“You see!” Wolf shouted. “I’m one of Wollerda’s, and Macurdy’s the one that cut us free. After knifing two of the guards himself.”
Earlier, the matter of Macurdy and his people had focused the rebels. The arrival of the recruiting party had dispersed that focus. Now Wolf had returned it to Macurdy, in a manner of speaking; people were talking to each other about him, though leaving Macurdy pretty much to himself for the moment. Orthal lay ignored where he’d fallen.
Slaney’s second came over to Macurdy. “You really want to join up?” he asked.
Macurdy examined the man’s aura. It was the same general type as Arbel’s; he was what Arbel called a student. Just now he was a bandit-rebel, and before that probably a farmer-herdsman, but beneath it all he was a student, perhaps of life. His aura seemed basically clean, with a zone suggesting a pragmatic nature. And he’d been Slaney’s second, which meant he’d been accepted as capable, but took orders. Saner and smarter than Slaney though, and bigger, stronger-looking. So maybe not very aggressive.
Aggressive enough to make a pitch to Orthal, Macurdy reminded himself, a pitch to save my neck. That took guts, with Slaney lying dead there. He grunted. “Do I really want to join up? Not exactly. I want to command this outfit. Turn it into the core of an army that can throw Gurtho down once and for all. And I need someone by me that knows these people: what they want, what they need. What their strong points are, and their weaknesses. You want the job?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead he said, “Don’t be shy with them. They may not know it, but they’re looking for a leader now. They want one. And they might accept a stranger. The right stranger.”
They. They. That explained the aural coolness, Macurdy decided. The man was a local, one of the group, but inwardly held a little apart from it. I believe I’m getting good at this aura analysis, Macurdy told himself. “Thanks,” he said. “Who’ll take over if I don’t?”
“Probably no one, with Slaney dead. And I expect they’ll break up and drift home if someone doesn’t take over.”
Macurdy nodded. “What’s your name? And the guy’s name that just came in with recruits?”
“He’s Tarlok. I’m Jesker.”
“Thanks.” Macurdy spotted Tarlok at the center of a large cluster of rebels, and started over. Some of the rebels from Gormin Town were there too; Verned glanced his way and beckoned. The cluster opened on Macurdy’s side as if to receive him.
Let’s do it, Macurdy told himself, and lengthened his stride.
“You’re Macurdy?” Tarlok asked. “The one that killed Orthal?”
“I’m Macurdy. And yeah, I killed Orthal. Partly. Mainly he killed himself, by stupidity, and treating people like shit.”
Tarlok’s gaze was steady. Analytical. He had a warrior’s aura, a fairly clean one. This was a man who’d take responsibility, and give loyalty where it was due.
“A couple of your people know a couple of my recruits,” Tarlok said. “They tell us you killed the soldiers guarding them in Gormin Town, then cut them loose. And that you’re the one who lit off the uprising there.”
“I’m from Oz, me and two others. We each killed guards, but I was the ringleader. Lighting off the uprising was easy. People there were ready; they hate Gurtho as much as you do. All they needed was someone to start something; they took it from there. I’d rather they hadn’t burned the town, but it’s their town.”
“So what do you do next?”
“Let me ask you a question. I know what the people in Gormin Town want. They want to get rid of Gurtho. But what do you want? What are you up here for?”
Several men tried to speak then; Macurdy pointed at one. “You,” he said. “What are you up here for?”
“Freedom for the tribe! Our grandfathers’ grandfathers were free men. Then we lost a war with the flatlanders and had to swear allegiance to the kings of Tekalos. Obey their reeves and pay their taxes.”
By this time, most of the rebels had gathered around to listen.
“All right,” Macurdy said, “so you want freedom from lowland kings. Just don’t replace them with somebody like Orthal, or you’ll be as bad off as ever. You, Wolf! Is that what the rebels want where you’re from? Freedom?”