He announced the amends the next morning at muster, and the punishments were meted. Each of the three captives was awarded 20 silver teklota or the equivalent, at the cost of every man but the newcomers, which virtually stripped the rebels of money. Some had to borrow from newcomers to pay their share. And remarkably no one grumbled, at least where Macurdy could hear. Beyond that, two conscience-stricken youths-brothers-asked leave to marry the girls, if they'd have them. The girls didn't say yes, but they didn't refuse, either, and Macurdy gave the youths a three-week leave, should the girls and their parents accept the offer. He didn't really care whether they came back or not. The girls, he thought, might need their reassurance more than he did their military service.

As for the foraging crew who'd stolen them, their leader was to receive ten strokes of the rod from each victim, and the other four, five each. The rod being unpeeled hornbeam about half an inch thick. But when it came down to it, the younger girl struck only the leader, twice, then burst into tears, threw away the cane, and ran to hide. Her sister wouldn't touch it. The older woman, though, laid it on with vigor, as if to make up for the unwillingness of the others, and Macurdy allowed her to strike for the younger two.

The results were an ugly bloody mess. Macurdy would let them suffer a day before trying the healing techniques Arbel had taught him.

The two girls were returned to their homes the next day, Jesker and Melody leading the escort to tell the families what had happened to Orthal, who'd ordered the capture, and to the foragers who'd taken them. Macurdy didn't think the girls could bring themselves to talk about it. The escort included the two volunteer bridegrooms, who didn't come back. Melody said they'd been allowed by the parents to stay.

The older woman remained with the company. "After what happened," she told Melody and Macurdy, "my husband would never have me back. And he's prosperous; he'll soon enough have another wife to keep his bed warm and mother our son." For a moment her mouth twisted, not with grief but bitterness, then she shook it off. "My father had no sons, and I was the oldest of three daughters. I'm strong. I worked in the field until I was married, behind the plow and with scythe and ax, rake and spade, pitchfork and pry pole. I never had a doll; I played with the bow. On summer pasture I've slept in the cow shed with a sword to hand, when there were tracks of cat or bear or troll around. I'm a good enough shot, I killed a wolf once, when they threatened the cattle, and another time I sent a catamount running off with an arrow in its flank.

"These"-she gestured at the camp and its men-"took my old life away from me. You can give me a new one now, and a spear and bow, and let me stay as a rebel. Afterward I'll see, if there is an afterward. These others are no more trained for fighting than I am, and women, more than menfolk, feel the curse of Gurtho. Some have even scarred their daughter's face, be she pretty enough that Gurtho's agents might take her away as part of the tax."

With that, Macurdy lost any misgivings about leading these men.

After muster, he sorted out the things in Orthal's tent, stacking outside those he didn't want, for others to take. When he'd finished, he sat on a short section of log, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, his energy suddenly gone. Looking back at Washington County with greater appreciation than ever.

24: Wollerda

He'd have gone to bed, but lacked the energy. Felt too tired to spread his blankets-Orthal's blankets-on the pile of dry grass. Then three men came to the tent. One of them, Tarlok, peered in at him.

"Captain?" he said hesitantly.

"What is it, Tarlok?"

"There are things we want to talk to you about, but they can wait if need be."

Macurdy got slowly to his feet, remaining somewhat bent because the roof was low. "No, let's hear them now," he said, and ducked out through the opening. The other two had come into camp with Tarlok. One was an older man who'd kept apart from the others at muster, like a bystander.

"Captain, this is Terel Kithro and this is Arva Bono, old friends of mine." He put a hand on the shoulder of a man about his own age, perhaps thirty. "Bono joined the company when I did. For the last eight, ten years, he's traveled around amongst the settlements, teaching the young to read and write and figure. Knows most everyone. He's been helping me recruit."

Tarlok paused as if ordering his thoughts. "I didn't tell you the entire truth, earlier. Bono and I'd planned to murder Orthal. Last night. Orthal and Slaney and a few others had a reputation for fighting and getting in trouble. Making trouble. Then the reeve came in with his bully boys and killed some people, burned some farms, and drove off livestock. For holding back on taxes, he said. When the word got around, folks were pretty upset, and Orthal and his buddies were naturals to recruit wild or would-be wild young bucks to form up a rebel band." Tarlok shook his head. "We didn't realize what a damned troll he really was. In the long run he was a hindrance for recruiting. Bono and I brought in quite a few men that afterward slipped off and went home-didn't like the way Orthal did things. It was their stories, more than anything else, that hurt recruiting. Looked like he'd turn the whole thing into banditry."

Macurdy interrupted before Tarlok could say more. "I'm worn out, Tarlok. What are you getting at?"

Tarlok nodded. "Right. We brought Kithro back with us because people know and respect him, and because he's a friend of Pavo Wollerda, the captain of Wollerda's company. Of the eastern clans. It's supposed to be a lot bigger than ours, and better organized and trained. And we figured when we had a better leader, maybe the two bands could work together."

"Who did you figure would lead, once Orthal was dead?"

"Well, I sort of planned to, if we couldn't talk Kithro into it. But now you're here, and we're all agreed you'd do a lot better job."

Macurdy grunted. "Kithro, do you think this Wollerda would be interested in working with us?"

"I think so. Otherwise I wouldn't have come up with Tarlok. I'm too old for a rebel. Old and spoiled by comfort."

Kithro's aura was pretty clean. Arbel would call him a warrior, in this case an overage warrior who'd go for his goals by other means than a sword: by focus and intelligence, and maybe other people's swords. "Tell me about Wollerda," Macurdy said.

Wollerda was of a lineage of chiefs, Kithro told him, and that still meant something among the Kullvordi, which was what the hillsfolk called themselves. When Wollerda had been a small boy, the king had been having trouble with the Kullvordi, and because Wollerda's father and grandfather had both been headmen, Wollerda and his mother had been taken to the palace as hostages. Wollerda had grown up there, he and his mother living in a small room in the servants' wing. As a bright, inquisitive child whom adults tended to like, he'd learned a lot about the flatlands, its government, and the royal court. And about the rest of the world, because the palace held a royal library with two or three hundred books, and the old man who looked after it took a liking to him.

When he'd pretty much grown up, he and his mother were let go, but after a few years of farming and herding, he'd returned to the capital, Teklapori, and set up business as a traveling salesman of books and jewelry. He not only traveled all over Tekalos, but east to the Great Eastern Mountains, west to the Great Muddy, and north to the Big River, buying and selling books, and fine jewelry made by the Sisters. He'd even been north of the river, into the Marches of the ylvin empire.