Page 38

It felt like theft.

Revni barked something at the man, and the circle surrounding them tightened half a step.

Eavus backed closer into the damp of her fur capelet. “Don’t make them angry.”

“I’m not making them angry, they are angry already.”

She continued to argue. By Hirene, he didn’t want to die defending some Isfolj captive— But. Her facility with languages had certainly proven helpful. And again, he reminded himself, if he wanted to collect all those coins that were waiting for him, if he wanted to be reinstated instead of disemboweled, if he wanted to earn his final tattoo and have some semblance of safety for the rest of his life anytime he encountered an Aleterian…He needed to bring back the girl, and the sword. If he showed up in Colcium, or came across a regiment, with nothing but his dick in his hands, they might chop that off, too, for good measure.

Eavus ran the numbers. He’d go for the skinny-legged one first, then strike at the one on his right. If Eavus moved fast enough, those big shields would fall with them, providing a modicum of cover. At least it might give the big man something to trip over. Then he’d take him, going high. A big guy like that? People probably went low, for his hamstring, using their own smallness to their advantage. Eavus would go for his eyes.

“We’re giving them your breastplate⁠—”

“WHAT?” Eavus roared, louder than he intended.

“And my jël—” Revni explained, her voice strained.

“I will not be stripped of my armor by highwaymen.” Eavus lunged for his targets, but he suddenly felt himself yanked back by his own red cape.

“We are only two people, and they have more weapons.” Revni’s face filled his vision, her chin tight, her eyes furious, his cape fisted in her hand. “Do you want to get us killed?”

The pounding of blood in his ears dimmed the sound of chuckling. Eavus’ cheeks burned. “Do Isfolj give up so easily?”

Revni’s eyes scraped over his, like the edge of a blade skinning a carcass. Eavus had a sudden solid feeling, a warm pebble pressed into his chest.

“Sa. Then we fight.”

She spun, and Eavus surged forward. He heard the thunk of her ax hitting wood, grunts as she yanked it free and screams as she landed it elsewhere. Huh. Impressive. Eavus almost wanted to turn and look, but a shield was swinging towards his face. He ducked, a faint memory of the pain of Revni’s shield slamming into him so many days ago, and sliced at the tendon behind someone’s ankle, then switched his grip and stabbed almost blindly to his right, hitting resistance and pushing in before he even knew which part of the body he had aimed for. His stomach churned, but he ignored it. He leapt up—and was slammed back down by a solid wall, his eyes filled with stars. For the briefest of moments, he just wanted to lie there, letting his vision return gently, but he forced himself to roll, barely avoiding the heavy bash from the shield as it came down, its wind kissing his neck.

Eavus struck out again as he rose, fending them off like a runt against its pack. If he could just get to the big man. If he could just take down their fiercest fighters. They’d yield. They’d always yield.

The big man came at him from the side, and Eavus stumbled as he turned, almost tripping on his damn cape. This is why you don’t wear your kit in battle, he chided himself, like he was a new recruit and this was a particularly harsh day of training. He felt the weight of his firekit, his waterskin, his eating knife, pulling at his belt more than ever, as if his commander was tapping them one by one. No. No. No. The big man struck, and Eavus blocked, the reverberation ringing up his arm like a bell. Gods, the man was strong.

Eavus struck back, trying for the offense, but this wasn’t a show in the practice yard, and the sword’s weight lurched in ways he wasn’t used to. Slaves weren’t given swords, only javelins and spears. The man kept coming, pounding high, low. His sword was a club, walloping Eavus into submission, driving him to the center. Eavus blocked, tried to recover, blocked again, backed up until he hit flesh—Revni again, back where they both started, her body bobbing with heavy breaths.

Only it was a show. The big man paused, catching his own breath but unfazed. Eavus’ eyes darted to the others. The two he’d cut were writhing, hands pressing their wounds, but the others stood almost patiently, their shields held at various heights, eyes glued to Eavus but their bodies waiting.

Revni called out, and the man she’d been talking with replied. Eavus glanced over. He looked terrifyingly angry, though his tone had been curious. One man was whimpering, covered in blood, holding his stomach, while two others had set down their shields and were helping him. Eavus couldn’t see what other damage she’d done, but more than one person had streaks of red marring his blue designs. Pleased surprise floated through Eavus—Thank the gods for competence.

Then the head negotiator laughed. He flicked an amused hand towards Eavus.

Revni’s jaw went so tight Eavus felt he could have honed his sword on the edge. “If we stop now, they take what we have, but they will leave the sword and ax. And they want us to keep the blanket.”

“Why?”

“So one of us can kill the other for it.” Eavus admired her restraint. Revni sounded like she wanted to dive back into the fray just for that.

“But I keep the sword?” Eavus asked hesitantly. It seemed too easy. The sword was the most valuable thing on him. He made eye contact with the negotiator, lifted the hilt a touch to confirm. The man nodded, then raised two fingers to the middle of his forehead and down his nose and struck forward.

An Aleterian salute.

Eavus’ mind was reeling. Was it respect? Was he afraid of Aleterian reprisal? Was it simply mockery, We know who you are? Eavus didn’t know what to make of the gesture. Gesture. Hospitality. Eavus could keep his sword, and in the end, that was maybe all that mattered.

He shouldn’t have been surprised by Revni’s stoicism, he supposed, but again, he somehow was. She didn’t protest the way Eavus had. When the big man had come at him for his cape and armor, Eavus had been snapped into momentary alertness, but only enough to insist on unbuckling it himself. He’d be damned if he’d let himself be disrobed. Watching Revni, however, his own prideful refusal suddenly seemed petulant. Eavus had handed off his padded vest and leather armored skirt like fair trades at a market; Revni stood as unflinching as a column in the temple of Janea, only wind and time making a dent in the features carved of stone. When they lifted the fur capelet off her shoulders, it looked like a violation.

They went through everything, dumping the contents of his firekit in the dirt and squeezing out his coin purse as if hoping to collect the lint.

“There’s nothing in there,” Eavus grumbled, but they only smiled and threw the leather pouch next to his flint. They held up his eating knife to show each other, laughing at the blade no longer than a thumb, and making comments comparing its smallness that Eavus didn’t need to know the language to understand. He could feel his face burning, but he said nothing, and they tossed the little knife away with his empty waterskin and coin purse, like garbage.