Part 23 (1/2)

She could see the Lowlander wanting to glance at Lowre for his reaction, but she had said 'Yes,' already, her response following eagerly and inevitably after Ela.s.s's question. Lamplight glittered, caught on the badge that she wore.

Ela.s.s smiled pleasantly at her, saving the razored edge of her expression for the old man opposite her. Oh, I know, my Prince. Felipe Shah had apparently sent a personal request to his old friend Cean, to look after this girl. Ela.s.s had no idea why the Lowlander was so important, whether she might be some great dignitary whose death would tarnish Shah's honour, or whether this represented just one more inexplicable fragment of sentiment from the prince. But it is enough that I have taken her from them. Let them fret, and now let her live or die by her skills.

Staring across the room at Lowre Cean, Ela.s.s knew the old man could read all of these thoughts in her face. She revealed them there clearly, just for him. I will turn you to my purpose, my Prince, she reflected. When I asked you on to my lands I sought a hero, not this senile wreck of a man I see before me. You shall either recover your earlier glories or I shall strip you of all you have. And as for Felipe Shah . . .

The girl, Tynisa, had first arrived at her door with news of her son, Salme Dien. As always, the foreigners did not understand how life was amongst a civilized people. She had no such son, nor had she for many years, since long before the Lowlanders' own wars had claimed Dien's life. Felipe Shah had taken her son from her, and reworked Dien into his own creature. She still remembered the day that he had quite publicly made the request of her. Oh, it was an honour, no doubt, and because it was an honour she could not refuse it, and so she had been deprived of yet another child, and only Alain left at her side, the least promising of the lot.

But I have found a way to strike back, at last, through this Lowlander girl. Perhaps, in the end, I will kill her myself have Isendter challenge her and then cut her down. Or perhaps the brigands will spare me the trouble.

And, of course, after that rabble of thieves is dealt with, I have other plans. Then perhaps you shall find, Felipe Shah, just what happens to a prince who forgets what it means to have n.o.ble blood.

'When were you going to tell us that this was the plan?' Mordrec demanded, chasing after Dal Arche, as the bandit leader tried to walk away. Receiving no immediate response, the Wasp-kinden simply dogged Dal's steps all the way out of the encampment, still demanding, 'When, Dala? Or did you think we wouldn't notice?'

Dal's other two lieutenants, tall and close-mouthed Soul Je and the stocky Scorpion Barad Ygor, followed a few paces behind, content to let Mordrec draw their leader's ire.

At last Dal rounded on them. 'What do you want me to say?' he asked.

'I want you to tell me the truth about what this cursed plan is!' Mordrec insisted. 'Let's go raid the Salmae, you said. They've got plenty of what we need, you said.'

'And have I led you astray, in that?'

'Dala, what you failed to mention is that you thought we needed people. You had us running about picking up thieves and malcontents to bring to you, when all the while you had this business ready to spring on us.'

'Mord, this was never the plan,' Dal protested.

The Wasp blinked. 'Then what in the pits is it?'

Dal looked back at the encampment, seeing a messy aggregation of tents, lean-tos, fire pits and sleeping rolls. Spring's turning out mild, which is just as well. Most of these people never thought about where they'd be sleeping, fools that they are.

'Four villages,' Ygor the Scorpion reminded him. He spoke in an absurdly cultured drawl that originated somewhere half the world away, in a place ruled by Spiders.

'Victims of our own success,' Dal murmured.

'Success?' Mord hissed, back on the offensive again. 'I know what success looks like, to a bandit. It looks like a little loot, and n.o.body about to catch you yet. It doesn't look like p.i.s.s-near all the people of four villagers deciding to sign up with you. What are you planning to be at the end of this, Dal? A general?'

Dal tried to recall where generals featured in the Imperial scheme of things. Ah yes, at the top. 'You want me to turn them away?'

'Yes, I want you to turn them away! Maybe one in five is some use, good to hold a spear or pull a bow. We've got children out there, and old people, too. What's the point of them? Why are they even here?'

