Heirs of the Blade_ Shadows of the Apt_ Book Seven - Adiran Tchaikovsky [248]
Enough to kill us, she had to concede, but the odds she faced were simply extremely bad, not actually overwhelming.
That thought made her laugh, startling her fellows, but then her reputation amongst them was for bloody-handed madness, so this did not seem out of character.
Tynisa stood watch, peering into the gathering darkness and waiting for Salme Elass’s next assault. Occasionally she thought she heard wings overhead, but no onslaught came from the trees.
How many of them have we killed, in all? she wondered. With her blade to aid them, and with the great doomed assault Varmen had made on the enemy camp, the brigands had certainly given far better than they had received. This was helped by Salme Elass’s lust for vengeance, which had made her throw her people pell-mell at them, in whatever numbers could be mustered, rather than conserving her strength. Still, that vengeance would mean the end of the bandits, however long it took. She would keep spending the lives of her own people until nobody was left, and most of all until Tynisa herself was dead.
If I walked out there now and gave myself up . . . She glanced back at her companions: Che she would die for certainly, Thalric, probably not, and she barely knew Maure. Of the others, they were desperate, violent men, and scarcely worth a grand sacrifice.
She found, though, that she liked and respected them, their leader most of all. She had seen him shepherding his people all the way from Leose to this forsaken place, and decided he was a man to admire. If the Commonweal could have recognized such qualities in a man of common blood he would no doubt have become a war hero, an officer, a tactician. But all that life had granted him was to be a leader of criminals.
Che appeared at her elbow. ‘I’ll take over now.’
‘You get your sleep,’ Tynisa urged her.
Unlike the meek girl she remembered, Che managed a smile with about a hundred years of pain and wisdom in it. ‘And you’re so fresh, after a day running and fighting? We’ll need you tomorrow, so go get something to eat with the others, then sleep. And be thankful the nights are still long.’ When Tynisa opened her mouth to protest, Che added, ‘And I can see in the dark, like a Moth.’
Her tone was almost commanding, imperious, and Tynisa found that her natural reaction was to nod and obey. But you and I will talk, about what has happened to you.
The bandits had stoked up the embers of a fire, and the walls around them helped a little to confine the heat. They all looked ragged and drained, but they were passing around jerky and grain cakes, and someone had a little pot reluctantly coming to the boil. To her amusement they were making kadith, Soul Je producing a roll of sad little dry bundles to steep in the water.
‘How the other half lives, is it?’ she asked, elbowing herself some room and sitting down.
‘Kadith is an ancient and inviolable ritual,’ Soul Je replied softly, almost reproachfully.
‘And besides, what are we saving it for?’ added Dal Arche. The brigands produced a motley collection of drinking vessels, from clay bowls to tin cups that still bore the stamp of the Imperial army.
Thalric was carefully bandaging Mordrec’s shoulder with torn cloth. The Wasp’s armour, metal plates sewn into cloth, had taken some of the force, but the arrow had still driven in some way.
‘Well,’ he said, after the kadith had been shared out, just a half-cup for each, ‘this will be it then?’
There was sober nodding about the fire.
‘We’ve given them a run, though,’ one of the Dragonflies remarked.
‘We were close, too,’ added the other. ‘They won’t forget us.’
‘Small comfort,’ Thalric muttered.
‘Oh?’ Maure challenged him. ‘And when the next leader comes along to rouse up the underclass, is it no consolation at all that the work of those gathered here will inspire them?’
Thalric gave her a bleak look.