For some reason, Dosh suddenly thought of D'ward. Tarion certainly saw nothing wrong in using the authority of rank to satisfy personal whims. Progyurg himself would certainly not argue, because Thargians put obedience to superior officers before anything else in the world, but D'ward would disapprove. Dosh felt sure of that, although he did not know why or how he knew. Well, he would think over the morals of the situation before he detailed Progyurg for special duties.
"Holy Father Abbot?” boomed the god.
The old man was still groveling. “Lord?"
"Dosh Envoy may need your assistance also. Aid him. Um. That seems to be all, doesn't it? Tee-hee! Well, I suppose you are all our servants now and we give you our blessing."
The image was marble again.
Poor Progyurg Lancer toppled to the floor in a dead faint.
38
THE ARMY HAD CAMPED AMID THE RUINS OF A GREAT MANOR. THE big house was a smoking, stinking ruin, but some of the many outbuildings had survived. Together with stone walls around yards and paddocks, these gave shelter from the cool wind that had sprung up at dusk, and they concealed the little campfires. Eltiana's red eye stared down from the darkening sky; the stars were gathering.
The Sonalby troop was crammed into a tiny courtyard. Ysian spotted Prat'han right away, and began jostling her way quickly toward him, stumbling over legs. Nagians accepted her much more readily than the Joalians did. She was D'ward's woman, and if D'ward had chosen to bring his concubine along while forbidding anyone else to do so, that was his leader's privilege as far as they were concerned. They would be shocked speechless if they knew that D'ward had never as much as kissed her. Dosh Envoy had guessed, but Dosh was a creepily perceptive person.
The Sonalby troop especially regarded the Liberator as one of themselves; they seemed to approve of his choice of woman, and now they greeted Ysian with whoops and crude jokes in the gabbling Nagian accents. They were definitely not thinking of her as a baby sister, which was a nice change. When she said she was looking for D'ward, of course, the humorists shouted that she mustn't tire the poor man, should at least wait until bedtime, and so on. The others laughed and agreed. She was used to that now. In half a fortnight with the army, she had learned a great deal about men that she had never known before, and one of the things she had learned was they rarely thought of anything other than sex. Their single-mindedness was quite astonishing.
Big, gangling Prat'han was squatting by one of the fires, roasting something on a stick. He yelled at the jokers to be quiet. Then he shone big teeth at her. “The battlemaster has gone scouting with the Thoid'lbians, lady. They wanted to see if they can climb that ruined tower. Should be back soon. Stay and keep us company, for we are all lonely for the sound of a woman's voice.” The audience shouted agreement.
Ysian was very conscious of so many men close around her, a very odd feeling, and not unpleasant. Their attention was flattering. But she had come to see if Prat'han would help her rescue Dosh, and now she realized she could not ask him in public like this. Relations between Nagians and Joalians were bad. She knew D'ward was worried; she must not do anything to make matters worse. Prat'han must know that too, so he might refuse to get involved. Or too many of the troop might get too much involved, and she would have started a riot. Bother!
"I really can't stay just now, Troopleader. I'd like to. Maybe later."
Prat'han said that was a pity. The men needed the company of beautiful women to keep their morale up. Then he held out his stick to her. Sonalby, he explained, had met with good fortune that afternoon—a marshy pond, full of fat lizards. The tails were a great delicacy, and she must eat this one while it was hot. He smiled proudly.
She took the stick and tried not to look at the smoking lump on the end of it. She would not eat lizard if she were dying of starvation, but it might be just the excuse she needed to intrude on the terrible things she had seen happening.
"This is very kind of you,” she said. “It smells delicious! You won't mind if I take it with me, will you?"
"Alas! We are heartbroken. Where must you rush off to so urgently?"
"Oh...” Ysian was already edging away over the tangle of legs. “A friend needs me. Something I must do before D'ward gets back."
Of course they chose to misinterpret her words, but nothing she could have said would have been proof against their coarse humor. With the raucous suggestions scorching her ears, she hurried off into the shadows. Her father had never talked like that. D'ward never talked like that. D'ward was different. She rather wished he were not quite so different. She thought he would approve of what she was doing now, because she knew he disliked deliberate cruelty as much as she did. She was so mad she did not care overmuch whether he would approve or not.
She detoured around the charred and stinking remains of a stable to avoid a camp of Joalians. She reached the shed she wanted. The door was ajar, casting a thin wedge of lamplight over the cobbled yard outside. The horrible noises had stopped. Ignoring sudden quiverings in her insides, she kicked the door open and marched right in. The hut was larger than she had realized, bare except for a workbench along one wall; from the smell, it was probably where wool was baled at shearing time.
Two of the Joalians were sitting on the bench, feet dangling. Two more were leaning against their shadows on the wall. Dosh lay curled up in the middle of the floor, his arms bound behind him and more rope around his ankles. The old scars on his face were hidden by blood and fresh welts, his legs were bruised and scratched. Rips in his shirt showed more bruises on his ribs, repulsively bright on his fair skin.
"Well!” One of the Joalians on the bench paused in licking his knuckles. “Brought us some supper, did you?"
"Not for you!” Ysian did not look at him. She knelt down beside Dosh and pulled out her knife. D'ward had given it to her when they left Lemod, telling her to keep it handy always.
"Hey!” the Joalian shouted. “What do you think you're doing?"
"He can't eat with his hands tied, Troopleader.” She sawed at the rope around the prisoner's wrists. It had bitten into the flesh, and his hands were hideously red.
He peered at her out of the corner of his eye, looking very astonished. He gasped as the rope parted.
The Joalian leader pushed himself off the bench, his boots thudding on the flagstones. He was big and swarthy and hook nosed. His shadow leaped up behind him, huge and menacing. “Who said you could do that? And why should a traitor eat before honest men?"
However disgusting the grisly lump on the stick seemed to her, all four guards were eying it hungrily.
"He's not a traitor until the battlemaster says so! Here!” She thrust her revolting offering at Dosh, who was struggling to sit up.
"Need a minute,” he muttered, chaffing his hands.
"You give that to me!” The Joalian bent to grab it from her.
Ysian whipped it around behind her back. “Go and get your own food! This is for Dosh Envoy.” She tried to glare up at him, but kneeling was not a good position for glaring.
"Dosh Traitor you mean! Just because you're the battlemaster's harlot doesn't give you the right to order me around, missy!” He tried again to take the stick from her. “You don't have his authority to do that!"
"Yes, she does,” D'ward said, marching in. Golbfish Hordeleader's cumbersome bulk filled the doorway behind him.