Mamluk sat by the fire in the Embers' camp, and across from him sat Hannah Blackroad, her face turned down toward the flames and her shoulders hunched. They had taken her weapons, her money, her items and even her clothes from her before allowing her into the camp; stuffed into rough Ala Mhigan clothes a few sizes too small for her, already reddening from the blistering desert sun, she looked painfully out of place.
She was a handsome woman, Mamluk reflected, not much younger than him, strong and lithe, with luminous eyes so like her brother's - especially when she was angry - and a body that would make any red-blooded Highlander look twice. Mamluk had already caught Ornh looking, far more than twice.
But when Mamluk looked at her now, all he could think about was how he had broken her.
Ornh had given him the tools, though he hadn't realized it at the time. For all of the "Wolfheart" in his name, Ornh wasn't a cutthroat person. He had cornered Miss Blackroad in the Coffer, and she had threatened him - not for trying to recruit her, Ornh had said, but to protect Warsong from him. Mamluk had realized immediately Miss Blackroad would do anything to get them away from Warsong - up to and including taking his place.
Ornh was too gentle. Mamluk had tried to explain it to him, and even still, Ornh couldn't understand. He didn't understand how Mamluk intended to snap Blackroad's will using her devotion as a fulcrum, didn't understand how the strongest passions could be turned into the most devastating weapons. Mamluk had found that out the hard way himself, once. But what Ornh had understood was the news Mamluk had returned from the Sagolii with before, the Sandfox's implicit promise: if they failed to bring Miss Blackroad back this time, the Sandfox would get personally involved. Mamluk suspected if that happened, people would die.
That left breaking her. Better broken than dead. And best he do it himself. Ornh was gentle. Mamluk wanted him to stay that way. He figured he was beyond saving, perhaps beyond the point of wanting to be saved. He'd been drowning a long time, after all.
So he went to the Arbiter before the Grindstone, against the Sandfox's explicit orders, and informed him of what was happening. What was going to happen. They had been something like friends once, Mamluk and Warren. That was surely over now. Mamluk was cognizant that if the cause didn't kill him, Castille would. Still better than the Sandfox's involvement, though. Let it fall on his own shoulders.
Then he simply waited. Ornh watched the bridge from a hiding place and alerted him when Miss Blackroad left the Grindstone, alone and in the black and red uniform that the event staff favored. Ornh stood by Mamluk's side as he stepped out of hiding and called to her. She had looked up at him, walls high, perhaps expecting him to draw his sword. Their eyes met, and he thought of Cyrille, and of his own breaking.
It only took a few sentences. Everyone's walls have cracks in them. Thanks to Ornh, Mamluk knew where to strike. The first sentence blew a hole through the wall. The second brought it down. From the third, she was crying. He outlined for her, in those terse sentences, the inevitability of her worst fear coming to pass. Warsong's soul belonged to the cause, just as theirs did. It was their birthright, their destiny. And it would never let him go. Their very presence ensured it. Seeing them would bring him to them, no matter what he felt about the cause, no matter how hopeless Ala Mhigan freedom seemed. He was born to it, raised to it as a cattle was fattened for slaughter. And as cattle raised to be meat walked single-file through the stockyards to their destiny waiting at the hands of the axeman, so Warsong would join Mamluk and Ornh.
She had cried. She had cried so much. He watched her impassively. Ornh's face was a rigid mask as he tried to control his emotions. Ornh was gentle. But you couldn't be gentle when you broke someone's will.
And then, Mamluk offered Miss Blackroad a choice - the illusion of one, really. Come with them in Warsong's place and meet the Sandfox, and they would never bother Warsong again. And she accepted, because of course she did; broken as she was, she had no choice, none at all. He could have asked for anything and she would have given it to him, anything at all to take that vision away.
Even now, over a day later, he could see the rubble of her walls in her eyes. She was a terrified child now, staring down into the fire. Fresh-slaughtered meat for the Sandfox, whatever that man had planned for her.
Mamluk looked at Ornh, sitting next to him, also staring into the fire as if it held answers for any of them. They hadn't made eye contact since Miss Blackroad had joined them. Mamluk thought of the first time he saw Cyrille's face, how she'd pulled her helmet free, sweat-dampened hair framing her heart-shaped face, how the fire's light had made her cheeks glow as if illuminated from within. Fatigue crushed his chest and weighted his eyes.
He rose, and beckoned to Miss Blackroad to follow him. He felt Ornh's eyes trace their progress as they left. In the shadows at the silent edges of camp, Mamluk reached into his pack and offered her a gleaming linkpearl.
