By the Sword (55 page)

He got a good look at those lists before he sat down; lists of names, and he had a feeling that they were the lists of the dead.
He
had always left that task till last, and he didn't think she'd be any different.

She was writing little notations after each name; most looked like other names, which made him think she was probably noting who inherited the dead fighter's possessions. Before a very few of those names, she made a little mark—

Those must be the ones with relatives, the ones she has to write the letter for.
He craned his neck a little, shamelessly curious. That was the single task he had hated the most. Still
did
hate, since he still had to write letters for the families of his officers, from Lieutenant upward.

There don't seem to be a lot of those.
He grimaced a little.
Dear gods. What a sad life they must lead, that so many of them live and die with no one to mourn their loss except their fellows....

Kero sighed, and reached for a scrap of cloth to clean her pen. “Well, that's done,” she said, tossing her long blonde braid over her shoulder. “All but the letters. Damn.” For a moment she was silent, chewing absently on the end of her pen, and he couldn't help but notice that her nails had been chewed down to nothing. “At least most of my people don't have anyone outside of the Company, and a damned good thing, too.”

Daren couldn't help himself; he was so surprised to hear her voice an opinion so exactly opposite his that he blurted out the first thing that came into his mind.
“Good?”
he exclaimed. “You say that's
good?
Demon-fire, Kero, how can you say something like that?”

He could have bitten his tongue, and waited in the next instant for her to snap some kind of angry reply. When she didn‘t, when she only gave him a raised eyebrow eloquent with unspoken irony, he was just as amazed as he had been by her initial bald statement.
She's changed,
he thought numbly.
She's really changed, in deep ways, that don't show... maybe that's what's wrong. She feels things even more
now—

But there seemed to be a deeper trouble there; something more personal.

“If you're going to make your living by selling your sword,” she pointed out dryly, pointing her pen at him like one of his old tutors used to, “it's a pretty stupid idea to burden yourself with a lot of dependents who don‘t—or won't—understand that you're basically gambling with your life, betting on the odds that you won't be killed.”

“But—” he started to object.

“No ‘buts,' my friend,” she said emphatically. “My people, by the time they've seen one whole season, know exactly what they're getting into. To tell you the truth, it's
your
people I feel sorry for. You have all these farm-boys and merchant sons, minor nobles and conscripts swept up off the streets—all of them burdened with parents and sibs, friends and lovers. And when
they
become just another target, how do you explain to
those
people that their precious, immortal child is embracing the Shadow-Lover, hmm?”

He hung his head, unable to answer, because he'd never been able to find a way that convinced even himself.
War is a waste. It's my job to keep it from wasting as little as possible....

“At least my people and
their
people know what they're getting into,” she said, her voice going dull with weariness—and perhaps with emotion that she refused to display. “And if it so happens that they find someone who makes them think again about laying their life on the line for nothing but cash, they tend to get
out
before it ever comes to the letter. Your people don't have that luxury. They're in it until you let them go, or they're dead.”

He squirmed on his stool; her words had cut much too close to the bone.

Trust Kero not to be polite about it. And maybe she's right. If we're going to have fighting, maybe the only ones who should do it are the ones willing to fight for pay. I don't know. Right now I'm just glad it's over for us.
He quickly changed the subject.
And it's a good thing I have a new subject right here with me.
He dropped the saddlebag on the table, and Kero smiled knowingly at the
chink
it made as it fell. “Bonus for the archers?” she asked, and at his nod, picked it up and dropped it into a little chest beside her table. “I'll hand it out in the morning, and I hope you'll accept my thanks for them. That kind of appreciation means a lot to us.”

He nodded, embarrassed to be equating the kind of bravery that last charge had taken with the sum of two paltry gold pieces.
Then again—that's their job, isn't it? The laborer is worth the hire.
“Where are you going now?” he asked. “We finished this a lot faster than I'd thought we would; it's barely past Midsummer. Have you got another job lined up?”

She shook her head, which surprised him a little. “We'll go straight to winter quarters,” she said. “Remember, you hired us before Vernal Equinox because the Prophet had stolen a march on you in the winter; it's been plenty long enough for us. We don't need to take another job this season, and we haven't needed to take winter jobs since the second year I was Captain. Ending early in the season will give us a head start on training the green recruits, schooling new horses, healing up—” She noted his surprise, and chuckled. “That's right—Tarma never taught you all that, did she? Winter quarters is what makes a good Company stronger. When we can winter up, we get a chance to learn without killing anybody, we get a chance to get everything Healed
right.
There's another side of it, too; wintering is where we become—well—a kind of family, if that doesn't sound too impossible to you. And since the Skybolts don't
need
to take the extra jobs anymore, I'll be damned if I cheat them out of that rest time.”

She fixed him with a sharp glance, a look that told him that if he'd been considering offering them hire for the winter, he'd better change his mind.

But since that wasn't what he'd had on his mind at all, he smiled right back at her, and her expression softened and relaxed. “Is there any reason why you can't leave them for a month or two?” he asked, innocently.

“Well, no,” she replied, obviously wondering why he would ask that particular question. She waited for a reply, but he simply smiled at her, until she said, impatiently, “All right! Why do you want to know
that?”

“Because my brother wants to meet you, and this seems like a good time.” He grinned at her blank stare, and continued. “Tarma trained the lot of us, remember? But she trained us a little differently than the way she trained you—she knew you were going to end up a hire-sword, so she gave you things she never gave us. My brother wants to pick your brain. ”

“On what?” she asked, with a hint of suspicion.

