right. Pigs who take on the responsibilities of the Lord Of All and think women can tell men how to get closer to God."
Sarkos shrugged. "A woman can take me to heaven any day. Anyway, the Faith may be pigs, but they're not thick."
"True," Scarra admitted.
"So, you just stay here until my scouts confirm an escape route."
Something settled in Scarra's mind. He didn't like that Sarkos had opined that Hasso had been right about being short-changed. Hasso had run out after that, and Scarra had thought he had followed Kell and got himself killed. Now another idea struck him; Hasso might be the one who had led the Faith straight here. The further thought occurred that Sarkos and the other Red Daggers might change sides and join with their old comrade to turn Scarra in. In which case, he didn't want them to know what he would do now. That way they couldn't tell the Faith. "No... Never mind the escape routes. I've run enough. We'll make a stand."
Sarkos nodded. "Good for you."
"I will, however," Scarra said, "return to the main house. If it comes to it, it is more defendable."
"You've got guts, I'll give you that."
"The Lord of All is with me," Scarra assured him. He didn't say that he was simply bone-tired. Maybe he'd been frightened enough over the past few days for the power of that emotion to wear off. He had grown up in Nürn and moved down to Pontaine well before the last war, when his father defected to the Brotherhood and raised him into that sect. He had earned the right to buy this estate from his father, who had handed over the deeds with great pride. The small church would stay in the hands of the Brotherhood this way.
Scarra momentarily remembered the service in which he, his father and several other members of the family had joined the Brotherhood of the Divine Path in the wake of the elder Scarra's failure to become Anointed Lord of the Faith. So much could have been different if that had happened, Scarra knew. For one thing, he would never have ended up subordinate to that arrogant schemer Goran Kell.
Scarra knew that he had been used and he hadn't minded so long as it hurt the Faith, but he knew Kell had kept secrets from him. Worse, he knew Kell hadn't really trusted him, despite his years of loyalty to the Brotherhood. And now Kell had abandoned him instead of protecting him. Intellectually, Scarra knew Kell was protecting himself, but in his heart it was still a betrayal that had to be repaid.
At least his father had died in the war and thus been spared burning in a gibbet at the behest of the Faith. His father had made a good escape and so Scarra would too; preferably without dying though. A diversion would do the job as just as well.
"Good luck, Scarra." Sarkos gave him a salute. "We'll do what it takes."
"I know." With a sigh, Scarra shook Sarkos' hand in a warrior's wrist to wrist grip.
"You paid for a service, you get that service," Sarkos said. Scarra wished he could tell whether the man was being sincere, or making some dig about only being paid half. If it was the latter, then it was a surely a sign that he was about to betray Scarra.
Dead Tree Brook was small but trickled quickly along a wide, stony bed between two slopes of olive trees. The vineyard was beyond it, further upstream. The Swords were progressing on both sides of the stream, creeping towards Scarra's estate.
Nobody was surprised, as they neared the estate, to hear a distant rumble.
"Riders," Erak said. "decent horses too, not farm drays. Form up. We're about to have company."
Gabriella tensed as fifteen riders emerged from the groves on either side of them. They were all in leather amour, some with mail shirts or iron helms, and all carried swords or axes. There were no javelins or crossbows as far as Gabriella could see. Their shields were painted with blood-coloured daggers.
The mercenaries didn't attack, but took up positions in a semicircle in front of the Swords, blocking their path. One of them rode forward. "This
Sarkos shrugged. "A woman can take me to heaven any day. Anyway, the Faith may be pigs, but they're not thick."
"True," Scarra admitted.
"So, you just stay here until my scouts confirm an escape route."
Something settled in Scarra's mind. He didn't like that Sarkos had opined that Hasso had been right about being short-changed. Hasso had run out after that, and Scarra had thought he had followed Kell and got himself killed. Now another idea struck him; Hasso might be the one who had led the Faith straight here. The further thought occurred that Sarkos and the other Red Daggers might change sides and join with their old comrade to turn Scarra in. In which case, he didn't want them to know what he would do now. That way they couldn't tell the Faith. "No... Never mind the escape routes. I've run enough. We'll make a stand."
Sarkos nodded. "Good for you."
"I will, however," Scarra said, "return to the main house. If it comes to it, it is more defendable."
"You've got guts, I'll give you that."
"The Lord of All is with me," Scarra assured him. He didn't say that he was simply bone-tired. Maybe he'd been frightened enough over the past few days for the power of that emotion to wear off. He had grown up in Nürn and moved down to Pontaine well before the last war, when his father defected to the Brotherhood and raised him into that sect. He had earned the right to buy this estate from his father, who had handed over the deeds with great pride. The small church would stay in the hands of the Brotherhood this way.
Scarra momentarily remembered the service in which he, his father and several other members of the family had joined the Brotherhood of the Divine Path in the wake of the elder Scarra's failure to become Anointed Lord of the Faith. So much could have been different if that had happened, Scarra knew. For one thing, he would never have ended up subordinate to that arrogant schemer Goran Kell.
Scarra knew that he had been used and he hadn't minded so long as it hurt the Faith, but he knew Kell had kept secrets from him. Worse, he knew Kell hadn't really trusted him, despite his years of loyalty to the Brotherhood. And now Kell had abandoned him instead of protecting him. Intellectually, Scarra knew Kell was protecting himself, but in his heart it was still a betrayal that had to be repaid.
At least his father had died in the war and thus been spared burning in a gibbet at the behest of the Faith. His father had made a good escape and so Scarra would too; preferably without dying though. A diversion would do the job as just as well.
"Good luck, Scarra." Sarkos gave him a salute. "We'll do what it takes."
"I know." With a sigh, Scarra shook Sarkos' hand in a warrior's wrist to wrist grip.
"You paid for a service, you get that service," Sarkos said. Scarra wished he could tell whether the man was being sincere, or making some dig about only being paid half. If it was the latter, then it was a surely a sign that he was about to betray Scarra.
Dead Tree Brook was small but trickled quickly along a wide, stony bed between two slopes of olive trees. The vineyard was beyond it, further upstream. The Swords were progressing on both sides of the stream, creeping towards Scarra's estate.
Nobody was surprised, as they neared the estate, to hear a distant rumble.
"Riders," Erak said. "decent horses too, not farm drays. Form up. We're about to have company."
Gabriella tensed as fifteen riders emerged from the groves on either side of them. They were all in leather amour, some with mail shirts or iron helms, and all carried swords or axes. There were no javelins or crossbows as far as Gabriella could see. Their shields were painted with blood-coloured daggers.
The mercenaries didn't attack, but took up positions in a semicircle in front of the Swords, blocking their path. One of them rode forward. "This
Similar Books
