It was full dark when Gabrielle stole out of the command tent; the moon was no more than a sliver in the sky, and deep black shadows lay thickly over the encampment. She had waited until she could hear the change in Caesar's breathing that indicated he slept, and had silently risen from her bed. Najara had not returned, and careful inquiries to Jett had suggested that she would not make it back that night.
Moving stealthily and staying to the areas of the deepest shadow, Gabrielle crept through the darkened encampment. The ground was uneven, more so than it looked by daytime, and she had to pick her way carefully. More than once, she had to duck down an alleyway between two tents as soldiers with torches marched by on patrol; she could also see sentries posted around the outer ring of the encampment. That'll make it harder, she thought. At last, she reached the area where the captives were chained, in front of the low dais where Najara had addressed the captives the day before. She waited in the shadows to the side of the dais until the guards had passed by on their march, then with a last look to make sure there were no watchers and she was unobserved, Gabrielle silently crept forward, keeping low to the ground, to where Stallonus was chained in the dark, at the end of the line of prisoners.
Getting down next to him, trying to blend her outline in with the mass of the rest of the prisoners so that the chance observer would see nothing unusual, Gabrielle put one hand over Stallonus's mouth and hissed in his ear, "It's me!"
Stallonus came awake instantly, opening his eyes, but he made no betraying movement. His eyes found her. "Gabrielle?" he whispered back, his voice low and uncarrying. "What are you doing here?" She could barely see his features in the dark.
"Najara said no," Gabrielle whispered back. "She said she wouldn't free you and I couldn't get anyone else to help me. So I've come to let you out." She took her hands away and began feeling in her belt pouch for the specially shaped piece of wire she had gotten during the course of the afternoon. "Lean forward," she started to tell him, but Stallonus had already done it, moving with expert silence to cause minimum noise from the chains that bound him in place. Gabrielle set to work on the locks that secured his wrists and collar. It was hard to see in the darkness, and she stuck herself with the probe more than once.
"Najara said no?" Stallonus repeated. Gabrielle glanced at him. It looked from what she could see as if he were frowning.
"She completely refused," Gabrielle hissed back. "Which is why I'm doing it like this. Once I have you out of these chains," she continued, "head west through the camp. The western boundary is the closest, and it's right up against the treeline. You should be able to get away in the woods." The collar fell off; Stallonus caught it before it could hit the ground with a betraying clank, and set it down gently. Gabrielle turned her attention to the shackles.
"So she doesn't know about this," Stallonus said.
"Right. So you're going to have to be stealthy," she told him.
"Are there guards?" he asked
"The camp has lots of guards on patrol. I was almost caught once or twice coming over here. Stay in the shadows—"
"What about sentries around the camp?"
"There are sentries," Gabrielle confirmed, digging at the lock; it was sticking. Probably rusty, she thought, and wished that she could pick locks as well as Jett had.
"What about cover?" he asked. "Are there bushes, undergrowth, trees—"
"The western boundary has the most undergrowth. There are also the supply wagons out there which might help."
"But there are still sentries and guards out there?"
"You should be able to make it if you're careful." One lock opened with a click. Gabrielle went to work on the other one.
"I see," he said thoughtfully.
The other lock was proving to be much easier; Gabrielle dug at it a little, and it came off as well. There was a click, and the shackles dropped away. "There you go," she told him. "If you just—"
Her words cut off as Stallonus clamped a strong hand over her mouth. Before she even had time to react, the other hand found the hilt of her belt knife and yanked it free from its sheath at her waist. The keen edge of her own knife burned where he laid it against her throat. Then the hand left her mouth and grasped her wrist, gripping her like iron. Shock froze her in place; she couldn't even figure out what was happening. "Go ahead and scream, Gabrielle," Stallonus was hissing in her ear. "Go ahead. I'll slit your throat from ear to ear before anyone can get here to help you."
"What do you think you're doing?" Gabrielle managed to get out in a squeak of indignation.
"Doing what I have to," Stallonus said harshly. "The chance of getting past those sentries will probably go up if I've got a hostage with me. Just don't fight me, Gabrielle, and don't do anything to give us away. I don't want to kill you, but I will if I have to. And please, don't doubt me when I tell you I'll do it; it wouldn't be the worst thing I've done."
Clouds had rolled across the thin sliver of moon, extinguishing what little light there was. A rough yank on her wrist and Stallonus was dragging her, under cover of darkness, into the shadows at the edge of the field. "You told me you never killed innocents!" Gabrielle hissed at him in horror. She stumbled on purpose, but Stallonus's grip on her wrist did not break; he dragged her after him ferociously. He hissed a grim laugh.
