Resaro, squatting by the tribesman’s side, thrust an iron carefully into the fire. “He isn’t saying much so far, sir.”
“Unbelieving dogs!” the hillman rasped. His black eyes glared at Haranides above a long, scraggly mustache that was almost as dark. “Sons of diseased camels! Your mothers defile themselves with sheep! Your fathers—”
Resaro casually backhanded him across the mouth. “Sorry, sir. Be a lot worse done to one of us in his village, but he seems to take it personally that we expect him to talk, instead of just killing him outright.”
“Never will I talk!” the hillman growled. “Cut off my hands! I will not speak! Pluck out my eyes! I will not speak! Slice off—”
“Those all sound interesting,” Haranides cut him off. “But I can think of something better.” The black eyes watched him worriedly. “I’ll wager the odds are good there’s a hillman up there somewhere watching us right this minute. One of your lot, or another one. It doesn’t matter. What do you think would happen if that man sees us turn you loose with smiles and pats on the back?”
“Kill me,” the hillman hissed. “I will not talk.”
Haranides laughed easily. “Oh, they’d kill you for us. A lot more slowly than we would, I suspect. But worst of all,” his smile faded, “they’ll curse your soul for a traitor. Your spirit will wander for all time, trapped between this world and the next. Alone. Except for other traitors. And demons.” The hillman was silent, but unease painted his face. He was ready, Haranides thought. “Narses, bring that thing in there and show it to our guest.”
The watching soldiers gasped and muttered charms as Narses and another carried the rigid corpse into the circle. Haranides kept his eyes on the hillman’s face. The dark eyes slid away from the reptilian creature, then back again, abruptly so full of venom as to seem deadly.
“You know it, don’t you?” the captain said quietly.
The hillman nodded reluctantly. His eyes were still murderous on Haranides. “It is called a S’tarra.” His mouth twisted around the word, and he spat for punctuation. “Many of these thrice-accursed dung-eaters serve the evil one who dwells in the dark fortress to the south. Many men, and even women and children, disappear within those light-forsaken stone walls, and none are seen again. Not even their bodies to be borne away for the proper rites. Such abominations are not to be endured. So did we gather—” The thin-lipped mouth snapped shut; the tribesman resumed his glare.
“You lie,” Haranides sneered. “You know not the truth, as your mother knew not your father. Hill dogs do not attack fortresses. You cower in fear of your women, and you would sell your children for a copper.”
The dark face had become engorged with rage as Haranides spoke. “Loose me!” the tribesman howled. “Loose me, drinker of jackal’s urine, and I will carve your manhood to prove mine!”
The captain laughed contemptuously. “With such numbers as you had, you could not have taken a mud hut held by an old woman and her granddaughter.”
“Our strength was as the strength of thousands for the righteousness of our cause!” the dark man spat. “Each of us would have killed a score of the diseased demon-spawn!”
Haranides studied the hillman’s anger-suffused eyes, and nodded to himself. That was as close as he was likely to get to confirmation that there were no more hillmen out. “You say they take people,” he said finally. “Do valuables attract them? Gold? Gems?”
“No!” Aheranates burst out. Haranides rounded on him angrily, but the slender man babbled on. “We cannot pursue these … these monsters! Mitra! ’Twas the Red Hawk we were sent for, and if these creatures kill her, good and well enough!”
“Erlik take you, Aheranates!” the captain grated.
The hillman broke in. “I will guide you. And you ride to slay the scaled filth,” he spat, “I will guide you faithfully.” Anger had been washed from his face by some other emotion, but what emotion was impossible to say.
“By the Black Throne of Erlik!” Haranides growled. Seizing Aheranates’ arm he pulled the young lieutenant away from the prying eyes of the men, behind a massive boulder. The captain glanced around to make certain none of the others had followed. When he spoke his voice was low and forceful. “I’ve put up with your insolence, with foolishness, slyness, and pettiness enough for ten girls in a zenana, but I’ll not put up with cowardice. Especially not in front of the men.”
“Cowardice!” Aheranates’ slender frame quivered. “My father is Manerxes, who is friend to—”
“I care not if your father is Mitra! Hannuman’s stones, man! Your fear is so strong it can be felt at ten paces. We were sent to return with the Red Hawk, not with a rumor that she might possibly be dead somewhere in the mountains.”
“You mean to go on?”
Haranides gritted his teeth. The fool could make trouble for him once they returned to Shadizar. “For a time, lieutenant. We may overtake the bandits. And if they have been captured by these S’tarra, well the hilltribes may consider their keep a fortress, but if they thought to take it with fewer than ten score, it’s possible eighty real soldiers can do the task. In any event, I won’t turn back until I’m sure the Red Hawk and the king’s playthings are beyond my grasp.”
“You’ve gone mad.” Aheranates’ voice was cold and calm, his eyes glazed and half-focused. “I have no other choice. You cannot be allowed to kill us all.” His hand darted for his sword.
In his shock Haranides was barely able to throw himself back away from the lieutenant’s vicious slash. Aheranates’ eyes were fixed; his breath came in pants. Haranides rolled aside, and the other’s blade bit into the stony ground where his head had been. But now the captain had his own sword out. He lunged up from the ground, driving it under the younger man’s ribs to thrust out behind his shoulder.
Aheranates stared down incredulously at the steel that transfixed him. “My father is Manerxes,” he whispered. “He … .” A bubble of blood formed on his lips. As it broke, he fell.
Haranides got to his feet, cursing under his breath, and tugged his sword free of the body. He started at a footstep grating on the rock behind him. Resaro stepped up to look down at Aheranates’ body.
“The fool,” Haranides began, but Resaro cut him off.
“Your pardon for interrupting, sir, but I can see as you’re distraught over the lieutenant’s death, and I wouldn’t want you to say something, in anguish, so to speak, that I shouldn’t ought to hear.”
“What are you saying?” the hook-nosed captain asked slowly.