Page 34 of Swordheart
I’m an idiot. She’s asking questions to distract herself from how uncomfortable she is.
His men had done the same thing, in various forms; notquestions, per se, but endless talking. Vetch had told the very worst jokes. Not even dirty jokes, just interminable puns. And Bo, who had a bard’s tongue, would spin out impossibly long stories about everything from the enemy to last night’s dinner, until a simple overcooked bit of venison became a three-thousand-year-old victim of a god’s curse, slain at last and sent to its final resting place in the stomach of a dozen mercenaries.
Fisher, the crossbowman, had made up his own songs, but the less said about that, the better.
Apparently, Halla asked questions.
He should have realized that Halla was doing something of the sort. His only defense was that she was a civilian, and you didn’t expect them to cope with things like a normal person.
You’re her commander, or close enough in this situation. Do your job. Help keep up morale.
I’m nothercommander,he argued with himself.Quite the opposite. I serve whoever wields the sword.
He glanced back at her. Halla’s eyes were on her feet, picking her way through the cold ground.
Her cheerful expression had faded. Her shoulders slumped and the corners of her mouth sagged with weariness. Her large gray eyes were half-closed, fine lines radiating from the corners.
As soon as she looked up and saw that he was watching, she straightened and forced a smile, like… like…
Like every recruit you’ve ever had who was determined to die before they complained about anything.
Angharad Shieldborn had been like that. You could chop off her feet and she’d grit her teeth and march on the stumps.
He’d been Angharad’s commander. He had to tell her when she was too damn tired, because she’d never admit it. Sometimes the Dervish had done it for him, which was why the two of them had worked well together.
His men were long gone now. He had not seen his two captainssince the day that swords had been thrust through their hearts. Presumably they hated him now, which was their right. He had failed them all.
Halla, however, was right here. And if he wasn’t her commander, exactly, he was damned close. Which meant that there was only one thing left to do.
Sarkis tried to think of something to say about sheep.
He’d never thought about the animals much. Thinking of the Dervish reminded him, though. “One of my captains came from a land where they bred sheep with thick tails that drag the ground.”
“Really!” Halla’s eyes lit up with genuine interest. “That sounds like they’d have a lot of problems, though. Sheep get into enough trouble with their regular tails.”
“I can’t say, I’ve never seen one. But the fat of the sheep’s tail was a delicacy, he said.”
“On my husband’s farm, we had goats,” said Halla. She frowned. “I can’t say I miss them.”
“I’ve never kept goats,” said Sarkis, doggedly determined to keep up his end of the conversation.
“No one really keeps goats, do they? They justhavegoats. Like having in-laws, if your in-laws climbed on the roof and kicked.”
“I have had in-laws that did both those things.”
“What, really?”
“Primarily when drunk.”
She laughed. Her stomach growled loudly in counterpoint and she thumped herself. “Quiet, you.”
After a moment, she said, “My in-laws just seem to want to marry me off. Are you married?”
“I was, once.”
Halla stilled. He glanced back and saw her eyes were filled with sudden sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