"And you believed me when I said that? I told you what you wanted to hear so that you would be on my side. You have no idea what's happened to me since I left the academy. Killing innocents is the least of it. It's easy—much easier than killing soldiers. Try it yourself sometime. You'll see." He gave that bitter laugh again. He was shoving her before him now, pushing her so fast through the darkened avenues of the camp that Gabrielle was afraid they would crash into an obstacle they couldn't see in the dark. She struggled against him, but Stallonus was too strong for her. The sharp edge of her belt knife was burning against her throat.
"You lied to me!" Gabrielle breathed, outraged. She couldn't believe what was happening. The Stallonus she had known had been an innocuous, funny guy around the academy, the life of all the parties—who is this person? she could only wonder in utter disbelief, as the grim-faced stranger who held her prisoner drove her mercilessly onward. Who is this?
"I did what I had to. Everyone does what they have to, Gabrielle. Nobody ever does anything else." The heavy tread of a patrol was drawing near to them. Stallonus yanked her down an alleyway as they passed, with torches lit and armor jingling. Gabrielle started to draw in breath to scream, but the blade bit into her throat. "Try it," Stallonus breathed in her ear. "Just try it. By the time they get here to kill me, you'll already be dead." Gabrielle felt a tiny rill of blood snaking its way down her neck. A cold wave of fear ran up her spine, and she shuddered, knowing Stallonus felt it too. "Good girl," he breathed in her ear. "Come on."
He shoved her back out into the uneven avenue, and drove her before him. "Now the curse on my family—that at least was the truth. I'll tell you that much. It's too bad too; it would have been nice if I really could have converted to the Light. Najara made it sound really good, did you hear her? All that talk about forgiveness. Maybe the Light could have helped me. If anything can help me now." Gabrielle wrenched at him and almost broke free, but Stallonus pulled her back in time.
"I tried to help you!"
"Yes you did. Thanks. You're still going to be helping me. Just in a different way." He gave that short, harsh laugh. "That's what I remembered most about you, you know—how helpful you were. Back at the academy. You could always be counted on to go the extra distance, to help anyone who needed it, just that last little bit. If someone was upset or in pain, you'd always do whatever you could to work it out. You really cared. I never realized how special that was until I left the academy and saw how things really were in the real world. Maybe if the world had more people like you in it, it wouldn't be as messed up as it is today." Gabrielle tried to pull away again, but Stallonus yanked her in close. He laughed again, rough and painful. "But there aren't people like you. There are only people like me."
"How could you do this!" Gabrielle demanded of him. They had come to a relatively open space among the supply wagons at the edge of the encampment; the sliver of moon peered briefly through the clouds above them, casting an eerie glow over everything. Stallonus dragged her into the shadows at the side, watching out carefully for any signs of guards. "You're my friend! I would never do this to a friend—"
"Yes. You would." Stallonus's voice in her ear was as cold and chill as the night around them; he spoke with absolute certainty. "If you'd been through what I'd been through in the past year—if you'd seen what I'd seen—you'd do the exact same thing. Believe me, Gabrielle. Even you. Believe me."
Gabrielle raised her booted foot and drove it down on Stallonus's foot behind her. He was wearing sandals, and she felt his foot squash under her heel. She ground her heel into his toes and heard him cry out; his hand opened around her wrist involuntarily and Gabrielle lunged away. "Help!" she cried. "Help!"
The next instant, she felt him grab her again, pulling her back against him. "Ah, Gabrielle, why did you do that?" he demanded. She couldn't see his face, but his voice was ragged with strain. "Why did you have to do that? Why? I told you what would happen!"
The edge of her belt knife gleamed in the low light from the moon. Gabrielle gripped his wrist with hers and struggled to push him away. Her arm was shaking with strain. Hadn't anyone heard her? She needed all her strength to hold him back; she couldn't spare any to scream again. She tried to stomp on his foot again and missed. The effort cost her; the dagger advanced toward her throat—
—when a slender, compact bundle of fury launched out of the darkness to smash into the two of them together.
Stallonus lurched under the impact and let go of Gabrielle; Gabrielle was thrown sprawling to the ground. Quickly she scrambled a distance away on her hands and knees and turned to look back behind her. The clouds had opened up and in the dim light from the moon Gabrielle could clearly see the struggling pair—Stallonus and his assailant.
"Tara!" Gabrielle shouted.
