Blades Of Illusion: Crown Service #2 (25 page)

She should be happy. Shouldn’t she?
Sara wondered.

As she walks backward,
Sara noted with some irritation.
We’re in the middle of an armed encampment. She should be able to recognize when a fight is over.

But for every step she took forward, Margaret, who had stumbled up from the ground, took another step back.

Sara tried reading her face, but she couldn’t really get a feel for what the girl was thinking. Maybe she could talk her down.

Her mouth sore from the punches, Sara tried not to wince as she said, “They’re down.”

“I know,” Margaret said. She was visibly shaking.

Sara switched to reassurances, then, thinking she was just scared. “They won’t bother you again.”

Margaret laughed. Sara studied her, wondering if the girl had just gone crazy...or if she had already been nuts.

Sara sighed in frustration, trying yet another tactic to lure the girl out of her corner. “I know you were scared, and you didn’t want to lure me into a trap. They forced you. I get it. It’s over. Okay?”

Margaret shook her head slowly.

Lovely
, thought Sara.
I’m not sure if I should classify that as progress or not.

Whatever it was, she didn’t have time for it. “Look, I have to go. Having them tell the authorities I did this is one thing. Having other soldiers discover me here red-handed is another. You understand?”

Margaret stood mute.

Sara muttered a curse under her breath. “If they find me here, they’ll charge me for insubordination and mutiny. If they find me later and can’t tie me to this, I’ll get off with a stiff warning. That’s the way it has always been. At least, if none of them die,” she added, going to retrieve the knife she had dropped before fighting Lester. “And none of them are mortally wounded. Except thigh-guy over there,” she noted. “Now where is my small knife?”

She couldn’t remember where it had gone to after she’d cut thigh-guy from groin to knee.

Margaret pointed a trembling finger to the ground where a few dark stains of blood surrounded the knife.

“Oh, thanks!” Sara said gratefully as she went over and reached down for it.

He must have pulled it out when I wasn’t looking
, she thought, deliberately avoiding looking at Margaret. In Sara’s opinion, it was a good thing that Margaret had at least had the initiative to respond to her question. Which meant that her stiff movements and refusal to say more than a few words could just be shock.

“So,” Sara said as she stayed bent over, “I’ll just be going.”

When Margaret made a sound mid-point between a growl and a wail, Sara looked up at her in confusion.

“What?” Sara asked.

Margaret shook her head, horrified. “What have you
done
?”

Guess she’s not in shock anymore.

Sara frowned, unsatisfied. “I freed you.”

Margaret yelled at her, “You didn’t
free
me! Those are Castile’s men! When he finds out what you’ve done, he’ll skin my hide and tan yours.”

S
ara finished wiping her hands and the small knife on the back of moaning man’s shirt and asked, “Whose Castile?”

Margaret whimpered and shook her head as some tears glimmered on the edge of her eyelids. “You don’t even know
anything
, do you?”

Sara was getting heartily tired of the girl saying that, so she stood up and went over. “Why don’t you explain?” she suggested coolly as she looked at her, waiting for the girl to flinch or cower.

To her surprise, the tall girl glared at her with something-akin to fire in her eyes. It wasn’t true fire, though, and it looked so small that Sara got the feeling that a beating or a wrong word would douse its flames, and once more she’d see the cowering female from moments before.

Still, Sara thought,
that’s good. It looks like whoever this Castile is, he or she hasn’t beaten the spirit out of her. Yet.

Or ever, if Sara Fairchild had anything to say about it.

Aloud, she asked, “So why don’t you tell me, who is this Castile?”

Margaret frowned, wiped away her tears with a frustrated hand, and sighed.

Sara, for one, didn’t see what she had to be frustrated about. It was
she
who had been ambushed and had to beat up over half a dozen men in the process. But she let it go. She had more important things to worry about.

She reached up a hand and grabbed Margaret’s chin lightly. With just enough force, she turned the redhead’s face so that she was looking down into Sara’s orange eyes.

