the least this endeavour needed, though Crit would never pair again …
He put it to them when all were well disposed from wine and roasted pig and
lamb, standing and flatly telling them Tempus had left, putting them in his
charge. There fell a silence and in it he could hear his heart pound. He’d been
calmer ringed with Tyse hillmen, or alone, his partner slain, against a Rankan
squadron.
‘Now, we’ve got each other, and for good and fair, I say to you, the quicker we
quit this cesspool for the clean air of high peaks war, the happier I’ll be.’
He could hardly see their faces in the dark with the torches snapping right
before his face. But it didn’t matter; they had to see him, not he them. Crit
heard a raucous growl from fifty throats become assent, and then a cheer, and
laughter, and Strat, beside and off a bit, gave him a soldier’s sign: all’s
well.
He raised a hand, and they fell quiet; it was a power he’d never tried before:
‘But the only way to leave with honour is to work your tours out.’ They
grumbled. He continued: ‘The Riddler’s left busy-work sorties enough – hazardous
duty actions, by guild book rules; I’ll post a list – that we can work off our
debt to Kitty-Cat in a month or so.’
Someone nay’d that. Someone else called: ‘Let him finish, then we’ll have our
say.’
‘It means naught to me, who deserts to follow. But to us, to cadre honour, it’s
a slur. So I’ve thought about it, since I’m hot to leave myself, and here’s what
I propose. All stay, or go. You take your vote. I’ll wait. But Tempus wants no