You sigh. “Not … yet.”
“The rust are you waiting for? The road’s not getting any safer.”
You glare at her. “I thought you didn’t care?”
“I don’t. But giving you shit about it is helping me make a point.” Ykka’s leading you toward the wagons, or so you think at first. Then you move past the wagons, and stiffen in surprise.
Here, seated and eating, are the seven Rennanese prisoners. Even sitting they’re different from the people of Castrima—all of the Rennanese being pure Sanzed or close enough not to matter, bigger than average even for that race, with fully grown ashblow manes or shorn-sided braids or short bottlebrushes to heighten the effect. Their prangers have been put aside for the moment—though the chains linking each prisoner to their set are still in place—and there are a few Strongbacks standing guard nearby.
You’re surprised that they’re eating, since you haven’t made full camp for the night yet. The Strongbacks on guard are eating, too, but that only makes sense; they’ve got a long night ahead of them. The Rennies look up as you and Ykka approach, and that makes you stop in your tracks, because you recognize one of the prisoners. Danel, the general of the Rennanis army. She’s healthy and whole, apart from red marks around her neck and wrists from the pranger. The last time you saw her up close, she was summoning a shirtless Guardian to kill you.
She recognizes you, too, and her mouth flattens into a resigned, ironic line. Then, very deliberately, she nods to you before turning back to her bowl.
Ykka hunkers down to a crouch beside Danel, to your surprise. “So, how’s the food?”
Danel shrugs, still eating. “Better than starving.”
“It’s good,” says another prisoner, across the ring. He shrugs when one of the others glares at him. “Well, it is.”
“They just want us to be able to haul their wagons,” says the man who glared.
“Yeah,” Ykka interrupts. “That’s precisely right. Strongbacks in Castrima get a comm share and a bed, when we have one to give, in exchange for their contribution. What’d you get from Rennanis?”
“Some rusting pride, maybe,” says the glarer, glaring harder.
“Shut up, Phauld,” says Danel.
“These mongrels think they—”
Danel sets her bowl of food down. The glarer immediately shuts up and tenses, his eyes going a little wide. After a moment, Danel picks up her bowl and resumes eating. Her expression hasn’t changed the whole time. You find yourself suspecting that she’s raised children.
Ykka, elbow propped on one knee, rests her chin on her fist and watches Phauld for a moment. To Danel, she says, “So what do you want me to do about that one?”
Phauld immediately frowns. “What?”
Danel shrugs. Her bowl’s empty now, but she runs a finger around its curve to sweep up the last sauce. “Not for me to say anymore.”
“Doesn’t seem very bright.” Ykka purses her lips, considering the man. “Not bad-looking, but harder to breed for brains than looks.”
Danel says nothing for a moment, while Phauld looks from her to Ykka and back in growing incredulity. Then, with a heavy sigh, Danel looks up at Phauld, too. “What do you want me to say? I’m not his commander anymore. Never wanted to be in the first place; I got drafted. Now I don’t rusting care.”
“I can’t believe you,” Phauld says. His voice is too loud, rising in panic. “I fought for you.”
“And lost.” Danel shakes her head. “Now it’s about surviving, adapting. Forget all that crap you heard back in Rennanis about Sanzeds and mongrels; that was just propaganda to unite the comm. Things are different now. ‘Necessity is the only law.’”
“Don’t you rusting quote stonelore at me!”
“She’s quoting stonelore because you don’t get it,” snaps the other man—the one who liked the food. “They’re feeding us. They’re letting us be useful. It’s a test, you stupid shit. To see if we’re willing to earn a place in this comm!”
“This comm?” Phauld gestures around at the camp. His laugh echoes off the rock faces. People look around, trying to figure out if the yelling means there’s some kind of problem. “Do you hear yourself? These people haven’t got a chance. They should be finding somewhere to bunker down, maybe rebuild one of the comms we razed along the way. Instead—”
Ykka moves with a casualness that doesn’t deceive you. Everyone could see this coming, including Phauld, but he’s too stubborn to acknowledge reality. She stands up and unnecessarily brushes ash off her shoulders and steps across the circle and then puts a hand on the crown of Phauld’s head. He tries to twitch back, swatting at her. “Don’t rusting touch—”
But then he stops. His eyes glaze over. Ykka’s done that thing to him—the thing she did to Cutter back in Castrima-under when people were working themselves into an orogene-lynching mob. Because you knew it was coming this time, you’re able to get a better handle on how she does the strange pulse. It’s definitely magic, some kind of manipulation of the thin, silvery filaments that dance and flicker between the motes of a person’s substance. Ykka’s pulse cuts through the knot of threads at the base of Phauld’s brain, just above the sessapinae. Everything’s still intact physically, but magically it’s as if she’s chopped his head off.
He sags backward, and Ykka steps aside to let him flop bonelessly to the ground.
One of the other Rennanis women gasps and scoots back, her chains jangling. The guards glance at each other, uncomfortably, but they’re not surprised; word of what Ykka did to Cutter spread through the comm afterward. A Rennanese man who hasn’t spoken before utters a swift oath in one of the Coaster creole languages; it’s not Eturpic so you don’t understand it, but his fear is clear enough. Danel only sighs.
Ykka sighs, too, looking at the dead man. Then she eyes Danel. “I’m sorry.”
Danel smiles thinly. “We tried. And you said it yourself: He wasn’t very bright.”
Ykka nods. For some reason she glances up at you for a moment. You have no idea what lesson you’re supposed to take from this. “Unlock the manacles,” she says. You’re confused for an instant before you realize it’s an order for the guards. One of them moves over to speak to the other, and they start sorting through a ring of keys. Then Ykka looks disgusted with herself as she says heavily, “Who’s on quartermaster duty today? Memsid? Tell him and some of the other Resistants to come handle this.” She jerks her head toward Phauld.
Everyone goes still. No one protests, though. The Hunters have been finding more game and forage, but Castrima has a lot of people who need more protein than they’ve been getting, and the desert is coming. It was always going to come to this.