Quietly, Sara said, “Tell me.”

Margaret sniffed, sucked in her left cheek, and said sullenly, “Castile is the ruler of this camp.” Sara cocked her head, silently encouraging her to continue. “He’s a mid-ranking mercenary with the protection of both the mages and imperial soldier commanders.”

“Kansid, then,” Sara said softly, very much aware of how this worked. Some officers ruled over their regiments and platoons like little fief-lords. Usually, that officer was the head honcho, the person-in-charge. Not a lackey. Someone like Kansid, not his third officer. She didn’t know what rank this Castile held; he could very well be high up the ladder. But she knew that regardless of his status or position, he would be just the same as any other false ‘ruler’ who took it upon themselves to use their power to maintain hegemony above the rest of the crowd.

Anything was fair as long as they were happy and in charge. They protected their cronies, and their cronies protected them. If Sara hadn’t been standing in the middle of the largest outpost of imperial armed soldiers, she would have called it what it was: the biggest gang of thieves on this side of the empire. But she didn’t...because she wasn’t stupid.

Margaret nodded and sucked in a breath. “That’s what they say.”

“And the supreme mage?”

Margaret confirmed. “Magpie, they call her.”

Sara’s brow creased in confusion. “Why?”

“Apparently she’s got an affinity for birds, or something like that,” Margaret said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter.”

She clammed up.

“Why not?” Sara asked gently, releasing her hold on the girl’s chin.

Margaret sniffed and relented. “Because those two, Kansid and Magpie, are so far up the ranks that a beating here or there doesn’t grasp their attention. This is the doldrums, girl. We’re at the very bottom of the ladder, which makes us fodder for any who have a mind to beat us.” Margaret looked around at the moaning men on the ground, only some of whom were still conscious, before glancing back at Sara. “Or at least I am,” she amended with a shiver.

Sara looked around at all her opponents laid out on the ground, and then her ears perked as she heard shouts. People were coming closer. Not at a fast pace, judging by the voices she could hear, but they would be here soon enough. Sara needed to be elsewhere before then.

She held out her hand and said to Margaret urgently, “Not anymore.”

“Not anymore what?” Margaret asked while folding her arms crossly.

“I pledge to protect you against Castile, but you have to help me first,” Sara said.

Margaret scoffed. “You against Castile? No way.”

Sara gestured to Lester and his crew. “I did this, didn’t I?”

“Banging around a couple men is way different than taking on the biggest non-ranking officer in the imperial army,” Margaret pointed out.

“Trust me. I can handle Castile.”

I’ve certainly handled enough thief lords in my time,
Sara thought wearily.

Margaret stared at her. “It’s not that I don’t believe you. But I don’t know if I can trust you.”

A smile cracked Sara’s face. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Margaret snorted. “So...you better get out of here. His men are coming. Castile’s, I mean. They didn’t know about this throw down, but you can be sure Lester will tell him.”

Sara looked thoughtful. “Will Castile take immediate action?”

“Against a lone woman?” Margaret asked. “Probably not. Would look bad for his image, after all. Like his little empire preys on the women of the armed forces.”

The last sentence was said with heavy sarcasm.

Sara cocked her head thoughtfully. “Does it?”

It was an honest question. Some despots in the mercenary field
did
prey on women, armed or not, but others were just greedy shmucks who wanted an equal-opportunity hand in the pot.

Margaret gave her a wry look. “Depends on who you ask. The helpless, the ones who can’t fight, like the administrators and runners like me, then yes. The majority of us are women. But don’t think Castile doesn’t have a bunch of dumb female brutes in his personal head-knocking force.”

Sara nodded. “Good to know.”

Margaret shrugged in resignation. “He’d probably recruit you.”

Her voice was hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure how Sara would feel about the proposition. If Sara
wanted
to be recruited, then it was a good thing; if she didn’t, the suggestion was an insult. But she didn’t have to worry. Sara didn’t really feel like taking out any sort of condemnation on someone innocent. Margaret was just trying to be helpful.

