— 7 —
The pain in his head exploded as Nelson stood up. He ran a hand over his skull to check the damage. Sure enough, there was a huge lump at the back of his skull. Amazingly, he found no other injuries.
He took a few steps, getting his bearings. Balquhor kept close watch on him; no matter what Critos ordered, the hulk of a man didn't trust the star lord yet.
Nelson stuck his hands beneath his covering furs and patted his body down carefully. The bandits' search had been thorough: they'd taken his hideaway knife.
Balquhor grunted and pointed to a large lean-to about a hundred feet beyond the smaller ones in the circle.
That hovel, apparently, was Critos' quarters. Nelson nodded aristocratically to Balquhor, then sauntered over to the fire. There he paused, warming himself, before walking slowly to Critos' lean-to.
"Welcome, star lord, to my quarters," Critos said sarcastically as he lifted the lean-to's covering flap of animal skin.
Nelson surveyed the bandit leader's collection of luxuries: a straw floor as filthy as those in any of the other lean-tos, a small pile of weapons in one corner, a wood table, two benches, and one chair. Doron crowded past Nelson to place a roasted haunch and two large goblets of wine on the table.
"That will be all for now, Doron," Critos said. "My lord, won't you be seated?" Critos gestured to the one chair; he himself plopped down on a bench. "Now, we're alone. Tell me something to my advantage."
Nelson sipped the wine. It wasn't good, but it wasn't that bad, and on a cold day it would do. The meat didn't look familiar, but he lifted the haunch and bit into it anyway. Gamey, but not inedible.
"You have not always been a bandit," Nelson observed. "Men of your insight did not grow up among murderers in the forests of Tran."
Critos seemed intrigued by this remark. "True," he replied. "But that's no concern of yours."
"Perhaps I would be interested to make your concerns mine."
"Say on."
"First I must know about you: your background, your training, and your skills. How you came to be a bandit." Nelson paused to add emphasis to his next words. "And your enemies."
"All men are enemies of bandits."
"Not all men are enemies of soldiers."
A gleam of understanding lit Critos' brown eyes. "I would not think a star lord would look among bandits for soldiers," he said cautiously. He sipped his wine and looked away from Nelson, hoping to show his utter lack of interest in what the star lord had said.
"Almost anyone can be taught to be a good soldier. Your men have courage; they were willing to fight on after seeing the deadly effect of my star weapon. And you have taught them some discipline."
"They must be ruled by fear and guile."
"In time they would respond to better treatment. But at first, you are quite correct." Nelson took another slug of the wine, then spoke on as if lecturing a subordinate. "Once, though, they have tasted success in honorable battle, most men can be motivated by pride in themselves and loyalty to their lord. Of course, there can be neither if the men are used merely to kill and steal. That is why you must struggle daily to maintain your position with them."
"Hah. A prisoner wants my job. A star lord wishes to lead bandits."
"A star lord wishes to lead men who could become good soldiers."
"And why do you need men?"
"That should be obvious. You did take me prisoner."
"And the other star lords?"
"They will avenge me if our parley fails."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. What position would I have in this little band of soldiers?"
"I don't know yet. I don't know how good you are, or how brave you are. It takes no courage to murder a man from behind or slit his throat while he's tied." Nelson watched Critos carefully. He'd been riding the bandit chief hard; how would Critos take this insult?
"And it takes little courage to plunder Drantos with star weapons. It takes none at all to enslave peasants." Critos made the remarks coldly, but matter-of-factly. Good, thought Nelson.
"You hear a lot."
"I hear the star lords war upon one another in Drantos. They are all there—all but one. And why are you here? You have fallen out with your star lord kinsmen. You are outcast. And now you seek to raise an army to avenge yourself."
So, Galloway is in charge of the Tamaerthon force! Parsons may be in for a big surprise, Nelson thought with a smile.
"The star lords do war among themselves. But I am not outcast. Our ways are not your ways, just as our weapons are not your weapons."
"I beg to differ, star lord. Your weapons, at least, are now mine."
"Not if you enter my service." Nelson scowled, then pounded his fist on the table. "I will no longer be bandied with! If you wish to serve me, tell me what you can do. Otherwise, this parley is ended."
"And your life with it."
"So be it."
Critos sat back, surprised. This star lord may be an outcast, the bandit thought, but he has courage. And honor. Things I once had, before Yatar-Opollos turned his face from me.
"I can read and write. I am a trained soldier who once marched in the ranks of the Guards of Karinth. I am not unused to command, and can wield the pike or the sword with equal skill. I ride well, but fight better on foot."
"How did you come to be a bandit?" Nelson asked, keeping his expression stern.
"I was placed in debt slavery. I didn't like slavery, so I escaped. There are few careers open to escaped slaves."
"And your men?"
"A mixed lot. Barbarians, all of them, of course, except the Roman, Gaius Alba. He can read and write and calculate. The rest . . . eight men, eight stories. Some are brutes, like Doron and Balquhor. Some are smarter. All are brave, and all are killers. There were more than eight before today. You fight well, too, star lord."
"You would be my second-in-command with the rank of . . . Sergeant."
"I do not know this term of rank."
"It is deemed honorable by the star lords."
"What would you give those who enter your service?"
"Discipline. Honor. Protection. More food and more shelter than they have now. Gold and booty as I can."
"And in return?"
"I would demand absolute obedience. Those who failed to give it would die. But any man would be free to leave my service four ten-days after declaring his desire. He would be sworn, however, never to take arms against me."
Critos' face went slack. He turned his head away from Nelson and drank deeply, draining his cup.
"I had never thought to have honor again," he said softly.
"Join me."
"I will."
"Can you speak for the others?"
"Let us see."
The True Sun had set by the time Critos and Nelson finished their parley, and the Fire Stealer, too, was sinking 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, gesturing for Nelson to 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. Each heard the star lord promise his care and protection in exchange.
When the ceremony ended, the Star Lord Nelson rose. "Critos," he said, "post sentries for the night, with relief every four hours. Return my star weapons to me in my quarters."
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.