When Tain didn't respond, he continued bitterly, "Yes, there's pain in it for Torfin Hakesson. I was in love with Shirl. She used me. To get into the Tower."
"That's sad. We'd better go in. Be careful. They're not going to be glad to see you. Caydarmen burned the Kosku place. One of his girls was killed."
"Damn! But it was bound to happen, wasn't it?"
"Yes. And that was just the beginning. Kosku went after Olag and Grimnir. He was killed too."
"Which one did it?"
"Too late. Olag, but he's dead too. He killed Mikla and wounded Toma first, though."
"Help me with the saddle. I can't stay."
"Stay. Maybe together we can stop the bloodshed here."
"I can't face them. They already hate me. Because of Shirl."
"Stay. Tomorrow we'll go to the Tower. We'll see the Baron himself. He can stop it."
"Mikla lived with Stojan's daughter. The old man will want to avenge him."
"All the more reason to stop it here."
Torfin thought again. "All right. You didn't cut me down. Maybe you have a man's heart."
Tain smiled. "I'll guard your back, Trolledyngjan."
XV
Rula and Toma were talking in low, sad tones. Tain pushed through the doorway. Silence descended.
Such hatred! "Torfin will stay the night. We're going to the Tower in the morning. To talk to the Baron." Tain glared, daring opposition.
Toma struggled up. "Not in my house."
"Lie down, damn it. Your pride and fear have caused enough trouble."
Toma said nothing. Rula tensed as if to spring.
"Tain!" Steban whined.
"Torfin has said some hard things about himself. He's almost too eager to take his share of responsibility. He's willing to try to straighten things out.
"In no land I know does a father let his daughter run away and just cry woe. A man is responsible for his children, Toma. You could have gone after her. But it's easier to play like she's dead, and the Witch of the Tower has nothing to do with you. You sit here hating the Baron and refuse to admit your own part in creating the situation . . . ."
He stopped. He had slipped into his drillmaster's voice. Pointless. Recruits had to listen, to respond, to correct. These westerners had no tradition of personal responsibility. They were round-eyes. They blamed their misfortunes on external forces . . . .
Hadn't Toma blamed Mikla? Didn't Rula accuse Toma?
"That's all. I can't do any good shouting. Torfin is spending the night. Rula. Steban gave you a package."
She nodded. She refused to speak.
"Thank you."
For an instant he feared she hadn't understood. But the packet came with a murmured, "It's all right. I'll control my feelings."
"Is the broth ready?" He felt compelled to convince Rula.
She ladled a wooden bowl full. "Tain."
"Uhm."
"Don't expect me to stop feeling."
"I don't. I feel. Too much. I killed a man today. A man I didn't know, for no better reason than because I responded to feelings. I don't like that, Rula."
She looked down, understanding.
Steban chimed, "But you were a soldier . . . ."
"Steban, a soldier is supposed to keep the peace, not start wars." The almost-lie tasted bitter. The Dread Empire interpreted that credo rather obliquely. Yet Tain had believed he was living it while marching to conquest after conquest. Only when Shinsan turned upon itself did he question his commanders.
"Tain . . . ." There was a life's worth of pain in Steban's voice.
"People are going to get killed if we don't stop it, Steban." Tain tapped herbs into Toma's broth. "Your friends. Maybe there are only six Caydarmen. Maybe they could be beaten by shepherds. But what happens when the Baron has to run?" He hoped Toma was paying attention. Steban didn't care about the long run.
Toma's eyes remained hard. But he listened. Tain had won that much respect.
"Governments just won't tolerate rebellion. It doesn't matter if it's justified. Overthrow the Baron and you'll have an army in the Zemstvi."
Toma grunted.
Rula shrieked, "Tain!"
He whirled, disarmed Steban in an eye's blink. Torfin nodded in
"That's sad. We'd better go in. Be careful. They're not going to be glad to see you. Caydarmen burned the Kosku place. One of his girls was killed."
"Damn! But it was bound to happen, wasn't it?"
"Yes. And that was just the beginning. Kosku went after Olag and Grimnir. He was killed too."
"Which one did it?"
"Too late. Olag, but he's dead too. He killed Mikla and wounded Toma first, though."
"Help me with the saddle. I can't stay."
"Stay. Maybe together we can stop the bloodshed here."
"I can't face them. They already hate me. Because of Shirl."
"Stay. Tomorrow we'll go to the Tower. We'll see the Baron himself. He can stop it."
"Mikla lived with Stojan's daughter. The old man will want to avenge him."
"All the more reason to stop it here."
Torfin thought again. "All right. You didn't cut me down. Maybe you have a man's heart."
Tain smiled. "I'll guard your back, Trolledyngjan."
XV
Rula and Toma were talking in low, sad tones. Tain pushed through the doorway. Silence descended.
Such hatred! "Torfin will stay the night. We're going to the Tower in the morning. To talk to the Baron." Tain glared, daring opposition.
Toma struggled up. "Not in my house."
"Lie down, damn it. Your pride and fear have caused enough trouble."
Toma said nothing. Rula tensed as if to spring.
"Tain!" Steban whined.
"Torfin has said some hard things about himself. He's almost too eager to take his share of responsibility. He's willing to try to straighten things out.
"In no land I know does a father let his daughter run away and just cry woe. A man is responsible for his children, Toma. You could have gone after her. But it's easier to play like she's dead, and the Witch of the Tower has nothing to do with you. You sit here hating the Baron and refuse to admit your own part in creating the situation . . . ."
He stopped. He had slipped into his drillmaster's voice. Pointless. Recruits had to listen, to respond, to correct. These westerners had no tradition of personal responsibility. They were round-eyes. They blamed their misfortunes on external forces . . . .
Hadn't Toma blamed Mikla? Didn't Rula accuse Toma?
"That's all. I can't do any good shouting. Torfin is spending the night. Rula. Steban gave you a package."
She nodded. She refused to speak.
"Thank you."
For an instant he feared she hadn't understood. But the packet came with a murmured, "It's all right. I'll control my feelings."
"Is the broth ready?" He felt compelled to convince Rula.
She ladled a wooden bowl full. "Tain."
"Uhm."
"Don't expect me to stop feeling."
"I don't. I feel. Too much. I killed a man today. A man I didn't know, for no better reason than because I responded to feelings. I don't like that, Rula."
She looked down, understanding.
Steban chimed, "But you were a soldier . . . ."
"Steban, a soldier is supposed to keep the peace, not start wars." The almost-lie tasted bitter. The Dread Empire interpreted that credo rather obliquely. Yet Tain had believed he was living it while marching to conquest after conquest. Only when Shinsan turned upon itself did he question his commanders.
"Tain . . . ." There was a life's worth of pain in Steban's voice.
"People are going to get killed if we don't stop it, Steban." Tain tapped herbs into Toma's broth. "Your friends. Maybe there are only six Caydarmen. Maybe they could be beaten by shepherds. But what happens when the Baron has to run?" He hoped Toma was paying attention. Steban didn't care about the long run.
Toma's eyes remained hard. But he listened. Tain had won that much respect.
"Governments just won't tolerate rebellion. It doesn't matter if it's justified. Overthrow the Baron and you'll have an army in the Zemstvi."
Toma grunted.
Rula shrieked, "Tain!"
He whirled, disarmed Steban in an eye's blink. Torfin nodded in
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