Prince Thief

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“If we open the gates,” Estrada said, “there may never be another chance to listen to anything you say, Damasco.”

“No! Don’t you see?” I was growing frantic; I strove to check myself. “Estrada, it’s the only way.”

I knew what I said was true. Because as I’d looked at Panchessa, there in the street with his vast army at his back, I had tried to see a terrifying despot, a bloody-handed warlord intend on tearing down our city brick by brick — yet all I’d actually seen was an ailing old man.

With that realisation, memories of the last night’s conversation had come back clearly into my mind. Malekrin might not have been able to hear what Panchessa had said, but I had — and though I hadn’t understood at the time, I did now. Panchessa could have levelled Altapasaeda a dozen times, had he wanted to; if he’d been determined enough, there was no punishment he couldn’t have inflicted, no enemy he couldn’t have revenged himself upon.

“Estrada,” I said, “what were you plotting with Ondeges, back when we were fleeing from the Shoanish fleet? No… don’t tell me, I know.”

“But it wouldn’t have worked,” she said, exasperated. “Panchessa would never have agreed, let alone Kalyxis. And Malekrin?”

“They will now,” I told her. “Because there’s no other choice. It’s the only thing Panchessa cares about anymore, don’t you see? Estrada, please, trust me on this… Give the order or we’re all going to die here.”

For a long moment, her dark eyes held mine, and I could read every emotion there, clear as day. I saw trepidation, doubt, even fear — not for herself, but for those who had gathered here, the people who had placed their lives in her care. I could see what the gamble I was so glibly arguing for actually meant to her, the hideous burden of it. And with that, all my certainty vanished.

I was about to tell her I was wrong, that I was the last person she should be listening to — but I was too late. “Do what his highness says!” she cried ringingly. “Unbarricade the gates!”

There was surprisingly little resistance to our dramatic about-face from the gathered folk of Altapasaeda. No one commented on the fact that one minute Estrada had been ready to fight for this gate to the last man, woman or child, and now here she was opening it simply because Panchessa had asked her to. I put it down to the fact that none of them had much wanted to fight, and certainly not against their king; whatever was happening now, it at least offered the slim hope of an alternative.

With a crowd of Altapasaedans working in concert, it took mere minutes before the last scrap of barricade was wrenched away. Beneath, the heavily patched gates looked like a patchwork quilt of wood. They creaked in grating protest as they were hauled wide.

I’d assumed Panchessa would climb back into his palanquin, and enter accompanied by his full escort. Instead, he crossed the short distance on foot, with a mere dozen men at his back. It might not stop his army pouring after in his wake, but it seemed a small concession at least.

Estrada responded in kind. She’d called Malekrin over and, despite the resistance obvious in his face, he had hurried to join us. Though many of Mounteban’s former cronies had made efforts to catch her eye, however, she had carefully overlooked them. Kalyxis, too, she’d studiedly ignored, and I couldn’t but notice how Navare and his men had moved to discreetly bar her path.

Thus it was that the party waiting just beyond the gatehouse consisted of three people only: Estrada, Malekrin and me. I’d never felt so conspicuous in my life; the expectation of the nearby crowds was like a weight pressing from all sides.

“Good morning, your highness,” said Estrada, as Panchessa stepped from the shadow of the gatehouse. She gave a deep bow that Malekrin and I hurried to emulate.

“Is this a fit delegation to welcome a king?” asked Panchessa. “A woman, a bastard and,” — he eyed me — “some sort of street vagabond?”

“I felt,” replied Estrada calmly, “that when we have so little to offer and even less to negotiate with, this was appropriate. A show of weakness, if you like.”

“At least you appreciate your position,” Panchessa observed.

“We do,” Estrada agreed. “If you choose to pit your armies against ours, we can’t hope to win. But this man, Easie Damasco, has an alternative to offer, and I hope for all our sakes that you’ll hear it.”

Before I could sputter that I’d never intended to do any talking, let alone alternative-offering, Panchessa’s gaze had swung to consider me — and every thought froze in my head. “You were with my grandson last night,” he noted. “And haven’t I seen your face before that?”

