him close, he whispered, “I promise I will not let Adonmeia kill you.”
Habrim said nothing. They continued again, climbing the last dune, and arrived at the edge of the rendezvous point. Pirneon helped him kneel and let out a shrill birdcall. The wind carried it softly. No answer. He frowned. Another call sang out, followed by another. He waited, his battle-hardened mind already racing through potential scenarios. Finally, the call was returned. Relief conspicuously absent, Pirneon took the small piece of rope from his pack and bound Habrim’s wrists loosely.
Faces turned to look up at them as they stalked down the dune. Pirneon felt a growing sense of respect for the Satrap after he offered no resistance to being bound. That respect turned to disgust as he fixed his attention on the remnants of his raiders lounging sloppily at the bottom of the dune. They were not the same men who had set out with him earlier. What he saw was a bunch of frightened men thankful to be alive. Of the hundred raiders he’d been given command of, less than thirty remained. Seven of those would not see the dawn.
The mass carried themselves without poise. Shoulders were slumped. Heads hung low. No Gaimosian worth his salt would ever allow defeat to willow him so. Victory and defeat were mere facets of understanding. Whispers spread as, one by one, heads turned to watch Pirneon march towards them. A corporal, the highest-ranking raider left alive, finally climbed to his feet to confront the pair.
“We thought you were dead.” It was more question than comment.
Pirneon hid his defensiveness. The malevolent gleam lurking just behind the corporal’s eyes was troublesome, further signifying the extent of the danger Pirneon was in. “So did I, but with the guard distracted, I was able to enter the tent and kill the Satrap’s defenders. I made it through the back with him before the enemy came in force.”
The lie flowed smoothly off his tongue. He’d lost all respect for Adonmeia’s forces. They’d shown their true worth, and it was cheap. Pirneon figured his best bet was to keep to his promise. Habrim might very well be the hope for the stable society the desert tribes were searching for. He decided to turn the conversation and force the warriors on the defensive.
“What about you? I thought for sure you had all been slaughtered.”
The corporal dropped his head from the sting of the words. “We managed to burn half of their camp before the enemy grew organized. We fought hard but were outnumbered. A horn sounded, and we knew more were coming. Those of us still alive…left before they could kill us all.”
Pirneon caught the pause, knowing the corporal struggle not to say they had turned and fled like cowardly dogs. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out. Not only had they run without knowing if their mission was a success or not, they had left him to die. Not a one deserved to live, but it wasn’t his decision to make. If they’d been sons of Gaimos, they would have been stripped naked and banished into the mountains for a year. They would be allowed to return if they survived. Before the Fall, not one banished warrior had returned. Pirneon reckoned this lot would fare no better.
He leveled his sternest gaze on the broken men. “Pray we deliver our bounty to Adonmeia alive else your heads will roll. The Caliph does not look kindly on failure.”
“But I….”
Pirneon took a menacing step forward. “But nothing. You left me without securing the Satrap. You turned and fled the field of battle. As the highest ranking left alive, all responsibility now falls on your shoulders. You will answer to the Caliph upon our return. Do not anger me further, or I may just forget we are allies.”
That last took all the wind from the corporal. No man in his right mind dared cross a Vengeance Knight. Pirneon’s harsh reputation among the desert tribes was well deserved and he hoped enough to see him through to the
Habrim said nothing. They continued again, climbing the last dune, and arrived at the edge of the rendezvous point. Pirneon helped him kneel and let out a shrill birdcall. The wind carried it softly. No answer. He frowned. Another call sang out, followed by another. He waited, his battle-hardened mind already racing through potential scenarios. Finally, the call was returned. Relief conspicuously absent, Pirneon took the small piece of rope from his pack and bound Habrim’s wrists loosely.
Faces turned to look up at them as they stalked down the dune. Pirneon felt a growing sense of respect for the Satrap after he offered no resistance to being bound. That respect turned to disgust as he fixed his attention on the remnants of his raiders lounging sloppily at the bottom of the dune. They were not the same men who had set out with him earlier. What he saw was a bunch of frightened men thankful to be alive. Of the hundred raiders he’d been given command of, less than thirty remained. Seven of those would not see the dawn.
The mass carried themselves without poise. Shoulders were slumped. Heads hung low. No Gaimosian worth his salt would ever allow defeat to willow him so. Victory and defeat were mere facets of understanding. Whispers spread as, one by one, heads turned to watch Pirneon march towards them. A corporal, the highest-ranking raider left alive, finally climbed to his feet to confront the pair.
“We thought you were dead.” It was more question than comment.
Pirneon hid his defensiveness. The malevolent gleam lurking just behind the corporal’s eyes was troublesome, further signifying the extent of the danger Pirneon was in. “So did I, but with the guard distracted, I was able to enter the tent and kill the Satrap’s defenders. I made it through the back with him before the enemy came in force.”
The lie flowed smoothly off his tongue. He’d lost all respect for Adonmeia’s forces. They’d shown their true worth, and it was cheap. Pirneon figured his best bet was to keep to his promise. Habrim might very well be the hope for the stable society the desert tribes were searching for. He decided to turn the conversation and force the warriors on the defensive.
“What about you? I thought for sure you had all been slaughtered.”
The corporal dropped his head from the sting of the words. “We managed to burn half of their camp before the enemy grew organized. We fought hard but were outnumbered. A horn sounded, and we knew more were coming. Those of us still alive…left before they could kill us all.”
Pirneon caught the pause, knowing the corporal struggle not to say they had turned and fled like cowardly dogs. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from lashing out. Not only had they run without knowing if their mission was a success or not, they had left him to die. Not a one deserved to live, but it wasn’t his decision to make. If they’d been sons of Gaimos, they would have been stripped naked and banished into the mountains for a year. They would be allowed to return if they survived. Before the Fall, not one banished warrior had returned. Pirneon reckoned this lot would fare no better.
He leveled his sternest gaze on the broken men. “Pray we deliver our bounty to Adonmeia alive else your heads will roll. The Caliph does not look kindly on failure.”
“But I….”
Pirneon took a menacing step forward. “But nothing. You left me without securing the Satrap. You turned and fled the field of battle. As the highest ranking left alive, all responsibility now falls on your shoulders. You will answer to the Caliph upon our return. Do not anger me further, or I may just forget we are allies.”
That last took all the wind from the corporal. No man in his right mind dared cross a Vengeance Knight. Pirneon’s harsh reputation among the desert tribes was well deserved and he hoped enough to see him through to the
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