She held up her fingers and began to tick off a few numbers. “The Beysibs have a good five hundred warriors; that doesn’t include the Harka Bey, who are an unknown quantity. The garrison houses at least sixty men-at-arms, almost all of them raised and recruited locally. There are the Hell-Hounds, who feel the
Empire has deserted them; I think they’ll fight for us. There are Jubal’s minions-they have nothing to gain and much profit to lose if Theron should pacify this region.” She tapped her chest with one hand, rapped the knuckles of her other on Dismas’s shoulder. “Then I have my twelve gladiators, the finest arena-flesh in the history of the games. And by the New Year I’ll have a hundred more, the best fighters ever to come out of Rankan schools.”
Walegrin looked thoughtful, seeming to forget that, as he spoke, he was also committing a treasonous offense. “We could dredge up more from the streets,” he observed, “and we have our wizards. Sanctuary is full of wizards.”
“What we don’t need,” Chenaya continued, encouraged by his participation, “is the PFLS. That group has caused too much dissension, actually fostered the factionalism that has cost so many lives. The swiftest thing we can do to unify those factions is to put an end to Zip and his bloodthirsty band.”
The garrison commander nodded slowly, perceiving the truth in her words. Even
Zip’s own people, most of the Ilsigi population, had turned away from the ideas espoused by the PFLS when it became general knowledge that the group was backed by Nisibisi insurgents who wanted only to stir up trouble on Ranke’s rear border while their demon-spawned sorcerers pushed their conquests from Wizardwall through the surrounding kingdoms.