Aldrick shrugged. “He won’t be a problem.”
The former Cursor began tugging on his riding gloves. “You think your sword will alter anything for him?”
“It can alter all sorts of things.”
Fidelias smiled. “He’s Marat. He isn’t human. They don’t think the same way we do.”
Aldrick squinted at him, almost frowning.
“He won’t be intimidated by you. He regards your sword as something dangerous—you’ll just be the soft, weak thing holding it.”
Aldrick’s expression didn’t change.
Fidelias sighed. “Look, Aldrick. The Marat don’t have the same notion of individuality that we do. Their whole culture is based around totems. Their tribes are built upon commonality of totem animals. If a man has a powerful totem, then he is a formidable man. But if the man has to hide behind his totem, instead of fighting beside it, then it makes him somewhat contemptible. They’ve called us the Dead Tribe. They regard armor and weaponry as our totem—dead earth. We hide behind our dead totems rather than going into battle beside them. Do you see?”
“No,” Aldrick stated. He slipped Odiana from his side and started to draw on his gloves, unconcerned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Not to you,” Fidelias said. “It makes perfect sense to a Marat.”
“Savages,” Aldrick commented. Odiana turned to the packs and drew his scabbarded sword from it. He held out his hand, without looking, and she slipped the weapon into it, then watched as the swordsman buckled it on. “What happens if he doesn’t cooperate?”
“Leave that to me,” Fidelias said.
Aldrick raised his eyebrows.
“I mean it. Keep your weapon at your side unless everything goes to the crows.”
“And if it does?”
“Kill everything that isn’t you, me, or the witch.”
Aldrick smiled.
“What do I do?” Odiana asked. Her duty to Aldrick done, she wandered a few paces away, drawing the toe of her shoe through the mud, lifting her heavier, warmer skirts enough to be able to study the buckles.
“Just keep an eye on the Marat. If you feel them get angry, warn us.”
Odiana frowned and looked up at Fidelias. She placed a hand on the shapely curve of one hip and said, “If Aldrick gets to kill someone, I should get to as well. It’s only fair.”
“Perhaps,” Fidelias said.
“I didn’t get to kill anyone last night. It’s my turn.”
“We’ll see.”
Odiana stamped her foot on the ground and folded her arms, scowling. “Aldrick!”
The big man went to her, taking off his cape and absently slipping it over her shoulders. The fabric could have wrapped around her twice. “Quiet, love. You know I’ll let you have what you want.”
She smiled up at him, winsome. “Truly?”
“Don’t I always.” He bent to the woman and kissed her, one arm pressing her against him. Her full lips parted willingly to his mouth, her body arching against his, and she reached up a hand to rake her nails through his hair, evidently delighted.
Fidelias rubbed at the bridge of his nose, where tension had begun to gather into a headache, and walked a short distance away. The horses arrived a moment later, nudged into a calm walk by Vamma and subtly guided over the ground. Fidelias called to the other two, who broke from their embrace only reluctantly, and the three saddled and mounted without further discussion.
As he had predicted, the ride passed uneventfully. Etan bounded along before them through the trees, the wood fury taking the form of a large, silent squirrel, always just far enough into the shadows to be seen only in faint outline. Fidelias followed the bounding, flickering shape of his fury without the need for conscious effort; he had been using Etan to track for him and guide him since he was barely more than a boy.
They crossed the Crown causeway and rode north and east through barren woodland filled with ragged pine trees, brambles, and thorns, toward the glowering shape of mountain rising up several miles before them. The mountain, Fidelias remembered, as well as the pine barrens around it, had a bad reputation for being hostile to humans. Little wonderthe Marat had wanted a meeting near to what would be a safe area for his kind.
Fidelias flexed his right foot in the stirrup as he rode, frowning. The boot didn’t fit correctly without his knife in it. He felt a faint and bitter smile stretch his lips. The girl had been brighter than he’d given her credit for. She’d seen an opportunity and exploited it ruthlessly, just as she’d been taught to do. As her patriserus, he felt an undeniable stirring of pride in her accomplishment.
But as a professional, there was only a cold, tense frustration. She should have become an asset to his effort, and instead she had become a dangerously unknown factor in the play of events. If she was in the valley, there was no limit to how much havoc she could potentially wreak with his plans—and even if she wasn’t, the distraction of guarding against the possibility was nothing trivial in itself.
How would he disrupt the plan in motion, were he in her place?
Fidelias considered it. No. That would be the wrong approach. He preferred short, brutal solutions to such matters, the less complicated the better. Too much could go wrong with finesse in a situation like this.
Amara thought in a far less linear manner. The simplest solution would be to get to the nearest Steadholder, declare her status, and dragoon everyone she could lay her hands on into spreading word through the valley that some sort of mischief was abroad. In that event, he’d have several dozen woodcrafty holders roaming about the valley, and one of them would almost certainly see something and know it for what it was.
If she did that, identifying herself and her location, matters would be simpler. A swift stroke would remove her from the equation, and he could then muddy the waters until it was too late for the holders to stop matters from proceeding.
Amara would realize the danger of such a course, naturally. She would need to be more circumspect than that. Less linear. She would be improvising as she went along, while he would by necessity play the hunter, beating the bushes to force her to move and then acting swiftly to cut off anything she might attempt.
Fidelias smiled at the irony: It seemed they would both be playing to their strong suits. Well enough, then. The girl was talented, but inexperienced. She wouldn’t be the first person he had outmaneuvered and destroyed. She wouldn’t be the last.