With deadly calm, Sara replied, “He could try.”

And that was all she needed to say. Her intent was clear. If Castile came up against her, he would leave limping with his balls in his hands or on a stretcher bound for a pyre.

Margaret looked at her with wider eyes. “You know...I believe you. I believe you when you say you’d take Castile on. I don’t know if you’d win. But I think you’d try.”

Sara bowed with a grin. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Margaret laughed. Sara noticed that the noises outside were getting closer.

Time for me to go
.

She turned and began to walk out of the small enclosure, hoping she didn’t get lost on the way.

Behind her, she heard a voice call out, “I’ll take you to your tent.”

Sara turned from the edge where she stood and frowned. “What about Lester?”

Margaret walked over the bodies and said, “Looks like he’ll be out for a while.”

“And Castile?”

Margaret shrugged. “I did what Lester asked, Castile can’t fault me for that. When I get back, I’ll tell him I ran away scared from the big, bad woman warrior.”

This time Sara didn’t smile. It saddened her that Margaret
was
going back.

“So you’re still going back?” Sara confirmed unhappily.

Margaret shot her a sarcastic look. “Of course, sweetcheeks. I got to survive somehow.”

Sara pursed her lips, but she didn’t chastise her. She couldn’t. If they had been in Sandrin, Sara would have done something about it. But they weren’t. They were on the battlefield and at war. She needed to get in and out as fast as she could, not herd every sheep from wandering too close to the wolves.

At least, that’s what she told herself as she followed Margaret Verhaas between the tents again. This time, she was on her way to find the next person she needed to talk to: Ezekiel Crane. After him, she would search for Matteas Hillan.

This time, it didn’t take them long to get to the destination Sara had intended to go to in the first place. Margaret didn’t lead her on a circuitous route or try to weave through the residential sections of the camp. Instead, they walked through the cooks’ side, past the armaments sections, and in no less than ten minutes Sara saw the small triangles that marked the two-person bunks of the lower-rung soldiers. Her people.

For now
, she thought. She kept the bloody side of her small knife hidden from casual view. She didn’t want anyone spotting the blood and calling attention to it. The
last
thing she needed was to be brought up on charges for mutiny.
As if this week could get any worse
.

When they came to a stop in front of one particular tent, identical in color and shape to the hundreds around them, Margaret bowed with a flourish and said, “Your tent, milady.”

Sara had to hide a smile as she watched Margaret grin at her own joke. The mirth in her eyes actually matched what her lips were showing. Sara knew then that it had been worth it. The aches and pains of today’s fight were all worth it for that single genuine smile.

Then Margaret stepped back and said, “I guess I’ll leave you to it.”

Her tone was hesitant, but her look was firm as she stepped around Sara and went to head back to
her
side of camp.

Or rather, Castile’s,
Sara thought miserably.

Before her companion could leave, though, Sara reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her steady. “I thought you were going to help me break someone out of prison.” She felt the young woman flinch at both the touch and her words.

Margaret shifted warily on her feet. “I know I said that.”

“Did you mean it?” asked Sara.

“Not really.”

Sara shrugged and turned to duck into the tent as she said, “Alright, then.”

“But!” said Margaret in a hitching tone.

“But?”

“But why would you even trust me now?”

Sara flashed a smile. “Everyone deserves a second chance.”

Margaret waved away the excuse. “Horse dung. Besides, I betrayed you.”

Sara twisted her lips as she tried to think of an excuse that Margaret would believe. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t want her to go back to Castile, but she also didn’t want to make herself responsible for Margaret’s continued safety. How could she keep Margaret away from Castile while also keeping Castile away from Margaret?”

Sara whistled and then said, “You want the truth?”

Margaret crossed her arms with a stubborn look on her face. “Yes.”

Sara shrugged. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You’re the only one who knows what I plan to do, and I’d prefer you not tell anyone about that plan before it happens.”

Margaret eyebrows rose. “Now that’s an excuse I can believe. But why wouldn’t you just kill me to keep your secret?”