Chen stared at her. "What are you talking about? I didn't shoot him!"

"No. But you were part of an armed party that engaged his in battle. That entitles you to a share of whatever spoils there are. It also entitles you to a share of responsibility."

Chen's face crumpled, and tear-shine was visible in her eyes, even in the dimness. "What did I do? What do you want me to do, mourn for him?"

"No," Zaranda said. "He got what he had coming. But whether it's something to grieve or not, taking life should never be easy."

Chen covered her face in her hands and ran off sobbing. Her tears, Zaranda was acutely aware, were because she thought she had incurred Zaranda's anger without knowing why, not from any emotion concerning the dead bandit. Fine job of moral instruction, there. There are reasons I never became a mother.

Stillhawk came up, laid his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. She looked into his dark, steady eyes, smiled, touched his cheek.

"Thank you," she said.

She walked back to where Wyancott stood. Balmeric rode past on his chestnut gelding, placing some of the small troop to keep watch in case other bandits turned up, either from the same band or another-always a lively possibility in modern Tethyr. Stillhawk went off to help the lookouts.

Despite the seizure of her own caravan and the attendant financial difficulties, she had managed to interest the former captain of her caravan guards and seven adventurers, including four of her crossbowmen, in following her on her latest wild scheme. In all she had twelve followers, including Chen, Farlorn, Still-hawk, and Shield, who had been waiting at a rendezvous point she and the ranger had arranged in advance, having themselves escaped the city without incident.

Not many to challenge the fabric of a whole country, she thought. She grinned.

"What was that all about?" Goldie asked. The mare tossed her head toward Chenowyn, who stood about twenty paces back up the road, weeping.

"My ham-handed attempt to civilize my young charge."

"I suppose somebody had to take the little beast in hand. I just wish it didn't have to be you."

"Goldie, be nice," Zaranda said. She turned to Wyancott, who was staring. "My horse talks," she told him, as if that explained all. Then back to Goldie: "She hasn't done anything to you."

"Nothing but increase my burden," the mare said primly. "And she rides, I might mention, with the grace of a sack of coal. Come on, Randi, allow me to blow off a little steam. I don't have anything against the girl, really-and I, at least, have not been giving you grief about your orc."

"Orc?" echoed Wyancott.

As if on cue a clamor rose from the other foresters: "Betrayed! Ware orcs! Rim for it, boys!"

The forest folk were pointing at Shield of Innocence, who stood keeping guard over the prisoners, his scimitars in his clawed hands. His hood had fallen back in the battle, revealing his great head in all its tusked and snouted glory.

"Settle down!" Zaranda cried. "He's with me."

A young caravanner glared at her. "Decent folk don't have truck with no orcs! You're evil, just like him!" Several of the others cried assent. Zaranda was glad they hadn't yet gotten their weapons back.

"He's not evil," she said. "He's converted to the worship of Torm-see his medallion? Besides, I don't see what his beliefs or mine have to do with anything, inasmuch as we just rescued you. Or don't they practice common courtesy in Tethir Forest nowadays?"

Wyancott rubbed his nose with his thumb. "She's right," he said.

His followers subsided into watchful silence. "Thank you," Zaranda told him.

"So what happens now?"

"We each go our separate ways," she said. "However-"

His narrow features closed. "I reckoned there was a however."

"There usually is. We find ourselves in possession of your goods train. We are happy to be able to restore it to you-but we did save you, at risk to ourselves, and we must eat like any others. So I think a recovery fee of ten percent would not be unreasonable."

"That's naught but highway robbery!" protested the young forester who'd objected loudest to Shield.

"No," Wyancott said. "Highway robbery was a moment ago when you had a dirk prodding you in the ribs, sister-son. Like as not it would be well and truly stuck between them now, were it not for these folk."

He looked at Zaranda. "You have the right of it. It's a small enough price to pay, seeing as we thought to be left with nothing at all."

"What ho, Zaranda!" cried Farlorn, who was likewise guarding the captive bandits. "Are we to carry off stacks of dried animal skins and sheaves of bark on our backs? Not to mention that the hides stink worse than your young apprentice did when first you brought her home."

Chen gave off sniffling to glare at him. Zaranda found herself half hoping the girl would set his hair on fire. The bard was far too skillful with words to wound with them accidentally.

"I think," Zaranda said, "we can come to far more satisfactory terms."

Thereupon she declared the bandits' possessions forfeit, by way of compensating the Tethir foresters for their pains. The outlaws proved to have a few coins among them. Their weapons were of generally poor quality, though several swords showed promise that a good cleaning and whetting would render them more than serviceable, and the leader had been armed with a fine spike-headed mace and poniard. Their horses, while not exactly prize destriers and coursers, were valuable enough.

Wyancott, however, was more than happy to trade the spoils from the bandit band for the share of his goods Zaranda had claimed as recovery fee, even though everyone agreed that they were worth more than ten percent of his cargo.

As the weapons and oddments of armor were bundled together and loaded onto the confiscated horses, Zaranda approached her captives, who were all awake and mobile now, standing in a resentful clump in their loincloths and ratty, foul chemises. Farlorn was playing a little game with them, tapping a bandit first on one shoulder with his drawn rapier, then on the other, making him pivot his head frantically from side to side to see what was touching him. Finally he let his blade lie firmly against the bandit's panting neck. The foresters laughed hugely at his expression when he saw what lay against his jugular.

Zaranda glared at the half-elf. Farlorn shrugged, laughed, and put away his sword. "I just thought to lighten the spirits of our newfound friends," he said. "That is, after all, my stock in trade."

"What will you do to us?" the bearded bandit leader demanded.

"You didn't kill anybody," Zaranda said. "So we'll not kill more of you."

Some of the foresters grumbled at this. Wyancott shouted them down.

"What I'm going to do," Zaranda said, "is let you go, with a warning: Do not molest this caravan again, and do not seek to follow us. If you do, I'll burst your lungs inside your chests."

"You're going to just leave us like this?" the bandit leader cried. "Unarmed, naked, and with our hands tied behind us?"

"That's about the shape of it, yes."

"What about poor Fleebo, lying there dead?" another bandit asked.

"Would you care to join him?"

Balmeric sidled up to her and put his head against hers. "Scum like this run in bigger packs," he muttered from the corner of his mouth. "We could maybe get their pals to go ransom on 'em."

"Perhaps," Zaranda answered quietly. "But with some of your men double-mounted on mules, we're not much faster than this wagon train. I don't want to look back to see a troop of kettle-head heavy cavalry riding up our tails."

The mercenary officer pulled a thoughtful face and nodded.

The bandit chief was looking thoughtful too. In his case it was a pained expression. He was a man who didn't readily harbor more than one thought at a time. A new idea had clearly forced its way into his head and was grinding around in there.