'Victims of our own success,' Dal repeated.

'Stop saying that,' Mord snapped.

Soul Je held up a long-fingered hand. 'He's right,' the Gra.s.shopper intoned.

'How is he right?'

'Mord,' Dal addressed him, 'you know that pile of loot we're sitting on, all the food, the drink, the cloth bales, the honey, the kadith, the gold? You do understand that was taxes intended for the Salmae, yes?'

Mordrec nodded , with an expression stubborn enough that Dal knew he already understood. Still, he pressed on.

'And you can see the actual villagers from here, yes? Do they look as though they got much of that stuff? You'd describe them as prosperous? Well-fed?'

'And who's going to feed them now? Do they reckon they're better off with us?'

Dal shrugged. 'Because at least we're fighting, is how they see it.'

'We're not fighting, we're robbing,' the Wasp pointed out mulishly.

'I don't mean fighting the Salmae specifically, although we will. I mean fighting what is,' Dal told him.

'Since when were we idealists?' asked Barad Ygor slowly.

'We're not. We never were.' Dal threw his hands up suddenly. 'I'd go back south, right now, if there was anything there for us, but the reasons that brought us here still hold.'

'Dala, we came to raid. That lot behind us isn't a raiding party,' Ygor stressed. 'We can't move fast. We can't get ourselves out of the way, if a hundred Mercers suddenly turn up. Or at least they can't.'

Dal looked past his lieutenants, at the camp beyond. 'You're right. We need to do something about that.'

They exchanged uncertain glances.

'You're going to turn them away?' Mordrec asked. Although it was what he had been arguing for, he sounded uncertain now.

'Separate out those who can fight,' Dal instructed. 'The three of you, take half of them, and all the non-combatants. Lead them to Siriell's Town, with your pick of the supplies.'

This was greeted with silence.

'There's nothing at Siriell's Town any more,' Ygor started slowly.

'There will be once you've repopulated it with this lot,' Dal told him. 'And before you ask me what's to stop the Mercers attacking the town again, we've s.h.i.+fted the battle lines. While we're here gnawing at their vitals, they won't be sending any punitive expedition further south.'

'I was wrong. You're not a general. Inside your head you're a prince,' Mordrec accused him.

'I'm a brigand, Mord, like all of us, but think of this. Four villages raided, now, and most of the locals just came right over to join us. We've got half again as many fighting men, even after you take the non-combatants away. If we keep rolling in that kind of support, we can raid as far as the gates of Leose itself. And where will they be able to raise a levy from, if all their peasants are under our flag, hmm?'

'We're not exactly equipped for a siege,' the Wasp pointed out, although he sounded less adversarial now, the spirit of the idea working on him.

'Let them keep their walls. I doubt that they can eat them, once they get hungry,' Dal Arche declared. 'I want the three of you gone by tomorrow for Siriell's Town, or whatever's left of it. Get your charges lodged there as soon as possible, and bring me back anyone you find who's able to fight. Bring me weapons too, as many as you can: spears, arrows, axes even whatever you can get. We've got plenty of hands all of a sudden, and nothing to put in them.'

He looked from face to face, seeing Ygor and Mordrec still unhappy, Soul Je merely impa.s.sive. 'Or what?' he asked them. 'No, we didn't ask for this. We came here to raid some villages, put a little thorn in the side of the n.o.bility, get a little plunder. We knew that the Salmae taxed hard and all we thought was that the locals wouldn't risk their necks to defend the tax collector's haul. Well, fate's dealt us more cards than we know what to do with. What would you do with what we've been given?'

'Where does it end?' Ygor asked quietly. 'We break the Salmae, and then what? Felipe Shah? The Monarch?'

Dal shrugged. 'Where does a bandit's life normally end? What were you expecting?'

'Dying rich in a Spiderlands wh.o.r.ehouse, for preference,' the Scorpion considered. 'But, seeing as I'm a few hundred miles out of my way for that, why not raise an army? Next-best thing, isn't it?'