“It’s not too late to change our minds and head for Fort Rycharn,” Sarma said after a moment. Ulthar looked at him sharply, and the short, stocky fifty shrugged. “I’m not saying I think it’s a wonderful idea, but at least it’d be warmer. And once we cross over into that”-he twitched his head at the uninviting terrain beyond the portal-“we’re going to be moving hell for leather and any air patrol that spots us is going to wonder what the hells we’re doing. If we made for the Mahritha portal we’d at least be heading towards our people instead of obviously avoiding them! And I’m pretty sure Five Hundred Klian would at least listen to us before he slapped us into the brig.”
“Something to be said for that, I guess,” Ulthar replied after a moment. “Personally, though, I think the idea really sucks.”
“That’s one of the things I like about you, Therman. That tact and exquisite sensitivity to the sensibilities of others.”
“Screw tact. Are you seriously suggesting we do that?”
“No.” Sarma sipped his own bitterblack. “The notion does possess a certain comfort quotient, though. We’ve been completely off the grid ever since the mutiny, in more ways than one. Don’t you find it at least a little tempting to consider getting back into a world we know about?”
“No, not at the moment.” Ulthar leaned forward to lift the bitterblack pot from the heating crystal and refresh his mug. “And not just because I don’t think for a minute that the Five Hundred could keep us alive long enough for anyone else to listen to us. We still owe Regiment-Captain Velvelig and his people for the way they were treated, Jaralt. We both gave the Regiment-Captain our word to accept his orders, too, and all the Sharonians have more than pulled their weight getting us this far. Besides, I’ve come to the conclusion the Regiment-Captain’s probably smarter than both of us put together.”
“And trying to change plans at this point would be a really good way to touch off a firefight we might not survive. You forgot that bit,” Sarma said dryly.
“I’m damned sure it would touch off a firefight.” Ulthar snorted. “For that matter, at least some of our boys would side with the Sharonians. They’ve done the math on what’s likely to happen if whoever’s behind all this gets his hands on us before we hear back from Duke Garth Showma.”
“You’re probably right. But I didn’t broach the idea to suggest we should do it, Therman. I’m bringing it up because it’s occurred to me that it’s entirely possible one or two of our people might be thinking that making a run for Fort Rycharn and turning the rest of us in would be a way to get their own arses out of the dragon’s reach.”
“I don’t think I like that thought very much,” Ulthar said after a long pause.
“I don’t either, but we need to be thinking about it. And as you just pointed out, Regiment-Captain Velvelig’s smart enough to be thinking the same sort of thoughts. I think it would be a really good idea for the two of us-and Sahrimahn-to make sure we’re on the same page he is.”
“You’re probably right.” Ulthar’s scowled down into his mug and grimaced. “Damn, I don’t like that thought. I really don’t.”
“The good news is that I’m probably worrying more than I ought to,” Sarma said. “I mean, if anyone really wanted to desert, he could’ve done it when we crossed into New Uromath.”
“Yeah, but at that point they’d’ve been in the middle of nowhere, with the rest of us wondering where they’d gone,” Ulthar pointed out. “The entire garrison at that excuse for a portal fort couldn’t’ve been more than fifty or sixty men. If we’d had to take it out instead of sneaking around it, we sure as hells had the firepower for it, and that was the only place they could’ve gone. I’m pretty sure most of them are smart enough to figure out what the rest of us-and especially the Regiment-Captain-would’ve done if we’d figured out they’d gone running to the fort to report us. No,” he shook his head, “if anybody’s really thinking about turning his coat on us, he’ll wait until he has a clear run for Mahritha.”
“Probably,” Sarma acknowledged. “If it’s any comfort, anybody who might be thinking that way’s almost certainly one of my boys or Sahrimahn’s cavalry. Your Second Andarans are about as all in on this as it’s possible for someone to be!”
“Well, of course they are!” Ulthar’s frown turned into a grin. “Unlike the rest of you, we know exactly what the Duke’s going to do. By now Arylis has to’ve delivered my report to him, and none of my boys have any doubt about what’s been heading down-chain towards us ever since. So we’re not in any hurry to be throwing ourselves into the dragon’s mouth in the meantime.”
“Faith,” Sarma observed, sipping bitterblack, “is a wonderful thing. I just hope to Hali it’s not misplaced.”
* * *
“Ready to proceed, Regiment-Captain,” Therman Ulthar said an hour later as he reined in his unicorn beside Namir Velvelig and Company-Captain Traisair Halath-Shodach, Velvelig’s senior surviving subordinate. His tone was rather more formal than the one he normally used when addressing the Sharonian he’d come to know so well over the last several weeks. Sarma and Fifty Sahrimahn Cothar came cantering up behind him, their unicorns moving with the almost feline stride to which Velvelig had finally become accustomed.
“Any cold feet on your side?” he asked now, raising one eyebrow by perhaps a thirty-second of an inch. For a moment, Ulthar looked blank, then grimaced once the spellware came up with the Andaran equivalent of the cliche.
“Not that we know of, Sir,” he replied, glancing at his fellow Arcanans. “Everyone’s present and accounted for at the moment, at any rate.” He looked back at Velvelig and shrugged. “Actually, Jaralt and I were rather hoping that particular concern wouldn’t have occurred to you. Not that we figured there was much chance it wouldn’t.”
“People are people, Therman, whether they’re Arcanan or Sharonian. Much as I didn’t think I’d ever say this while I was locked up in my own brig, your lads are about as good and solid troops as I’ve ever seen. They’d be more than human if at least some of them weren’t thinking about it, though.”
“The thought had occurred to me, too, Sir,” Halath-Shodach said, stroking his flowing mustache with a gloved finger. “But to be honest, I haven’t seen any sign of its occurring to any of Fifty Ulthar’s men.” He smiled a bit crookedly. “Maybe they’re just not as corruptible as Sharonians.”
“Oh, we’re just as corruptible,” Ulthar replied a bit more grimly. “That’s what we’re all doing out here, after all-coping with someone’s corruptibility.”
“But not your boys’ corruptibility,” Halath-Shodach said. As a Shurkhali, he’d been filled with just as much hate for all things Arcanan over Shaylar’s death as any garthan in the Arcanan Army had been infuriated by Halathyn vos Dulainah’s “murder” at Sharonian hands. And like his Arcanan trail companions, he’d had to do some profound rethinking once he learned the truth. In the process, he’d become something suspiciously close to an Arcanan sympathizer.
Where some Arcanans were concerned, at any rate.
“I don’t know if I’d go as far as Traisahr, Regiment-Captain, but I think we’re good,” Cothar said, meeting the Sharonians’ eyes levelly. Velvelig gazed back at the cavalry officer for a moment, then nodded.
“In that case, I think it’s time we were going. I trust your little navigating rock is ready?”
“It is,” Ulthar assured him, lifting his navigation unit and showing him the activated display. At the moment, it was still oriented to New Uromath; the instant they crossed back into Hell’s Gate it would shift to the stored navigational data for that universe, although only a sixty mile radius around the Mahritha portal had been mapped and loaded when Sarma and Cothar passed through on their way towards Thermyn. A broader upload was undoubtedly available by now, but what they had was enough for their present need.