that be!’ Falling silent, the bandits turned from their booty, some with sacks of grain still clutched to their breast.
‘Let us see what else fortune had brought us this day.’ A slender, bearded man who was obviously the commander of the band broke through the ranks of his underlings and strode boldly towards the warriors guarding Mara. He paused midway between the lines, sword at the ready and a cocky sureness to his manner that caused Papewaio to draw himself up.
‘Steady, Pape,’ Mara whispered, more to reassure herself than to restrain her Strike Leader. Stifled in theconfines of her litter, she watched the bandit make a disparaging gesture with his sword.
‘What’s this? Why should men with swords and armour and the honour of a great house not fight?’ The bandit commander shifted his weight, betraying underlying uneasiness. No Tsurani warrior he had known had ever hesitated to attack, even die, since the highest accolade a fighter could earn was to perish in battle. Another step brought him near enough to catch sight of Mara’s litter. No longer puzzled, he craned his neck, then cried, ‘A woman!’
Mara’s hands tightened in her lap. Head high, her pale face expressionless, she watched the bandit leader break into a wide grin. As if a dozen warriors standing ready to dispute his conquest were no deterrent, he spun to face his companions. ‘A fine day, men. A caravan, and a captive, and not a man’s blood spilled to the Red God!’
Interested, the nearer outlaws dropped sacks of thyza and crowded together, weapons aggressively angled towards the Acoma lines. Their commander turned in Mara’s direction and shouted, ‘Lady, I trust your father or husband is loving and rich, or if not loving, then at least rich. For you are now our hostage.’
Mara jerked aside the curtain of the litter. She accepted Papewaio’s hand and rose, saying, ‘Your conclusion may be premature, bandit.’
Her poise caused the outlaw leader a stab of uncertainty; he stepped back, daunted by her confidence. But the armed company at his back lost none of their eagerness, and more men drifted from the woods to observe the exchange.
Looking past the shoulders of her guards at the slender man, Mara demanded, ‘What is your name?’
Regaining his bantering manner, the bandit leaderleaned on his sword. ‘Lujan, Lady.’ He still showed deference to one obviously noble. ‘Since I am destined to be your host for a time, may I enquire whom I have the honour of addressing?’
Several outlaws laughed at their leader’s mock display of manners. Mara’s escort stiffened with affront, but the girl herself remained calm. ‘I am Mara, Lady of the Acoma.’
Conflicting expressions played across Lujan’s face: surprise, amusement, concern, then at last consideration; he lifted his sword and gestured delicately with the point. ‘Then you are without husband or father, Lady of the Acoma. You must negotiate your own ransom.’ Even as he spoke, his eyes played across the woodlands behind Papewaio and Mara, for her confident stance and the smallness of her retinue suggested something out of place. Ruling Ladies of great houses did not place themselves at risk without reason. Something in his posture caused alarm in his men, nearly a hundred and fifty of them, as well as Mara could estimate. Their nervousness grew as she watched; some cast about for signs of trouble, while others seemed on the point of charging Papewaio’s position without order.
As if the situation were not about to turn from dangerous to deadly, Mara smiled and fingered her bracelets. ‘My Force Commander said I might be annoyed by an unkempt lot like you.’ Her voice became peevish. ‘I despise him when he’s right. Now I’ll never hear the end of his nattering!’ At this some of the outlaws burst into laughter.
Papewaio showed no reaction to this unlikely description of Keyoke. He relaxed slightly, aware that his mistress sought to lessen tension and
‘Let us see what else fortune had brought us this day.’ A slender, bearded man who was obviously the commander of the band broke through the ranks of his underlings and strode boldly towards the warriors guarding Mara. He paused midway between the lines, sword at the ready and a cocky sureness to his manner that caused Papewaio to draw himself up.
‘Steady, Pape,’ Mara whispered, more to reassure herself than to restrain her Strike Leader. Stifled in theconfines of her litter, she watched the bandit make a disparaging gesture with his sword.
‘What’s this? Why should men with swords and armour and the honour of a great house not fight?’ The bandit commander shifted his weight, betraying underlying uneasiness. No Tsurani warrior he had known had ever hesitated to attack, even die, since the highest accolade a fighter could earn was to perish in battle. Another step brought him near enough to catch sight of Mara’s litter. No longer puzzled, he craned his neck, then cried, ‘A woman!’
Mara’s hands tightened in her lap. Head high, her pale face expressionless, she watched the bandit leader break into a wide grin. As if a dozen warriors standing ready to dispute his conquest were no deterrent, he spun to face his companions. ‘A fine day, men. A caravan, and a captive, and not a man’s blood spilled to the Red God!’
Interested, the nearer outlaws dropped sacks of thyza and crowded together, weapons aggressively angled towards the Acoma lines. Their commander turned in Mara’s direction and shouted, ‘Lady, I trust your father or husband is loving and rich, or if not loving, then at least rich. For you are now our hostage.’
Mara jerked aside the curtain of the litter. She accepted Papewaio’s hand and rose, saying, ‘Your conclusion may be premature, bandit.’
Her poise caused the outlaw leader a stab of uncertainty; he stepped back, daunted by her confidence. But the armed company at his back lost none of their eagerness, and more men drifted from the woods to observe the exchange.
Looking past the shoulders of her guards at the slender man, Mara demanded, ‘What is your name?’
Regaining his bantering manner, the bandit leaderleaned on his sword. ‘Lujan, Lady.’ He still showed deference to one obviously noble. ‘Since I am destined to be your host for a time, may I enquire whom I have the honour of addressing?’
Several outlaws laughed at their leader’s mock display of manners. Mara’s escort stiffened with affront, but the girl herself remained calm. ‘I am Mara, Lady of the Acoma.’
Conflicting expressions played across Lujan’s face: surprise, amusement, concern, then at last consideration; he lifted his sword and gestured delicately with the point. ‘Then you are without husband or father, Lady of the Acoma. You must negotiate your own ransom.’ Even as he spoke, his eyes played across the woodlands behind Papewaio and Mara, for her confident stance and the smallness of her retinue suggested something out of place. Ruling Ladies of great houses did not place themselves at risk without reason. Something in his posture caused alarm in his men, nearly a hundred and fifty of them, as well as Mara could estimate. Their nervousness grew as she watched; some cast about for signs of trouble, while others seemed on the point of charging Papewaio’s position without order.
As if the situation were not about to turn from dangerous to deadly, Mara smiled and fingered her bracelets. ‘My Force Commander said I might be annoyed by an unkempt lot like you.’ Her voice became peevish. ‘I despise him when he’s right. Now I’ll never hear the end of his nattering!’ At this some of the outlaws burst into laughter.
Papewaio showed no reaction to this unlikely description of Keyoke. He relaxed slightly, aware that his mistress sought to lessen tension and
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