was doing?

His next words told her. "So -- let me see what you are made of. Let me see if a foreign child has half the courage of a Jkathan child." His sardonic smile told her that he really didn't expect her to show even an ounce of courage. "Come at me! Do what you will! I will not even stop you! A child of my people would be at my throat like a mad dog by now!" His eyes taunted her. "What? Have you no stomach to make good on your threats?"