Actually, it’s not so long ago that you ordered my death, I managed to refrain from saying. “I seem to have a knack for finding myself in the wrong places at the wrong times,” I pointed out instead.

Panchessa nodded. “I’ve known such men,” he said. “Trouble, every one of them. Go on then, Easie Damasco, speak your proposal.”

I gulped thickly. Everything that had seemed so clear a few minutes ago was now just a soup of half-formed ideas, each foolish in its own right. I tried to hone on in something definite, something I felt sure of. “King Panchessa,” I said, “I don’t believe you came here to punish the people of Altapasaeda.”

“Is that right?” Panchessa asked. “Will you tell me, then, why I marched my armies across two lands, if not to put down a rebellion?”

“I think you came because you’re afraid of what your legacy will be.”

It wasn’t what I’d meant to say, or how I’d meant to say it, but it was too late — and Panchessa’s expression was blacker than thunderclouds. “Afraid?” he said.

“Your sons are dead; you have no heir,” I told him, wincing at each word. “The Senate in Pasaeda is close to rebellion, Shoan is openly at arms, and now the Castoval is slipping away too. I think that’s why you came here… to make sure you left a mark on the world, even if it was stamped in blood.”

Panchessa’s face was contorted with fury now. He raised a trembling hand, beckoned to one of his men. I heard an all-too-familiar hiss — the snake’s breath of steel slipping free of a scabbard.

I was supposed to be stopping a massacre. All I’d done was hasten it. I would be first to die, and it might even be a relief — because for whatever brief time remained to me, the deaths of thousands would be on my conscience.

But if that was the case, shouldn’t I die as I’d lived? My mother had always warned me I’d talk my way onto a funeral pyre; here was my opportunity to prove her right. “Then,” I went on hurriedly, “you saw a better way — a chance to keep your line on the throne of Ans Pasaeda. Only, that didn’t work out either. Because your grandson, frankly, is every bit as bloody-minded as his father and grandparents.”

All my attention was caught up in searching Panchessa’s face for something besides anger, but I could sense what was happening around us, as clearly as if I’d been watching it. One word from their king and his men would be hacking us to pieces. One cry from Estrada, and Navare would fling himself into the fray. And close on their heels would come the entire Pasaedan army and half the population of Altapasaeda.

“King Panchessa,” I said, with a firmness I barely felt, “Malekrin won’t ever agree to be some king in training. But Altapasaeda has a palace sitting empty, and he might agree to fill it… at least for a while. Say, what, five years? That’s a mayoral term here in the Castoval. It’s not long, I know. Then again, he may find he warms to the job. Maybe the people will want him to stay.”

I’d spoken with all the passion I could muster. I’d presented my argument as clearly as my garbled thoughts would allow. Yet Panchessa still looked furious. Behind him, his men still had their swords drawn.

I had his attention, though; it felt as if his gaze should have been scorching cavities through my skull and on into the stones of the city beyond. And surely that counted for something, the undivided attention of a king?

I’d never been much of a thief. I’d failed at becoming a hero. But my tongue had scathed warlords and put down tyrants, had rattled guard captains and toyed with giants — and I couldn’t let it fail me now.

I closed my eyes and opened them, held Panchessa’s eye — and there the words were, waiting in my mouth. They weren’t insults, or mockery, but they were the truth. “Malekrin’s a good boy, your highness,” I said. “He’d be a good prince. And having him watching over this city, watching over this land, would be a fine legacy… far better than the alternative.”

By then, I was no longer expecting an answer — at least, not one that wasn’t the order to cut me down where I stood. So I nearly jumped for shock when Panchessa said, “And what of Ans Pasaeda? You’d have me leave my land without a king?”

“That’s for Ans Pasaeda to decide,” I said. “You can’t force Malekrin to be king in your place. But if you ask him, he might do this.”

Panchessa looked at Malekrin then. “Will you? Is this what you want?”

“If Alvantes and I helped you?” put in Estrada quickly. “If Commander Ondeges were to resume his role? If between us we carried some of the burden, until you felt you were ready?”

