— 4 —
"Do you swear, Critos, that you are the leader of these people and that they will obey you?" Nelson asked loudly. He wasn't going to take Critos at his word, and he certainly wanted the archers to know that if they welched on a deal, they'd dishonor Critos as well. Whatever that might mean to them.
"I swear it."
"By what do you swear?" An oath without a witness was a hollow oath: Nelson had learned that much watching the nobles of the Five Kingdoms playing politics amongst themselves.
"By Yatar-Opollos, I swear that I lead these people and that they will obey me."
Yatar-Opollos? That's a new one on me, Nelson thought. Have to look into that.
"Very well. How many are your people?"
"Four less than a short while ago. I have these six men you see, two others, and their women and children."
"Have them put down their weapons, and you and I will talk further about your people entering my service."
"You will also lower your star weapon?"
"I will, as I see the bows lowered."
Critos extended his arm and gestured broadly, up and down. Slowly, the bowmen lowered their bows and relaxed the tension on the strings. When Nelson was certain the archers couldn't raise their weapons to firing position faster than he could draw his gun, he slid the safety on his Colt and holstered it beneath his furs. He rode the few steps over to Critos.
"Where can we talk? Alone. I'm not going to bargain in front of these thick-skulled killers."
"Follow me to my camp," Critos said quietly.
Ten minutes later Nelson rode into the bandits' "camp," a collection of crude, three-sided log lean-tos covered with animal skins. They were arranged in a rough circle in a light woods. Game roasted on an open fire near the center of the circle. Nelson counted six horses tied around the camp, and two mules. From behind the flaps on the lean-tos women and children peered out curiously.
About one hundred feet beyond the circle stood another lean-to, larger than the rest. "My quarters," Critos said. He walked to the lean-to and lifted the flap, revealing a dirty straw floor, a wood table with two benches and a chair, and an assortment of bows, swords, and knives piled in a corner.
Banditry must be a bad profession, Nelson thought. These people are living like medieval serfs.
"Doron," Critos called to one of his men as Nelson dismounted. "Bring food and drink for my guest."
Nelson watched a hulk of a man with a slightly puzzled expression walk toward the fire, then enter Critos' lean-to.
"Be seated, star lord," Critos said courteously, indicating the single chair. He himself plopped on one of the benches and rested an elbow on the table. He used his hand to prop up his tilted head and eyed Nelson with a mixture of curiosity and sarcasm.
"So, Critos, tell me of yourself. You have not always been a bandit."
"And you have not always been a star lord, is it not so? Is it true that you came from the stars?"
"Yes."
"I have seen the power of your star weapon. I had heard of such weapons of late, but never would have believed such tales. I trust your purse is as powerful."
"Powerful enough, if I choose to let you serve me."
Critos didn't answer at once; Doron came in with a roasted haunch of some local animal Nelson didn't recognize, and large cups of warmed wine. Critos continued after Doron left.
"I am surprised you are interested in us. I have heard that the star lords are cruel men who despoil whole villages, taking what they please. Why did you not simply kill us? I saw you fight our men earlier; you are not afraid of battle."
"Why did you risk open contact if you believed me a cruel killer? You could have let me go unmolested, or ambushed me again. Surely one of the six archers you would recommend to my service can hit a horseman at a range of twenty feet." Nelson was glad Critos had left him this opening. The man was intelligent and had a way of taking charge of a conversation instinctively. Nelson would have to remind him of who was to be the lord and who the servant if this arrangement was to work.
"Indeed, one of the six could have hit you," Critos said, smiling wryly. "I gambled that even your star weapon could not kill us all at once. If several died, I would have fewer mouths to feed."
"Tell me about yourself and these men."
"I was a soldier of Karinth, a fine city in the Sunlands. There was a girl . . . ah well, suffice to say I contracted debts greater than I could pay. I was placed in debt slavery. I didn't like slavery," Critos said, grinning. "I ran away. There are few careers open to a runaway slave. I became a bandit."
"But you have more than just a soldier's training."
"I can read, and write. My father raised me well."
"But he wouldn't pay your debts?"
"He disapproved of my taste in women, and my extravagant way of demonstrating my affections."
"And these people?"
"The men, all bandits out of some type of necessity. Not that they are learned. They are all barbarians, except one, a runaway slave like myself, Gaius Alba, from Rome. The others come from different lands: Drantos, Chelm, Ta‑Meltemos, the City States. Only Alba has any learning. The rest know only to ride, shoot, fight, and kill."
"Why should a star lord make enemies by taking runaway slaves, bandits, and murderers to his service?"
"Perhaps he shouldn't. Perhaps we could yet overpower you, rob you, and kill or ransom you. Many of the men would do that gladly; they can no longer believe that any other way of life is possible for them. By showing them something better, you would give them hope and earn their loyalty. Loyalty is difficult to find in hired men."
"And why do you think I need hired men at all?"
"The star lords war among themselves, I am told. All are now in Drantos—all except you. I think you need men."
"You hear much."
"In your service, lord, my ears would be yours."
"Terms?"
"You provide food, lodging, equipment as befits soldiers. Our women and children march with us, unless you settle us somewhere. We give you our lives, as bodyguards, soldiers, even workers in your household. But not as slaves."
"And you will obey. The organization is military, not that of a household. Women and children are bound to obey as well. Those who don't are subject to death. Those who do are subject only to honorable service. A man may withdraw at will, but only after four ten-days' of declaring his intention, and he may not bear arms against me, ever."
"Agreed."
"Can you bind the others?"
"Let us find out."
The True Sun had set by the time Critos and Nelson finished their parley, and the Fire Stealer, too, sank on the horizon. In the Fire Stealer's strange dusk light, Critos gathered his men by the central fire. He explained to them the Star Lord Nelson's offer. It would mean a new and better life, he said, a life with less murder, and more food. A life with . . . honor. Whether moved by Critos' words, or simply because they could think of no other response, the eight men agreed.
Critos brought the camp's one chair and placed it before the fire, indicating that Nelson should be seated. One by one, with Critos going first, each man knelt before the Star Lord Nelson and swore by his gods to give the lord service, obedience, and loyalty under the terms of the agreement. In turn, each heard the star lord promise his care and protection in exchange.
When the strange ceremony ended, the Star Lord Nelson rose. "Critos," he said, "post sentries for the night, with relief every four hours."
Then the Star Lord Nelson retired to the large lean-to, ready to spend his first night in his new camp.
Go to section 8.