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Authors: Martha Wells
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inside. If that kept up, Maskelle was going to be very unamused.
One of the men was trying to enter Killia’s wagon and she was blocking him, trying to explain about the sick child inside. He refused to listen, grabbing her arm to shove her out of the way. Maskelle strode across the camp. “Leave her alone,” she said, giving him a prod with her staff.
The guard let go of Killia and stepped back, unhurt but startled.
“She’s afraid and I’ve just got her back to sleep,” Killia was explaining, exasperated. “They can look in if they just don’t wake—”
It happened so quickly Maskelle didn’t see it. She felt someone brush against her, and when she looked the guard was already on the ground, the bori club clattering off the wagon wheel. It was her swordsman who had pushed past her, who was standing with his back to her, between her and the guard who was now scrambling to his feet. The guard must have reached for her arm or, Ancestors help him, made to swing the club at her.
The other guards were drawing weapons. She thumped the swordsman in the back to warn him, and he ducked as she swung her staff up.
Unlike the river raiders, the post guards knew what that meant. They hesitated, and that gave the captain time to react. He ran between them, flinging up his arms and shouting, “Stop!”
She realized her arms were trembling, and not from the weight of the staff. Her heart was pounding and the anger a lump in her throat.
That was a little close
, she thought, sense returning. She lowered the staff. She said, “You’ve searched. Now go.”
The captain shook his head, breathing hard. He said, “What’s in that wagon?”
“A sick child,” Killia said, standing up and slapping the dirt off her pantaloons. She was too good an actress to sound angry, but the blood had drained from her face. “I told him he could look. I just didn’t want him to climb inside.”
The matter was settled an instant later when a round, wan face peered over the top of the tailgate at them and whimpered.
“See?” Killia said, dropping the tailgate and lifting the little girl into her arms.
The captain sighed and waved his men away. Some of them had the grace to look foolish, though the one who had started the trouble was belligerent and reluctant to withdraw. The captain waited until he had walked away before he said, “Sorry, Revered. It was a mistake.”
“It was almost a deadly mistake,” Maskelle told him, thinking,
I’m not doing well at this so far. Haven’t reached the city yet and I’ve almost broken my oath twice
.
He stared at her a moment, uncomprehending, then shook his head and followed his men. As the guards returned to the post, Rastim let out his breath. Maskelle asked softly, “Where is he?”
“Firac’s wagon, in the lower bed.”
“I thought they put him in yours.”
“We did, but they were going to search it and we had to shift him.”
She shook her head. She hadn’t seen them do it, though she supposed they had taken advantage of the distraction. “We’ll give him a farewell tomorrow, after we cross the dike.” A funeral on the eve of entering the Temple City was not auspicious. She went back to the fire.
There was a very worried group of Ariaden gathered there. All told, they were not a prepossessing lot, but then for the Ariaden theater that hardly mattered. Killia hovered near the tailgate of her wagon, a blanket wrapped around her, obviously not wanting to stray too far from her child.
From the expressions on their faces, the way they kept sneaking looks past her, the swordsman had followed her and was standing a few paces behind her again. She realized that was the third time he had moved to defend or protect her. And there was that number three again. The Infinite had been producing a large number of odd conjunctions lately. It could feel free to stop at any time, as far as she was concerned.
She said, “Well?”
Gardick, who always had something to say, said, “Can we
One of the men was trying to enter Killia’s wagon and she was blocking him, trying to explain about the sick child inside. He refused to listen, grabbing her arm to shove her out of the way. Maskelle strode across the camp. “Leave her alone,” she said, giving him a prod with her staff.
The guard let go of Killia and stepped back, unhurt but startled.
“She’s afraid and I’ve just got her back to sleep,” Killia was explaining, exasperated. “They can look in if they just don’t wake—”
It happened so quickly Maskelle didn’t see it. She felt someone brush against her, and when she looked the guard was already on the ground, the bori club clattering off the wagon wheel. It was her swordsman who had pushed past her, who was standing with his back to her, between her and the guard who was now scrambling to his feet. The guard must have reached for her arm or, Ancestors help him, made to swing the club at her.
The other guards were drawing weapons. She thumped the swordsman in the back to warn him, and he ducked as she swung her staff up.
Unlike the river raiders, the post guards knew what that meant. They hesitated, and that gave the captain time to react. He ran between them, flinging up his arms and shouting, “Stop!”
She realized her arms were trembling, and not from the weight of the staff. Her heart was pounding and the anger a lump in her throat.
That was a little close
, she thought, sense returning. She lowered the staff. She said, “You’ve searched. Now go.”
The captain shook his head, breathing hard. He said, “What’s in that wagon?”
“A sick child,” Killia said, standing up and slapping the dirt off her pantaloons. She was too good an actress to sound angry, but the blood had drained from her face. “I told him he could look. I just didn’t want him to climb inside.”
The matter was settled an instant later when a round, wan face peered over the top of the tailgate at them and whimpered.
“See?” Killia said, dropping the tailgate and lifting the little girl into her arms.
The captain sighed and waved his men away. Some of them had the grace to look foolish, though the one who had started the trouble was belligerent and reluctant to withdraw. The captain waited until he had walked away before he said, “Sorry, Revered. It was a mistake.”
“It was almost a deadly mistake,” Maskelle told him, thinking,
I’m not doing well at this so far. Haven’t reached the city yet and I’ve almost broken my oath twice
.
He stared at her a moment, uncomprehending, then shook his head and followed his men. As the guards returned to the post, Rastim let out his breath. Maskelle asked softly, “Where is he?”
“Firac’s wagon, in the lower bed.”
“I thought they put him in yours.”
“We did, but they were going to search it and we had to shift him.”
She shook her head. She hadn’t seen them do it, though she supposed they had taken advantage of the distraction. “We’ll give him a farewell tomorrow, after we cross the dike.” A funeral on the eve of entering the Temple City was not auspicious. She went back to the fire.
There was a very worried group of Ariaden gathered there. All told, they were not a prepossessing lot, but then for the Ariaden theater that hardly mattered. Killia hovered near the tailgate of her wagon, a blanket wrapped around her, obviously not wanting to stray too far from her child.
From the expressions on their faces, the way they kept sneaking looks past her, the swordsman had followed her and was standing a few paces behind her again. She realized that was the third time he had moved to defend or protect her. And there was that number three again. The Infinite had been producing a large number of odd conjunctions lately. It could feel free to stop at any time, as far as she was concerned.
She said, “Well?”
Gardick, who always had something to say, said, “Can we
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