"Run, Gabrielle!" Tara cried. Stallonus had dropped the knife under the assault, and Tara kicked it away. Stallonus lunged at her, and Tara leapt aside, her braids flying; she gave him a shove as he passed her, and he reeled and almost fell. There was no trace of the boy she had known on his features now; there was nothing but the ruthless face of a killer. Gabrielle was stunned by the change. The change in Tara was just as dramatic. The warmhearted girl Gabrielle had met in the healer's tent was nowhere to be seen; her black eyes glittered in the moonlight, blazing with fury, and her face was set in grim lines. Stallonus came at her again, and Tara leapt at him too; the two of them struggled for a moment, their forms barely distinguishable in the harsh silver light, and then Stallonus gave a sharp cry and threw Tara from him. Tara fell to the ground but kicked out at him as she fell; her foot caught his right knee and Stallonus cried out again and staggered. Tara was on her feet in a trice. "Run!" she shouted again at Gabrielle.
But Gabrielle could not run. Though Tara blazed with ferocity, Gabrielle did not think she could long outlast Stallonus; she had gotten lucky a couple times, but she didn't look like a seasoned fighter, whereas Stallonus had fought with Zagreas's men at least. She was also completely unarmed. Even as she watched, Stallonus seemed to collect himself and began to advance on Tara with a cold deadliness in his face. Tara was not backing down; she faced him, her eyes blazing, but Gabrielle had no idea what she would do. Without stopping to think, Gabrielle found herself darting forward; acting purely by instinct, she leapt at Stallonus from behind and got an arm around his throat.
She heard him snarl in rage at her assault; hands gripped her shoulders and the world revolved around her as she went over his head to fall in the dirt again. Hardly had she hit the ground when Tara struck him again, throwing herself at him and striking him with her fists. Stallonus caught her arm and the two of them grappled in the moonlight; Tara's face was twisted in an expression of desperate fury, but she was being forced backwards as he bore down on her.
As she rolled to one side, Gabrielle's hand closed around something in the dirt—an iron tent stake, she saw. Not a prybar, but close enough. She heard Tara let out a yelp of pain, and that goaded her into action; Gabrielle rolled to her feet, locked both hands around the stake, and just as she had with Licinus a lifetime ago, she swung it with all her strength at the back of Stallonus's head.
There was a sharp crack, and the stake jarred in her hands as she connected; Stallonus gave a grunt, and then went limp, sliding to the ground. Gabrielle sagged in relief, but kept a hold on the stake and backed up a step, in case Stallonus should get up again. She turned to Tara. "Tara," she said, her voice shaky, "are you all—"
Then her words cut off. Tara wasn't listening to her. Tara had gone down to the ground and come up with Gabrielle's belt knife. As Gabrielle stood helplessly, frozen to the spot by shock, Tara bent over Stallonus's prone form. Her face was drawn in a look of savage concentration. The moonlight glittered in her cold, black eyes, and her lips were drawn back from her teeth in an almost feral grimace. "Tara, no!" Gabrielle managed to get out, but Tara paid her no heed. She stooped over the body of Gabrielle's fallen friend, and with the knowledge of a trained healer, expertly slid Gabrielle's knife in between Stallonus's ribs. As Gabrielle watched in a wave of cold horror, Tara drew the knife out of Stallonus's lifeless form and wiped it on his shirt. She straightened up, drew a breath, and turned shakily to Gabrielle.
"There," she said with a wavering smile. "Now he won't ever get the chance to hurt more people."
Gabrielle was speechless.
"I followed you. I—I saw you leave the command tent….Are you all right?" Tara asked her unsteadily.
"You killed him…."
Gabrielle might have said more, but the sound of raised, shouting voices and running footsteps came to their ears. She and Tara turned at the same time in the direction of the commotion, instinctively stepping together in front of Stallonus; Tara moved forward a little, as if to shield Gabrielle. Men and women came threading their way through the supply wagons to form a loose ring around the open space; a few carried torches, but the dim sparks were not enough to supplant the cold and silvery radiance of the sliver of moon. More shouts, and then the individuals at one end of the ring pushed apart.
Gabrielle sensed her before she saw her. The Crusader stepped into the center of the ring, and strode with firm steps to face her and Tara; her eyes flickered over them, and Gabrielle knew that she had taken in everything, the two of them standing together, the tent spike in her hand and the knife in Tara's, and even the prone form of Stallonus lying behind them. She was marble white in the moonlight, chill and compelling; all eyes immediately focused on her. "It appears I got back just in time," she said. "Gabrielle, Tara. Are either of you hurt?"
"No, we're okay," Tara assured her; Gabrielle's throat had closed up in the face of this intimidating woman and she could not speak.
