“Pretty much. We want to rule ourselves.”
“Anyone got something different?”
The only answers were shouts of “No!”, or “that’s it!”
“Then what were you sitting around for? You ought to be training for war! Learning to fight as a unit! Learning tactics! I came up here today and people were loafing! Did I get here on a holiday or something?”
No one answered.
“The only way to get your freedom is fight for it! And it’s not enough just to fight! You’ve got to win!” He paused. “Now fighting’s what I do. Fighting and winning. And I didn’t come up here to waste my time. If you want to fight, and win your freedom, I’ll organize and train you. Make a fighting force out of you. Lead you if you want. Otherwise I’ll take my sword and my friends and go somewhere else. Tell me now.”
There were several seconds of silence, long enough for Macurdy to wonder which answer he really preferred. Then Wolf said, “I’ve already seen him in action. He’s smart, he’s not afraid of anything—and he’s lucky!”
Tarlok spoke next. “Orthal turned out to be a loudmouth bully, and Bono and I figured if things didn’t get better, someone would cut his throat some night soon and we’d try a different captain. Maybe Macurdy’s the man.”
A number of voices shouted agreement, but it wasn’t general. Jesker had followed Macurdy over; he spoke next. “Slaney’d been saying we needed to do something about Orthal, that as long as Orthal ran things, nothing would happen. Fighting with fists, he was the most dangerous man around, but for thinking? Then Slaney got crosswise with Macurdy over west, and Macurdy made a fool out of him; tricked him out of his boots. I know; I was there. Then here, when Slaney had the advantage of him, sword against knife, Macurdy split his breastbone. Now we hear what he did in Gormin Town last night. If we’re not smart enough to make him commander after all that, I’m going home, and to hell with the rest of you! The gods sent him to us as our last chance. If we turn them down, we’re finished. We’ll deserve whatever happens to us.”
Macurdy stood briefly stunned at the speech, and at the voices shouting his name now. Grinning men pushed up to him to shake his hand, and when things had calmed a bit, he raised his own voice. “Tarlok! Jesker! Jeremid! Melody! Tossi! Wolf, you too! I need to talk to you over by the cook tent! We need to get things started here!”
It took awhile. There were sixty-three rebels now, with Tarlok’s new recruits, Slaney’s band, and the six rebels Macurdy had rescued. None had been soldiers, and in Tekalos there was no militia training. All were good bowmen—many very good—and that was about the limit of their military competence. Most had also brought spears, such as hillsmen take when hunting bear or cat or razorbacks, and could stab a man with them if it came to it. But clashing spears with trained soldiers, they’d be in deep trouble. A few had swords, passed down through the family from tribal days, but almost none were trained with them, beyond the games boys played with sticks.
If competence was a problem, so was supply. With sixty-three mouths to feed, and located back in the wild as they were, foraging would be a problem. The nearest clusters of farms had been heavily drawn on already, and the camp had been there for only about a month, but getting food from farther away presented problems of transport.
Macurdy wondered again if this was a good idea, being here, doing this. To create an army out of a few thousand scattered hillsmen looked virtually impossible. And how was it going to help him rescue Varia anyway?
On the other hand, he reminded himself, he’d been operating on impulse, on intuition, ever since his run-in with Zassfel in the House of Heroes, and he’d succeeded beyond all reason. He’d been operating on “notions,” like Will had, but bigger notions, and his had worked out.
Anyway here I am. And this makes more sense, or maybe it does, than just walking into the Sisterhood and telling them I’ve come to take Varia home.