“I’ve got the talent,” he said, “and I’ve had some training. She can’t make me do what I don’t want to.” And there’s a lot at stake here for me. There’s no other way I can hope to get Varia back. None at all.
“These Tigers,” Jeremid said. “Are they as good as I’ve heard, do you suppose?”
Macurdy shrugged. “I guess that depends on how good you’ve heard. Varia mentioned them once; she thought they were the best. Savage, highly skilled, and stronger than other men. And they won’t be tentative like the people we’ve been fighting.”
Jeremid gestured at the paper lying on the table. “Why do you suppose Sarkia mentioned them in her message?”
“I can only guess. Maybe she wants to scare me. Added to Gurtho’s cohort, just a company of Tigers could make a big difference. Even without Gurtho’s cohort, a company of guards and one of Tigers makes it too dangerous to take a cohort south to capture her. Not that I would.”
“They could be to keep us from rescuing you, if she takes you prisoner,” Melody said.
“True. But it doesn’t feel like anything to worry about.”
“You’re going to go regardless of what we think,” Melody said. “Are you going to take a bodyguard? Besides the escort who’ll ride down there with you? Someone who’ll be beside you during the meeting?”
Macurdy grinned at her. “Who have you got in mind?”
She grinned back ruefully. “Me.”
“If I was going to take someone, it would be you.” And let them think maybe I have a new love. Let them feel they have to offer more. But if something does go wrong . . .
“But you’re not taking anyone.”
“Right.”
“What about Wollerda?” Jeremid asked.
“That’s the next big question.” Macurdy plucked a sheet of paper from a small stack, then reached for his inkwell. “I want you to write a message to him, for me to sign.”
Blue Wing carried the message and brought back Wollerda’s answer: Macurdy could meet with Sarkia but make no final commitment. If he failed to return, Wollerda would accept Jeremid as Macurdy’s successor. If Macurdy’s Force elected someone other than Jeremid as their new commander, Wollerda was not committed to work with him, although he’d consider it.
Usually Macurdy slept well, and the night before leaving was no exception. The officer of the guard wakened him at the first light of dawn, and he got up feeling exhilarated. He and his escort of ten men were in the saddle and on their way before sunup. Despite the unknowns, Macurdy’s sense of strength and confidence grew as he rode. He wasn’t euphoric or ecstatic, just alert and confident, sure of himself. This would work out.
The state persisted through the morning.
Near midday, in the distance, he could see the inn at the crossroads. He’d assumed that Sarkia intended to sit down with him there, but almost as soon as he made out the inn, he saw what looked to be a tent, a large pavilion erected on the other side of the North Fork Road. Shortly a dozen men were riding northward toward him at a brisk trot, and after closing the distance somewhat, he halted his escort to wait. The reception party stopped a hundred feet away, sitting its horses in precise ranks. Two of its members rode the rest of the way at a sedate walk. Macurdy had no doubt that they were Sarkia’s rather than Gurtho’s. Mounted on beautifully matched black horses, they wore black uniforms with polished cuirasses and helmets that, from where he sat, looked to be silver. The two who came to meet him wore clusters of long scarlet ribbons from their helmet peaks.
“You are Commander Macurdy?” one of them asked. He showed no hauteur, despite the rebels’ rough clothes and casual ranks, nor did his aura show anything like scorn.
“That’s right.”
“If you are prepared to meet now with the Dynast, I am instructed to conduct you to her. A meal is being prepared for her and yourself. Your men will eat with us if you wish, or they can eat apart.”
“Where do I meet her? In the tent?”