Kate Elliott - Shadow Gate

'What's our strength today?' he asked when the senior reeves had settled onto the benches around him with their gruel, salted fish, and soft goat cheese.

Medard was a young man — by Joss's estimation, that meant anyone under thirty — with a mean streak a mey wide. 'Get rid of Toban. That hells-rotted vermin walked hand in hand with Yordenas and the worst of his bootlickers, and now he whimpers that he'd no choice but to cozy up to them in order to spy for the sake of the rest of us, those of us who suffered. Or the ones like Dovit and Teren who just disappeared.'

'I didn't see you leading the resistance,' said Darga, an older woman with a blade of iron in her gaze. 'You went running Yordenas's errands up in the Barrens every chance he gave you.'

'To stay alive! I tell you, that cursed Horas wanted nothing more than to murder me, with the blessing of his sniveling comrades. He would have done it, too, if I hadn't kept myself away from the hall. I ran no errands for Yordenas!' He was flushed with indignation. 'You just ask in some of those villages up in the Barrens, who was it who presided over their assizes when no one else would step in? That was me!'

'Here, now,' said Joss. 'What's past is past. As it says in the tale, "no use trying to build with a charred log". Toban will be given a chance to do the duty assigned him. If he scants it or neglects it, then we'll censure him what the dereliction has earned. We have lost too many reeves as it is, some dead and others flown off.'

'Where does a rogue reeve and his eagle make their perch?' Darga asked. 'Who will take them in?'

'I don't know,' said Joss. 'That's why we need Toban under supervision, doing such tasks as he can be trusted with and thereby freeing up other reeves for patrol. We're dealing with a desperate situation in the north. We have to find out what is happening, who these people are who are attacking throughout the Hundred. We have to maintain constant communication with Clan Hall, and the other halls if we can. We must be prepared for anything.'

A girl with the slave mark tattooed at her left eye ran into the hall, sweating and out of breath. Every person there hesitated, with spoon half raised to mouth or cup to lip, sentences cut off, laughter

choked down. They were like dogs and children who have been kicked once too often: expecting the worst.

She grabbed hold of her braid as for courage, and quick-stepped up to the head table. 'Marshal.' The squeak of her tiny voice made Medard snort and folk at nearby tables titter.

Joss rose to survey the hall until every voice was stilled and no one moved. The girl wasn't much more than ten or twelve, a fawkner's assistant's slave by the look of her clothing, someone to sweep the floors and fetch and carry.

'Go on,' he said, trying out a kindly smile. 'Do you have a message for me?'

She whispered in that scrap of a mouse's voice. 'An eagle's dropped in. Carrying a-' Her voice faded, and he barely caught the last two words. '-Qin soldier.'

'Aui!' He straightened.

'The hells!' muttered Medard. 'I don't trust those outlanders with their funny eyes and their strut. I hope you're not going to make us eat with one of them.'

Joss laughed, although he wanted to slug the horse's ass. 'That's funny, I recall one of the Qin soldiers remarking the same thing. I wonder why that might be.'

With a grin to point the sting, he left before Medard could decide whether a retort was worth the risk of insulting his new marshal. Siras scrambled after.

As Joss walked alongside the girl, he considered his position within the reeve hall as an outsider brought in to restore order. He couldn't decide if the night's dance with Verena would earn approval or disdain from the hall at large, and so far no one was ready to challenge him to his face. Medard's carping seemed of a piece with his personality, nothing serious. So far.

Out on the parade ground, a fawkner and his assistant had raced up to take charge of the newly arrived eagle on its high perch. The reeve was unhooking a Qin soldier from the harness that allowed a reeve to haul a passenger hooked in front.

When he saw Joss approaching, the Qin soldier spoke a word to the reeve and then came over. 'Marshal Joss!'

'Tohon, greetings of the day to you. I'm surprised a man of your position among the Qin was chosen for messenger duty.' He

grinned, because the other man was a little white about the eyes, like a panicked horse.

Tohon was a man willing to laugh at himself, as well as being a superb scout. 'I was the only one brave enough to volunteer. Hu! A good horse under me is all I need! Not wings. Still.' He eyed the eagle, whose feathers were ruffled as it decided whether to settle in or take off. He glanced heavenward, to the eagles circling above. 'It's amazing how much you can see from up there.'

'True enough. A man of your skills can truly appreciate it. What's your report?'

'We are tracking down the remnants of the Star army as it runs north. We need more reeves out on patrol. They can spot soldiers hiding, or those lagging back. I will tell you this.' He scraped a hand through hair mussed by the wind. He was a man somewhat older than Joss, stocky, fit, and as tough as they came. Entirely ruthless, Joss suspected, when it came to the honor and safety of his captain. 'There are refugees everywhere. They wander down the roads, they get in our way, they beg for help or throw rocks at us. What do you want us to do with them?' He paused, and when Joss did not reply right away, went on. 'We cannot restore order when so many landsmen wander away from their homes. Also, soldiers from the army can walk among the refugees and pretend to be what they are not.'

Joss rubbed his forehead. 'Eiya! A heavy list of complications. Let me think on it.'

Tohon's grin flashed. 'My boys need me back by evening. I thought I would piss myself, I was so scared at first, but then I got to staring so much I forgot where I was. Hu! The land looks different from up there.'

'That it does. I'll not keep you longer than I have to. Meanwhile, if you go to the eating hall, a reeve named Medard will get you something to eat.'

Back at the marshal's cote, Joss sent Siras to fetch Volias. While he waited he downed the third cup of wine, then composed himself with a satisfied smile, having hatched his revenge.

Volias slithered in with a smirk on his ugly face. 'Medard's spouting. You gave him a real kick in the ass by sending that Qin bastard in to ask for food. Especially that one fellow, their special scout.

That cursed smile of his makes me nervous, and I swear to you he figured your angle the moment he walked into the eating hall, he's that canny, and it amused him to tweak a few ears. He pretended not to know how to use a spoon! I don't think Medard likes you better for making his ears red.'

'Medard doesn't need to like me,' said Joss equably, just barely able to suppress a smile.

Volias glanced suspiciously around the chamber, which was no neater than it had been this morning. And the wine cup was empty.

Joss slid an unused cup — there were four more on the tray — over to the ceramic bottle. He picked it up and tipped it. There was just enough to fill a new cup. He set down the bottle and pushed the cup toward Volias. Siras, hovering by the door, made a move toward the desk, as if to take the bottle away for refilling, and then with the graceless charm of a young man who hasn't learned to disguise his thoughts, made himself stop and sit down beside the open door. No doubt they had given him instructions: Don't let the marshal drink too much.

'For me?' Volias picked up the cup, held it briefly beneath his nose to take in the aroma, then downed it in a gulp. Setting the cup down, he licked his lips. 'Not bad. I trust I'm about to hear something I won't like.'