The Crusader nodded once. She looked over them again, and Gabrielle quailed before that overwhelming presence; for the first time she was seeing a look on Najara's face other than distant kindness. There was a terrifying lack of expression on the face of She of the Djinn, and when she spoke, her voice was frighteningly cold and clipped. It was worse because Gabrielle could not tell at whom her anger was directed. She felt herself involuntarily shrink back from the fearsome aura of the Crusader. "What happened here?" Najara asked.
Tara stepped forward immediately, rallying to Gabrielle's defense. "It was this man here! He escaped from his chains and grabbed Gabrielle!" she insisted hotly. "He was going to carry her off as a hostage and then kill her! He—"
She of the Djinn closed her eyes for a moment. She seemed for a moment to be listening to something Gabrielle could not hear. "That's not what happened," she said coldly. Tara fell silent, though she was still bubbling like a small kettle beside Gabrielle. Najara turned, and those frighteningly pale eyes fell on Gabrielle. Gabrielle couldn't repress a shiver under the weight of that regard. Her knees threatened to buckle before Najara's power, and she locked them. "Does someone want to tell me what happened here?" Najara asked, staring pointedly at Gabrielle.
Gabrielle drew a breath. Speaking up then wasn't the hardest thing she had ever done—and was far from the hardest thing she would ever do—but at that moment, it seemed that way. She didn't know what Najara would do, but she also knew that she could not lie to She of the Djinn. "Tara's—Tara's not telling the truth," she said, swallowing. Her knees were shaking. "It was me. This is the friend I was telling you about earlier. I—I set him free, and then he grabbed me. The rest of what she said was true."
"Gabrielle didn't kill him," Tara put in. "I did." Gabrielle threw her a glance, and felt a little better; Tara looked a little nervous, but firm and resolute.
Najara's stern face softened infinitesimally—if a marble outcropping could be said to soften, Gabrielle thought to herself. Her palms were sweating, and she wiped them on her red skirt. No softening was in the Chosen of the Djinn's voice when she spoke. "I see." She looked them both over. "Tara, your desire to shield your friend is praiseworthy."
"Thank you, Najara," Tara said humbly.
"Nevertheless, that does not change the fact that I am very disappointed in you both."
Gabrielle swallowed again, feeling herself cringe. Tara hung her head.
"Tara," Najara said, addressing herself to the young healer first. "I am very disappointed that you killed this man. His three days were not yet up. There was still a chance he might have come to the Light. You took his life needlessly, and in doing so deprived him of the chance to choose a better path. The fact that you did so in defense of your friend does not excuse the action."
"Yes, Najara," Tara said submissively.
"You're dismissed. Go to the healers' tent and have yourself examined for injuries. Remain there the rest of the night. Tomorrow we'll discuss your actions and the appropriate consequences for them."
"Yes, Najara," Tara said again, and sketched a curtsey. She glanced at Gabrielle, offered her a reassuring smile, and then darted off. Gabrielle watched her go as if she were losing a lifeline, then clasped her hands together as she turned back to face the Crusader all alone.
"Gabrielle," Najara said sternly, "I am disappointed in you too." She paused. Gabrielle's mouth was dry. She rubbed her hands on her skirt again; she couldn't think of anything to say.
"I extended to you my trust. I gave you the run of the encampment. I explained my rules about the prisoners to you, and the reasoning behind them. You've broken that trust."
She paused again. "I'm sorry," Gabrielle said. Her voice was only a whisper.
"What should I do, Gabrielle?" Najara asked her. Her face was as stern and emotionless as granite in the silvery radiance from the moon. To Gabrielle, Najara seemed as tall and straight as a marble column or pillar; she looked down on Gabrielle as if from a lofty height. "What should I do with you?"
"I don't know," Gabrielle whispered again. The effects of the fight were creeping up on her. The rush of danger had faded, and that creeping lethargy was starting to spread through her body. Her knees felt weak.
"If I let you go, will you do this again? Will you try to free other prisoners?"
"No," she said miserably.
"How can I believe that? Can you show me some way that I can trust you again?" Najara asked. Her voice was softer now; maybe, Gabrielle thought, Najara could see how upset she was.
"I've learned my lesson," Gabrielle said miserably. "Believe me, I won't try to free any more prisoners again," she added bitterly.
Najara was looking at her closely. "Do you give your word?" she asked gently.
"I—I promise." Tears were starting to sting Gabrielle's eyes. She stared down at the dirt by Najara's feet, as her vision blurred. After a moment, she felt a warm, comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Very well. Let's just consider this a lesson learned, then, and put it behind us." She squeezed Gabrielle's shoulder reassuringly. "Go join Tara in the healers' tent. You look like you are about to fall over where you are. Have the healers check you out as well."
