public reprisals? The commander of the supply wagons made a mental note to suggest to Fergox
that the populace be reminded forcefully that they were under occupation and should give all
cooperation to their new masters.
"Can't wait to be back in Holt," complained the commander, riding his horse at the head of the procession. Twenty carts rumbled along behind him, full of food and arms for the Felixholt
garrison. "Got a nice little girl tucked away in the Dovemarket at Tigral. She thinks soldiering is all fighting and heroics and don't believe me when I tell her it's grunt work for idiots."
His second-in-command riding beside him nodded as he chewed on a piece of dried meat stolen
from the supplies.
"My boys are the same--all mad to be soldiers and won't listen to me," he remarked. "Still, we're nearly there now, sir. There're some good inns in Felixholt and the priests are allowing extra
fights to the death in the Wargod's ceremonies--soldiers against prisoners. Should be worth
seeing."
Just then the bridge on the road in front of them exploded in a cloud of dust and a deafening
report. Fragments of wood and stone rained down on the soldiers. Horses screamed and reared
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in panic.
"Draw your swords!" yelled the commander, mastering his mount and galloping back down the
line. His
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second was lying in the mud, struck through the eye by flying shrapnel.
Resistance fighters in green and brown emerged from the bushes on either side of the road.
Arrows flew out of the trees, picking off the men in the wagon driving seats. Soldiers fell to pike
and sword before they had time to raise their own weapons. The commander found himself face
to face with a dark-skinned rebel on a fearsome warhorse, far superior in height and skill to his
own. Their swords met but he knew within seconds he was out-classed.
He felt fear, then pain, then nothing.
The fight was short and bloody. Nerul had instructed that they should take no prisoners and
allow no one to escape to carry news of the attack to Felixholt.
The supplies and men were simply to vanish from the road. Melletin took command of the
wagons, ordering his men to roll them onto some rafts constructed for the purpose. They were
quickly poled away by the watermen into the reeds, their stores to be used to supply the
resistance and feed the needy people of the region. The heavy horses were led off to stables in
out-of-the-way farms. The bodies of the enemy dead were stripped and then thrown into a pit
some distance from the road for mass burial. It was ugly and brutal work. Ramil was revolted by
the bloodshed but he knew it was necessary. These wagons were the lifeline of Fergox's army--
an army that would kill all who stood in their way. As rider of the fastest horse, he and a handful
of others were sent in pursuit of those who had lied. This felt particularly horrible work, cutting
down men who were trying to escape. But if they carried word
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of the resistance to Fergox, the reprisals locally would be merciless as the population would
rightly be assumed to be harboring enemies of the Empire.
The last man down, Ramil dismounted and vomited into the reeds. He would never again make
the mistake of thinking that battle was glorious.
Tashi had known nothing about the raid. By the rules of the resistance, such things were kept
strictly to those who were involved, so she was surprised to find Melletin's tent empty when she
called by late that evening. She hadn't dared come back before now; her cheeks still flushed as
she remembered Gordoc's ham-fisted attempt to advise her. She'd spent hours agonizing that
Ramil would be thinking worse of her and finally could stand it no longer.
She had to come and see him just to check that he was still her friend.
Finding no one at home, she decided to wait for a few minutes. She made herself comfortable
by the stove, throwing on a couple more logs to warm the place up for the men when they
returned.
"My pretty!" Gordoc stood in the doorway, beaming at her. He was wet and covered with mud
and other stains, looking quite wild.
"Are you all right?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes, yes, just a little tussle out on the road. Nothing for you to worry about."
Gordoc strode to a washstand and began to clean himself up. The water turned pink as he rinsed
his hands.
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Tashi got up to pour fresh water into the basin for him. "Where did you get hurt? I can't see a
wound."
"Nor will you, Princess. I'm afraid that's not my blood but the other fellow's."
"Oh." Tashi tried not to think too much of what his great fists had just been doing. She'd seen him fight before, of course, but that had somehow felt different. "Where's Ramil?"
"Finishing up the job."
"You mean he's fighting too?"
"Like a tiger."
Tashi sat down to wait with Gordoc. An hour passed and the giant began to get restless. Tashi's
mind was whirling, imagining all sorts of horrible fates for their friend. He could have been
captured, killed, thrown from his horse in the dark . . .
The flap to the tent opened and Ramil stepped in, his face grim.
"Thank the Goddess!" Tashi exclaimed, rushing towards him. So relieved to see him alive and
well, she wanted to hug him but was too shy to do so. She hovered awkwardly an arm's span
from him.
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"What are you doing here?" Ramil asked. He knew the words sounded ungracious, but she was
the last person he wanted to see, sullied as he was by the deeds of that evening.
She stepped back, interpreting his mood as coolness towards her. "I just stayed to see that you
were safe. I'll go now."
He caught the edge of her cloak as she passed. "No,
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I don't mean it like that." He wanted to break down and cry on her shoulder, tel her how ugly
and disgusting kil ing was, how men died hard deaths, calling for their loved ones, but he
couldn't. He was doing it to protect her from all that. He couldn't tell her the truth.
But Tashi could see the misery in Ramil's face: it made her heart ache. She glanced up at Gordoc.
The big man was tactfully retreating to the sleeping quarters, sensing that Ramil did not need an
audience right now.
"What's the matter?" she asked softly, placing a hand on his arm.
His shoulders heaved in a racking sob.
"Oh, Ram." She pulled his head down towards her chest, allowing him bury his face and cry
himself out. Then when the sobs had stopped, she let him rest there, gathering himself to face
her.
He pushed her gently away. "I've made you all wet."
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"It's no matter."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize--and don't explain. I can imagine what you've seen--what you've had to do.
There is no shame in grieving for the horrors of war."
Ramil collapsed onto the pillows, exhausted by the events of the day. Tashi refilled the basin and
washed his face and hands with a cloth like a mother tending a feverish child. He watched her
through half-closed lids, marvelling that anything so beautiful could be near him now and not be
revolted. He noticed that he had left a smear of blood on her skin.
"Here." He took the cloth from her and reverently