"Five minutes," he said. A few new bricks, perhaps, to start to mend what he had broken.
She was a handsome woman, Mamluk reflected, not much younger than him, strong and lithe, with luminous eyes so like her brother's - especially when she was angry - and a body that would make any red-blooded Highlander look twice. Mamluk had already caught Ornh looking, far more than twice.
But when Mamluk looked at her now, all he could think about was how he had broken her.
Ornh had given him the tools, though he hadn't realized it at the time. For all of the "Wolfheart" in his name, Ornh wasn't a cutthroat person. He had cornered Miss Blackroad in the Coffer, and she had threatened him - not for trying to recruit her, Ornh had said, but to protect Warsong from him. Mamluk had realized immediately Miss Blackroad would do anything to get them away from Warsong - up to and including taking his place.
Ornh was too gentle. Mamluk had tried to explain it to him, and even still, Ornh couldn't understand. He didn't understand how Mamluk intended to snap Blackroad's will using her devotion as a fulcrum, didn't understand how the strongest passions could be turned into the most devastating weapons. Mamluk had found that out the hard way himself, once. But what Ornh had understood was the news Mamluk had returned from the Sagolii with before, the Sandfox's implicit promise: if they failed to bring Miss Blackroad back this time, the Sandfox would get personally involved. Mamluk suspected if that happened, people would die.
That left breaking her. Better broken than dead. And best he do it himself. Ornh was gentle. Mamluk wanted him to stay that way. He figured he was beyond saving, perhaps beyond the point of wanting to be saved. He'd been drowning a long time, after all.
So he went to the Arbiter before the Grindstone, against the Sandfox's explicit orders, and informed him of what was happening. What was going to happen. They had been something like friends once, Mamluk and Warren. That was surely over now. Mamluk was cognizant that if the cause didn't kill him, Castille would. Still better than the Sandfox's involvement, though. Let it fall on his own shoulders.
Then he simply waited. Ornh watched the bridge from a hiding place and alerted him when Miss Blackroad left the Grindstone, alone and in the black and red uniform that the event staff favored. Ornh stood by Mamluk's side as he stepped out of hiding and called to her. She had looked up at him, walls high, perhaps expecting him to draw his sword. Their eyes met, and he thought of Cyrille, and of his own breaking.
It only took a few sentences. Everyone's walls have cracks in them. Thanks to Ornh, Mamluk knew where to strike. The first sentence blew a hole through the wall. The second brought it down. From the third, she was crying. He outlined for her, in those terse sentences, the inevitability of her worst fear coming to pass. Warsong's soul belonged to the cause, just as theirs did. It was their birthright, their destiny. And it would never let him go. Their very presence ensured it. Seeing them would bring him to them, no matter what he felt about the cause, no matter how hopeless Ala Mhigan freedom seemed. He was born to it, raised to it as a cattle was fattened for slaughter. And as cattle raised to be meat walked single-file through the stockyards to their destiny waiting at the hands of the axeman, so Warsong would join Mamluk and Ornh.
She had cried. She had cried so much. He watched her impassively. Ornh's face was a rigid mask as he tried to control his emotions. Ornh was gentle. But you couldn't be gentle when you broke someone's will.
And then, Mamluk offered Miss Blackroad a choice - the illusion of one, really. Come with them in Warsong's place and meet the Sandfox, and they would never bother Warsong again. And she accepted, because of course she did; broken as she was, she had no choice, none at all. He could have asked for anything and she would have given it to him, anything at all to take that vision away.
Even now, over a day later, he could see the rubble of her walls in her eyes. She was a terrified child now, staring down into the fire. Fresh-slaughtered meat for the Sandfox, whatever that man had planned for her.
Mamluk looked at Ornh, sitting next to him, also staring into the fire as if it held answers for any of them. They hadn't made eye contact since Miss Blackroad had joined them. Mamluk thought of the first time he saw Cyrille's face, how she'd pulled her helmet free, sweat-dampened hair framing her heart-shaped face, how the fire's light had made her cheeks glow as if illuminated from within. Fatigue crushed his chest and weighted his eyes.
He rose, and beckoned to Miss Blackroad to follow him. He felt Ornh's eyes trace their progress as they left. In the shadows at the silent edges of camp, Mamluk reached into his pack and offered her a gleaming linkpearl.
"Five minutes," he said. A few new bricks, perhaps, to start to mend what he had broken.
People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed.
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