Frays In The Weave 26 Sacrifice: 4

Gring heard, but she didn't listen. She was hollow.

"Your escort killed six of my men! Your escort murdered their lawful commander! Your escort! All because you refused to pay what you were bound by law to pay."

The halfman's rage was magnificent. He stank with it. A clean stench, pure. If he had been born with proper glands the merchant oath breakers would have trashed in uncontrollable panic, but he was only a halfman.

Trindai would have been proud of his soldier nonetheless, she admitted as much.

"We want the murderers and we want them now!" Karia Graig, her enemy unknown. They had only fought side by side, never measured fang and steel against each other.

The world was wrong. Those she should have met in combat stood by her side, and those among whom she had hoped to make a home had struck at her honour.

Her life a shield for the taleweaver, then a shield for a shield. But now Nakora was dead, two shields broken.

"... are the escort we hired. Clan Takarak should have commanded it from the beginning."

Gring stiffened. She had to listen or else her path would be unclear.

"That's the dirtiest, most absurd excuse I've ever heard!" Karia's voice vibrated with a rage more silent than his words. The stench of his fury was more complex than Kalvar's. "We don't always agree to women in arms, but that doesn't give us the right to murder our own."

"The laws of Braka don't apply here."

"They're my command," Kalvar said. "That makes it my law. In my law rapist murderers have lost their right to live. My law extends to those who would protect diseased animals."

"Are you threatening us?"

Kalvar turned and gave Gring a long stare. Then he slowly and deliberately lingered on his surviving men, weapons drawn. "Yes," he said, "I think I do."

"And you're lucky he only threatens you," Karia added. "I was sworn to her. With her dead Major Terwin has the right of command, and it's only his hand that has stayed my men." He exchanged an unhappy smile with Kalvar. "If he would release that hand I can and will be held responsible for my actions—after you are all dead."

Gring's path became clear. For all their attempts at protecting the oath breakers who had killed Nakora she knew the merchant masters could to very little. The smell on halfmen leather and flinty odour of their large crossbows hovered over the ground as a memory only. It was no longer alive and changing, so they must have left the place of Nakora's death late at night. Along the caravan? She doubted that.

"Your superiors will hear of this."

"They will, but you will all be dead before then if you don't tell us where the murderers hide."

Another memory of metal in the air caught Gring's attention. It should have been sharp, like acid. Coins! Always the shiny coins! You killed, mated and took the coins. I heard you halfmen left coins when you mated without consent. "They are not here," she said.

All attention was immediately fixed on her. She hadn't spoken before, only lent her gifts so the halfmen could understand what they shouted at each other.

"Go on, ma'am," Kalvar urged.

"They stole from Harbend. The money is not here."

"You don't know that. You could have stolen the money yourself."

"If that pig opens his mouth again I want a quarrel in his throat and another in his mouth. That is an order!" Kalvar turned to his men with the last words, and they sheathed their sabres and started loading their crossbows. Not one smiled.

The master merchant glared. Greedy, but he wasn't a coward. He made a show of looking at Gring's bloodied fur, her hacked leathers and the bow she carried. "I apologize. Khraga are large but Lord de Garak's strongboxes were many."

Kalvar shook his head when he received eager looks from his soldiers. "Where are they?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I know one who does."

"Then we are finished here, for now. Lead the way, ma'am."

"You can't follow. This is a matter between mindwalkers."

Kalvar looked as if he was about to argue, but they both knew what Gring had meant. He had shown time and time again how uncomfortable he was with users of the gift, and Neritan Hwain was not only a mindwalker. A golden, with living memories from World War, she could conjure unpleasant experiences if angered.

Gring let go of her powers. The meeting was over and she had a new confrontation ahead of her.

#

They stared. No words. When mindwalkers wanted no listeners they shared an experience as intense as it was exclusive.

Had it only been a matter of raw power and experience Gring knew she'd run away, ashamed of her audacity. She was a small child in comparison with Neritan. The mere thought of comparing them was ridiculous, even laughable. But she didn't run, because she was right and Neritan wrong. And she was furious. Once again Neritan had behaved like the oath breaker she was, golden or not.

You are without honour

What do I care about your precious honour?

Did you believe I was so weak you could walk my soul against my will?

I tried, I failed. What does it matter?

Another probe stabbed against her defences and almost shot through. I'm not halfman born. Like Harbend. That threw Neritan's latest attack. Did you think I didn't know you forced his actions? Your very strength betrayed you.

And so? He did what he needed to do. Arthur was saved.

Oath breaker, have you no respect for the privacy of the mind?

They are short lives. A glittering spark. They are born, they age, they die. Why should I care?

Gring threw arrows of her own against Neritan's probes. Never before had she walked the mind of a golden, and to her shock she found it truly alien. The short lived halfmen were like close relatives in comparison. You should, because it's right. Alien and cold beyond comprehension.

Right? Fool! I decide what is right. It was right to save the taleweaver. He is important. Harbend is not.

It's against the law.

Those laws apply to you who age and die, even you who will see four lives of one like Harbend before you fade and pa.s.s beyond the veil. We are exempt.

The golden mind was so different. Right, wrong, they had no place there. Need, necessity and danger was as close as Gring could get, but even those were poor translations.

Again tendrils of concepts and false memories snaked into creva.s.ses in her mind. It was all she could do to cut them before she forgot why she was here. Give me the link! Her sudden demand managed what her failing defences had not, and Neritan withdrew.

Why should I? Such contempt!

Vailinin ad Rhigrat.

You wouldn't dare!

Dare? What would a warrior born not dare, golden halfman? She had won the game. The laws did apply to the golden as well, or at least enough of them.

You don't understand. You don't remember. I had to. Something is wrong. If Arthur had died there we would have Dragonwrath ahead of us.

It was still dishonourable. Wrong.

Desperation shone clear in Neritan's mind. They were that much alike at least. Dishonourable? Are you mad. He's only a short life! They multiply like flies! Already they are more than before World War. One greatyear. Only a little more than one was all they needed.

So, they regained what was stolen.

You don't understand? How could you? We don't fade and die. We don't breed like animals. There are so few of us left. I will not allow another Dragonwrath!

So fear was at the bottom of it as Gring had guessed. I am right. You are wrong. Give me the link to Harbend!

In the end she got the link. She had won it when she threatened the golden mindwalker with a truth seer, but she had lost her respect for the golden in return. She had to make her part of the exchange worth it, and she promised herself to reach out to Harbend each morning until she walked his mind. She had to. Honour demanded it. Respect demanded it. He deserved to know what had happened, and why.