“Nothing you wouldn't be willing to tell us,” Daren assured her. “He wants to know about all the bonded Companies doing business, for one thing; things the Guild won't tell us, like who can't work with whom, what weaknesses each Captain has. You're the best, Kero—everybody says so. We want to know why. We want to know if it's something we can copy. We know you'll be honest with us. And we'll make it worth your while—”

“I don't take bribes,” she replied harshly. “You won't get me to tell you Guild secrets.”

“We don't care about Guild secrets, and it's not a bribe,” he said quickly. “Just a bonus for the information. Free run through the Royal armory, your choice, whatever you can carry away in three wagon-loads with two-horse teams. We've got a lot of good horse-gear in storage, because we don't have a lot of mounted fighters. Besides, I want to catch up on what's happened to you the last fifteen years.”

She started to answer, then gave him a careful, measuring look, and hesitated. “Daren,” she said slowly, and a little sadly, “I hope this isn't a try at reviving the old romance. That's
dead,
lad, and there's no mage with a spell strong enough to resurrect it.”

He stared at her for a moment, at the expression on her face that reminded him irresistibly of someone sitting on a tack, then relieved her by bursting into honest laughter.

“Romance?” he squeaked, unable to get his breath. “Romance? With the Fire-Mare herself? The woman who thinks a seductive garment is one that doesn't have armor plating on it? With the Captain
my own people
look to before they trust
my
strategy?”

Kero stiffened—then, as he continued to howl, began to unbend a little. “Well—”

“Kero, you're a handsome woman, but gods help me—I don't fancy sharing my bed-space with you
and
that—” He pointed, and she turned to see that her sword was lying across her cot with the hilt resting on her pillow as if it were a person. She stared for a moment, then started laughing, too. That set him off again, and after a moment, both of them were so convulsed that they had tears running down their faces.

He recovered enough to wipe his eyes, and handed her the goblet of watered wine on her table so that she could take a drink and get herself under control.

“Goddess, Kero—I never thought you saw me as
that
much of a romantic!” He chuckled again, and stole the goblet from her for a sip. “No, I promise you—I
like
you, but you're the last woman I'd want to have a liaison with. You're too damned—outrageous.”

She took another sip, and made a face at him. “I did warn you, all those years ago. Still, I've learned a few things since then. I can be a lady for a couple of months if-”

“Oh, no,” he interrupted her. “I want you to be yourself; in fact, the wilder, the better. My brother's looking forward to it. He wants you to shake up his Court a little. He says they could do with some shaking up.”

She threw her head back and laughed whole-heartedly. “All right, then, I'll take you up on this. I'll be there before the end of summer, as soon as I get things arranged so I can leave. This may work out really well, actually; the cousins bring horses up every summer, and I always miss them. This time I won't. I was afraid that when the second batch came up in the fall, my people would still be in the field.”

“Perfect,” he replied happily. “Just send word ahead, so we can give you the proper reception.” She covered a yawn, then, but not before he caught it. “You're tired,” he said, rising. “I'll let you get some sleep.”

“I'd be polite, but I'm too exhausted,” she admitted, as he opened the tent flap. “And—thanks for everything.”

“You're welcome, Captain,” he said, hesitated a moment more. She still looked—haunted. And he didn't think it had anything to do with this last battle.

“Kero,” he said, as he held open the tent flap, “I—I don't know how to ask this discreetly, so I'll be blunt. Is there something wrong? Something I can help you with? Something personal?”

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes shadow-laden, and looked as if she was about to say something.

But then a clot of her troopers passed by the tent, talking in the slightly-too-loud voices of those who are just drunk enough to be convinced that they're sober. She jumped, and smiled, with a kind of false brightness.

“Nothing that a few days of rest and a few nights of solid sleep won't cure,” she said, and waved him away. “Thanks for the concern; I wish all my employers were that interested in my well-being.”

That was a dismissal if ever he heard one. He shrugged and grinned, as he let the entrance flap fall.

He mounted his horse, still being held by the patient sentry, and turned the palfrey's nose back toward his own camp.

The Skybolts' camp had settled; he heard singing, softly, over by one of the fires, and the murmur of conversation somewhere nearby, but there was nothing like the riotous celebrating still going on ahead of him.

She's really changed in other ways, too. She seems completely comfortable and stable—even happy—being entirely alone. Even if she does push herself too hard, trying to be everywhere and everything at once. And I still feel like there's someone out there, somewhere, another person who could be my complement and partner. And that's what I want, now. I don't want a “lady, ” I don't want someone to show off for. I want a woman who will back me when I need backing, fight at my side, and take me down a notch when I need
that,
and who wants me to do the same for her. A real partner.

He let the palfrey amble on at his own pace, saluting the sentry who stood beside the entrance to his own camp.
I don't know where on the face of this earth I'm going to find someone like that, though. It'd take a miracle....
Then he chuckled.
But at least I know one thing. If she exists, whoever she is, she
isn't
Kero!

 

The sunlight that had been such punishment on the battlefield now poured over Bolthaven like golden syrup, balm instead of bane. Kero stood at the open window of her office, and smiled. Five years ago, when she'd ordered the new watchtower built onto the barracks, she'd had a new office and her own quarters incorporated into the plans. The old office Lerryn had used was over in the warehouse building—not a bad place for it, except when you had to get to it on winter mornings when no one sane went out of doors. This office had the triple advantages of convenience, proximity to the barracks, and the best view outside of the platform above her. Any day that the weather was decent, she flung open the shutters to all four windows, and enjoyed an unobstructed panorama of her little domain.