Chapter 17: The Use Of A Prisoner Part 5

Birds and beasts fled at Njrea's raw scream. Blood flowed across her skin, coated the scaled feet of the snatcher, brought a smile to Trals's face. He could simply let this continue and destroy a flawed tool with a perfected one. But then how long would he have to wait before he could crush the Slavers? The awesome power of the paarsoot was surely worth a little more sacrifice.

Trals had trained his snatcher well. When he whistled, Srav's head stayed up and away from Njrea's vulnerable throat. Her flapping arms folded. Trals whistled again and with practiced dexterity the snatcher withdrew her claws and hopped back. Her head darted toward Trals, mouth open, expecting a treat for her good behavior. When he provided none, her feathers ruffled indignantly, and she settled onto her haunches to preen.

Njrea groaned. Trals prodded her with his sword. "Get up. And Vrem," he kicked his Mentee gently, "hold your short sword on her." With her back torn to shreds and the hard tip of the sword pressed against her kidneys, the strange woman allowed Trals to hoist her back onto his shoulder.

They did not have long to walk before they arrived in camp. Or rather, the camp arrived around them. Jgghav had taken charge and led a party to find them. That was not a good sign.

"There is the one who killed my wife's brother!" Jgghav stopped in front of them, feet planted in the mud. "I will not object if you want to be the one who does the final deed, but I demand my cut on her flesh first. And in a place where it hurts."

The other men would want similar accommodation. Njrea had cost many Ethlek their lives.

Well, Trals had planned for this. "I will not kill her, nor will I allow her to be killed."

"Allow? You do not allow Ethlek. You do no not command us. You lead, and we follow." Jgghav crossed his arms. "Or we choose not to."

Oh, these idiots. "Why do I lead?" The question was meant to be rhetorical, but sometimes Trals truly wondered. "Why am I your Leader? Because you know that where I lead, there is loot, and power, and fame."

"Loot we have," said Jgghav, gesturing down the path toward their triceratops, left stupidly un-guarded.

"And power?" Trals gestured at the woman draped over his shoulder. "We have captured an angel, man."

The bones in Jgghav's hair rattled. "That lie fooled the Slavers, but misleading them is like herding chirostenotes. That is a woman, not an angel. And you want to possess for yourself. Why should we let you? None of the rest of us plans to bring home a...a...what was the word? It's what the Slavers do instead of killing enemies in battle?"

"Take prisoners," said Vrem.

"Yes. None of the rest of us get 'prisoners.' We didn't even take any women during the raid yesterday."

Trals lowered his burden. "Vrem, hold your sword on her."

Njrea did not try to stop him when Trals tied her wrists behind her back. He slapped her when he saw her clenching her muscles and cinched the bonds tighter.

"You have reason to hate the Slavers and so have I," Trals said. "Together we - "

He whirled away from Jgghav's fist.

"How dare you," the warrior bellowed, "Lee was my sister's husband."

"Show some sense, man." Trals dodged again. Oh, but a few simple movements and Jgghav's blood would soak the mud. It would be easy. "Lee was a fool and he died for it. Foolishness does not survive long on the Face of God where the Mud dries." He braced himself. "As you will learn if you try to hit me just one more time, Jgghav."

For a moment, it looked like Jgghav would gratify Trals and refuse to back down. Trals could challenge him to settle the argument with a duel. And then? Duels between people who Speak Alike were rarely fatal, but accidents happen. Trals could remove this annoyance permanently.

But Jgghav straightened and slapped himself on the forehead, "We hurt ourselves when we fight each other."

Damn. "We hurt ourselves when we hurt each other, yes. I brought bad luck on myself when I spoke ill of the dead," Trals said. "I'll plait an apology wreath for Lee's ghost." He took a deep breath. "As will Njrea."

Jgghav stiffened. "She will plait no wreath, for she will die today."

"By the scars on my back," said Trals. "She will not die. She is no prisoner. And nor," he glanced at Vrem, "is she the spoils of battle. She is what the Slavers call a recruit. A new Eethlek."

"All that talk about marriage," whispered Vrem. "Trals, you cannot be doing this."

Trals noted the look of betrayal on his mentee's face. So Vrem would join Turtle in the ranks of Trals's jealous ex-lovers. Hopefully he wouldn't swear eternal vengeance like the others had.

Jgghav snarled, "If she is an Ethlek, then I demand her death as price for the death of my brother."

"But she was not a recruit when she killed him," said Trals, trying not to grin. Battle with words had its own joys, and he so rarely had the opportunity to indulge.

"Do you deny that I freely captured the woman Njrea in our raid yesterday?" He turned to address the other warriors. On his back Njrea swung. Perhaps the foreigner was aware of the argument for her life, because she neither kicked nor struggled.

"Which one? She got away once," Jgghav mocked, "And again this morning."

"And I recaptured her both times, proving my claim over her yet again. Yes," he said. "Njrea will be my bride and the mother of my first children. That makes her an Eethlek and a hero for what she did in the raid. So I ask, Jgghav, would you kill an Eethlek hero?"

Vrem spoke quietly, "and Trals, would you take a bride?" Oh, the dripping pathos in that voice. If love wasn't such a convenient means of manipulation, Trals would have nothing to do with the stuff.

"The Sayer will not be happy about this," Jgghav glanced at Vrem. "Nor will the Driver."

"Let me worry about that." And worry he did. Trals would have to ram through this marriage with all his influence. Hold the ceremony as soon as possible.

"All right," Jgghav said. "This woman is an Eethlek. An Eethlek who caused the deaths of several men in her war party. A full armload of apology wreaths would not be enough to absolve of her guilt. She must remember her transgression by her scars."

"I think," said Trals, turning so they could see Njrea's tattered back. "That she will have scars enough."