“Nay, Heribert,” said Sanglant quietly before the cleric could hasten after him, “he has his own demons to fight. Let him be for now. Yet I would gladly know what he said to them.”
The Quman slaves had by now all picked themselves up, shrugging bruised shoulders, licking away blood that trickled down from their nostrils, all of it done awkwardly because their hands were tied up tightly behind their backs. Bayan and Sapientia hurried up, having heard the commotion.
“Do they trouble you?” demanded Bayan. “I can have my men kill every one, but first I must wait on my mother. She sometimes likes to take one of these—” He spat at the feet of the nearest one, shoulders taut and one hand on his sword hilt as if he meant to cut their throats himself. “—as a slave. But such maggots as this are unworthy even to be slaves.”
“I think they’re not really born of human blood,” said Druthmar in a low voice. “You’d think it hadn’t hurt them at all. There’s no shame in saying what hurts when a wound is honorably won, or dishonorably given.” He, too, glanced toward the hired guards, a motley-looking crew of mercenaries who had probably been bandits preying on innocent travelers two months ago.
“No shame,” agreed Sanglant. He beckoned to Brother Breschius. “Do you know what my frater said to them? I know you have experience with the tribes.”
“Nay, Prince Sanglant,” said Breschius. “I was a slave among the Kerayit, not the Quman clans. I know a few words of Quman, it’s true, and indeed I believe he made some comment about their mothers, but beyond that I could not understand what he said.”
“What do you care what the frater said to them?” asked Sapientia scornfully. “They’re only Quman. More beasts than people.”
“They’re soldiers. We have need of soldiers, I believe. If they aren’t Pechanek Quman, then there’s no reason we can’t take them into our army as well and use them to fight Bulkezu.”
Bayan stiffened as though he’d been spat on, turned abruptly, and walked away into the market.
Sapientia turned angrily on Sanglant. “You know how he hates the Quman. It was Quman who killed his son. How can you even suggest that we use Quman troops?”
“I’ll use what I must to defeat Bulkezu. There is far more at stake here and now, Sapientia, even than this. As I will tell you when we have more privacy. Any man or woman who will fight for me, I will take into my army. If Bulkezu is not defeated soon, if the Seven Sleepers are allowed to act as they will without opposition because we quarrel about which men we deign to use to do our killing for us, then we will be no better off than that poor lad, led away in chains.” He gestured toward Lord Thiemo, loitering like a faithful dog a discreet distance away from the palanquin as he waited for Blessing. “Nay. We’d be lucky to be slaves. More likely we’d be dead and our father’s kingdom shattered and overrun.”
ess Otlinde’s hired guards bolted forward with their staffs and began beating the bound prisoners into submission.
It wasn’t a pretty sight. The Quman who had howled curses at Zacharias hunched over, taking hard blows without a whimper. In its own horrible way, it was an impressive display of toughness.
But it was a waste.
“For the sake of God,” said Sanglant harshly, moving in to drag off the most rabid of the hired guards, who was whacking away like a crazed man at the Quman now driven to his knees below him. “Hold!” The man whirled, thinking to strike the prince, but Sanglant caught his arm in mid-strike and held it, staring him down. After a moment, the hired guard shrank away, called off his fellows, and retreated to a safe distance, glowering. His victim spat out a few teeth and wiped blood off his chin. Staggering slightly, he stood, lifting his chin to look up at Sanglant, meeting his gaze. In the end, after a long battle, it was the Quman who looked away first.
“What was that?” Sanglant grabbed Zacharias’ shoulder and spun him around. The frater was breathing hard, as though he’d been running, and sweat streamed down his face. “I would have been better amused if I knew what purpose it serves to beat them senseless.”
“Forgive me, my lord prince.” Zacharias could hardly speak because he was panting so hard, flushing and almost stammering. “I only wish it were Bulkezu trussed up in their place. My mother always told me I was better armed with my tongue than many a man who carries spear and shield.”
“If they hadn’t been tied up, they’d have torn you to bits,” observed Heribert, who had retreated a few steps, letting Lord Druthmar’s broad shoulders shield him.
Zacharias spoke again, hoarsely, still catching his breath. “Griffin wings, my lord prince. They’d never stab in the back a man wearing griffin wings.” With a shuddering sigh, he strode off into the crowd.
“Nay, Heribert,” said Sanglant quietly before the cleric could hasten after him, “he has his own demons to fight. Let him be for now. Yet I would gladly know what he said to them.”
The Quman slaves had by now all picked themselves up, shrugging bruised shoulders, licking away blood that trickled down from their nostrils, all of it done awkwardly because their hands were tied up tightly behind their backs. Bayan and Sapientia hurried up, having heard the commotion.
“Do they trouble you?” demanded Bayan. “I can have my men kill every one, but first I must wait on my mother. She sometimes likes to take one of these—” He spat at the feet of the nearest one, shoulders taut and one hand on his sword hilt as if he meant to cut their throats himself. “—as a slave. But such maggots as this are unworthy even to be slaves.”
“I think they’re not really born of human blood,” said Druthmar in a low voice. “You’d think it hadn’t hurt them at all. There’s no shame in saying what hurts when a wound is honorably won, or dishonorably given.” He, too, glanced toward the hired guards, a motley-looking crew of mercenaries who had probably been bandits preying on innocent travelers two months ago.
“No shame,” agreed Sanglant. He beckoned to Brother Breschius. “Do you know what my frater said to them? I know you have experience with the tribes.”
“Nay, Prince Sanglant,” said Breschius. “I was a slave among the Kerayit, not the Quman clans. I know a few words of Quman, it’s true, and indeed I believe he made some comment about their mothers, but beyond that I could not understand what he said.”
“What do you care what the frater said to them?” asked Sapientia scornfully. “They’re only Quman. More beasts than people.”
“They’re soldiers. We have need of soldiers, I believe. If they aren’t Pechanek Quman, then there’s no reason we can’t take them into our army as well and use them to fight Bulkezu.”
Bayan stiffened as though he’d been spat on, turned abruptly, and walked away into the market.
Sapientia turned angrily on Sanglant. “You know how he hates the Quman. It was Quman who killed his son. How can you even suggest that we use Quman troops?”
“I’ll use what I must to defeat Bulkezu. There is far more at stake here and now, Sapientia, even than this. As I will tell you when we have more privacy. Any man or woman who will fight for me, I will take into my army. If Bulkezu is not defeated soon, if the Seven Sleepers are allowed to act as they will without opposition because we quarrel about which men we deign to use to do our killing for us, then we will be no better off than that poor lad, led away in chains.” He gestured toward Lord Thiemo, loitering like a faithful dog a discreet distance away from the palanquin as he waited for Blessing. “Nay. We’d be lucky to be slaves. More likely we’d be dead and our father’s kingdom shattered and overrun.”