Tarlok was peering in over the man’s shoulder. “What is it, Tarlok?”
“A bunch of Kormehri grabbed some local women. They were carrying them to their camp. I thought you should know.”
Macurdy swore and pulled on his boots, not taking time for socks.
“You want me to get a company or two, in case there’s trouble?”
“No. If I showed up with a bunch of men, there’d be trouble for sure. But you can come with me if you’d like.”
He tied the laces around his ankles, belted on his saber, and left the tent at a trot, Tarlok with him. Both were unaccustomed to running, and Macurdy slowed before they got there so he wouldn’t arrive gasping for breath. It was twilight, nearly dark, but he knew where in the Kormehri camp to go by the cheering, and found a crowd gathered on a company muster ground. He couldn’t see what was going on—the circle was several men deep, most without their breeches—but he pushed through, Tarlok with him. A fire had been built in the middle for light. More than a dozen women and girls had been stripped, forced to hands and knees, and their wrists tied to stakes. All of them were occupied. He didn’t hesitate, but strode to the nearest man, grabbed him by the hair and jerked him backward. The crowd went still, all but the man he’d interrupted, who scrambled to his feet swearing vividly. To find a saber tip at his solar plexus.
“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Macurdy bellowed, and abruptly, with a backhanded wrist movement, slapped the side of the man’s face with the flat of his blade. The man stepped back, hand to cheek, aware now whom he faced, and that he’d been only a turn of the wrist from death. The other rapists had dismounted and backed away, staring with varying degrees of anger and fear. Macurdy and Tarlok strode around the circle cutting ropes, freeing the women.
Macurdy straightened and looked around. “Where are their clothes?”
The company commander stepped into the circle then. He wore no breeches, but his sword was in his hand. “This is my company!” he shouted. “What goes on here is none of your business!”
The place was doubly still now. Macurdy walked slowly toward him. “Do you challenge me, you dog turd?”
The Kormehri took half a step backward before he realized what he was doing, then with an oath, rushed at Macurdy. Their blades met violently—and the Kormehri’s snapped. Macurdy thrust him through and let him fall.
The crowd remained quiet as Quakers. “What company is this?” Macurdy shouted.
“Barlin’s Company,” someone answered.
“Barlin’s Company fall in!” he ordered.
Most of the men moved as if to form ranks. But not all, and a sergeant drew his sword. “You might kill one of us, you Ozian pig,” he shouted, “but you can’t—”
He stopped in midsentence. Macurdy said nothing, simply stalked toward him, drilling him with his eyes—and just off the tip of his saber was a ball of white fire the size of an egg. The man stared at it transfixed, and screamed when Macurdy thrust him through.
“Barlin’s Company, fall in!” Macurdy repeated, and this time there was a general scramble to obey. “Major Tarlok,” he called, “help the women find their clothes.”
Most of the men stood in ranks now, but a few, perhaps a dozen, were slipping away into the darkness. “Stop where you are!”
Most stopped, though several fled.
“Where were you men going?”
“Back to our company, Marshal,” one called apologetically. “We’re not Barlin’s, sir. We just came to see what was going on.”
Yeah, and have a turn at it. “All right,” he called. “Just remember what you saw and heard.” He turned his attention back to Barlin’s Company, a company short by at least a third, no doubt from the morning’s battle . . . and felt his anger die. “Do you know why I killed your captain?” he asked. “And your sergeant?” His voice, though loud, was almost conversational. Suddenly it boomed. “BECAUSE THEY DEFIED ME. DEFIED MY ORDERS! Now let me remind you: I gave orders that there is to be no raping. Your captain and your sergeant defied those orders. Now they’re dead! Sent to Hell!”