was arrogantly aimed at Crit’s eyes by the time Kama said, “Don’t make the
mistake of thinking you understand what you’re seeing, fighter. You’ll need
help. If you’re smart, you’ll remember where and how to get it- Strat’s part of
Sanctuary’s problem, not its solution.”
Everyone found comfort where they could in wartime, and Sanctuary was war’s
womb, a microcosm of every horror man could foist upon his brother-worse now
with factions holding checkpoints and militias ruling blocks whose inhabitants
were never certain. The idea of Strat being a part of Sanctuary’s problem nearly
made him draw his own bow-Crit knew Kama well enough to know, if quarrels were
loosed, his would find its mark first: her woman’s hesitation would be her last.
And he might have, right then, no matter what her provenance, but for the pud
who didn’t know him and didn’t like any northern rider, especially one talking
to his girlfriend. The slingshot grew taut, the boy’s eyes steady as his stance
widened.
So there was that-a deadly interval of stalemate broken only when a drunk
caromed off a nearby doorway and knelt down, retching in the street.
Then Crit cleared his throat and said, “If you’re still a member of the
Stepsons, woman, I’ll want you at the White Foal bridge two hours before dawn.
Spread the word among the Third Commando, too; I’ll need some backup on this-(/
the Third’s still led by Sync, and if he’s not succumbed to Sanctuary’s blight,
I should be able to expect it.”
“Old debts? Words of honor?” Kama rejoined. “Honor’s cheap in thieves’ world.