Gabrielle couldn't speak. She nodded instead. Najara turned from her and began to give orders to the surrounding circle of people, but Gabrielle couldn't understand them. She moved off unsteadily, beyond the small ring of open ground and torchlight. As soon as she was a good distance away, she threw the tent stake from her as hard as she could. She sank to the ground, trembling. Her blood was roaring in her ears. She leaned forward and put her head between her knees, breathing hard and shaking; she stayed like that for a long time.
Eventually, she was able to sit up again. Rising to her feet unsteadily, she drew a deep breath, then another one. The trembling was starting to subside, and the feeling of roiling nausea was no longer as bad as it had been. Gabrielle took hold of herself, swallowing and straightening her shoulders. She stood there, breathing hard, until she had restored some semblance of calm to herself. Feeling somewhat better, she continued on to the healers' tent.
"You know, Gabrielle, you're welcome to stay with us if you would like," Najara said courteously.
"Thanks, I appreciate the offer," Gabrielle said. Argo whickered, and Gabrielle tugged on the reins; the mare subsided. "But I really need to be getting home to Potedaia. My mother and father must be worried about me."
"I understand," Najara said, nodding. She looked over the slanting field in the early morning sunshine. Her sword was reddish in the light from the sunrise. By the end of the day, Gabrielle knew, it would be red with the blood of those who had not converted to the Light.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like an escort back to your village?" Jett asked now. "We could easily provide you one, if you wish."
"No, I think we'll be all right." She turned and glanced up at Caesar, where he sat on Argo's back; he saw her looking at him and averted his eyes. He still had the gladius they had taken off Licinus, Gabrielle observed. She herself had appropriated the hatchet that she had used in the tavern, and had it stuck through her belt at her back again.
She put one foot in Argo's stirrup and swung up before Caesar. The air was hot and humid in the misty morning sunshine, and moisture sparkled on the grass like jewels. As she settled herself in the saddle, she heard a call, and turned; Tara came running up to her over the grass, her dark eyes wide.
"Are you leaving?" she asked as she reached Argo, breathless. "I wish you could stay with us. I wish you could," she said, heartfelt. "It was fun working with you. I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too," Gabrielle said, and realized she meant it; but the realization was tinged with unease. She glanced at the Crusader, who was watching Tara with an indulgent smile. An errant memory surfaced: Tara's face, savage and intent in the moonlight. A chill ran over her, and she took a better grip on Argo's reins.
"I'm glad you got to see me dance," Tara bubbled. "I liked dancing with you—I wish I could have seen you perform. I bet you're really good—Oh, I almost forgot!" Tara said with a sudden realization. "I meant to give this back to you last night….Here!"
Gabrielle stared down at Tara's outstretched hand. In it was her belt knife, shining and clean in the morning sun. She looked from it to Tara's wide, eager black eyes. After a long moment, she slowly stretched her hand out and took it from her friend. It was cool and quiescent in her grip.
"Thanks," she said. The word tasted strange on her tongue. Gabrielle slid the knife into its sheath at her waist.
"Go safely, Gabrielle," Tara told her, smiling warmly. "And if you get bored or whatever back in your home village, come back to us! We'll be glad to have you!"
"I'll keep that in mind." Gabrielle was oddly touched, in spite of herself. Tara stood back, and Gabrielle took Argo's reins in her grip. She was about to touch her heels to Argo's sides when Najara stepped forward.
"Caesar," the Crusader said, looking at him; Gabrielle felt Caesar stiffen at her back, and his hands tightened spasmodically around her waist. "The djinn have a message they wish me to tell you. I don't understand it, but maybe you will."
Caesar was silent for a moment behind her; Najara stood waiting, her pale eyes slightly narrowed against the morning sun. Finally he said warily, "What?"
"The djinn have told me to tell you this," Najara said. "They say: Surrendering yourself would have changed nothing. By then, it was already too late." She paused, frowning at him. "Do you understand this?"
Gabrielle turned to look over her shoulder at her companion, but she could not read his expression. He stared at Najara for a long moment, then swallowed; he gave no answer. Najara waited for a moment, then stepped back, having come to the conclusion that no answer would be forthcoming.
It was Jett who stepped forward last of all. He took Argo's reins, and gazed up at her; looking down into his eyes, Gabrielle was startled to see a profound sympathy there. "Walk in the Light, Gabrielle," he told her softly. "Walk in the Light."
"Walk in the Light," Najara repeated, and Tara echoed behind her, "Walk in the Light."
"You too," Gabrielle replied with feeling. She took Argo's reins in her hands and touched her heels to the horse's sides; she guided the golden mare in the early morning sunshine down the tree-lined road away from the Crusader's encampment.
Finis.