By then, we were all looking at Malekrin — and I could see him shrinking from our gaze, could tell how badly he wanted to flee. Only then, far too late, did I realise how much better it would have been to convince him before I put my proposal to Panchessa; that there was every chance he’d refuse and condemn us all.

But perhaps I should have had more faith. Because, for all the half-buried panic in his eyes, Malekrin hardly hesitated as he said, “I’ll do it. If it saves more bloodshed, if it keeps this city safe — I’ll do it.”

I couldn’t be certain, for it was the briefest flicker, but I thought I saw something lift from Panchessa’s face then: a layer of weariness and pain slipping free. “Then,” he said, “I wish you luck, grandson.”

“Thank you, your highness,” replied Malekrin softly.

Panchessa nodded, once, as though acknowledging some sentiment that had passed unspoken between them. Then he said, “I will speak to my people now.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he strode past us, to a point where he could be seen clearly from the walls. He looked around appraisingly, took in the gathered men, women and children, their hotchpotch weapons and their makeshift armour. He cleared his throat — and for a moment, I thought the short cough might turn into a choking fit, for he pressed a palm hard to his chest.

The moment passed. Panchessa took one more deep breath and cried, “People of Altapasaeda. It has been suggested to me, by a young man I have some measure of respect for, that your lives might be better spent than as fodder in a war not of your choosing. And if that fact might have meant little to me a week ago, now I find myself swayed. Therefore, I offer you peace… and to my grandson Malekrin, I grant the princeship of Altapasaeda. He may not want it, but a little responsibility will do him good. Let him see firsthand the trials of wielding power.”

Panchessa paused, then, gathered himself — and once again, his face darkened with the threat of anger. “However, all of this rests upon one condition: the woman named Kalyxis must leave your city now, and reclaim the force she has let loose in my lands. This is not open to dispute. I will not have invaders marching upon Ans Pasaedan soil. I brought an army to your walls, Altapasaedans, and I can do so again.”

For all his tough words, Panchessa’s voice had been fading throughout, the threat an outburst of coughing threading his speech like worms through old wood. Lifting his gaze one last time, he said, more firmly, “That’s it. You have been spared, Altapasaedans. Use your freedom wisely.”

Then Panchessa turned and, without another word, walked back the way he had come.

Half an hour later and the Pasaedan army was undeniably in retreat. The last regiments were falling back through the far hem of the Suburbs, and the distant back lines had even begun to collapse their tents.

By unspoken agreement, we had returned to the walls to watch. Now, however, Estrada turned away, a look of determination hardening her features. I’d seen that expression many a time, and been on the receiving end of it often enough; there was no question that it spelled trouble for someone.

When Estrada started in Kalyxis’s direction, I couldn’t resist falling in behind her. I had a sure feeling that this would be something I didn’t want to miss. Navare hurried to join us as well, though I suspected his motives were more well-intentioned than my own.

Rather than shove through the Altapasaedans still thronging the walk to watch their enemies depart, Estrada descended to the street and rejoined the wall by a second flight of stairs — so that when she came upon Kalyxis, the other woman was still staring down at the receding Ans Pasaedan lines.

“Kalyxis,” said Estrada, “you have to leave Altapasaeda now.”

Kalyxis looked round then. I’d never found her easy to read, but I couldn’t escape the conviction that the glint in her eye, her reaction to watching Panchessa leave with his armies in tow, was one of disappointment more than relief. But she recovered herself quickly, and her face was blank as a mirror as she said, “Do I? And walk into a trap?”

“If it’s a trap,” replied Estrada, “then yes, that’s exactly what you’ll do. But it isn’t — and I think you know that just as well as I do. If Panchessa truly wanted you dead then we’d all be dead by now.”

“So he’s a coward. So he would rather win through trickery than face his enemies in an honest fight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” Kalyxis’s emphasis was fearsome.

Estrada, however, wasn’t cowed; in fact, her own tone only became more adamantine as she said, “Yes, ridiculous. Not to mention self-absorbed, egotistical and irrational. If you really care anything for your people, if you want to win their freedom, if you haven’t cooked up this entire conflict of yours because of a slight you suffered years ago, then this is the best and only chance you’ll ever have. Get out of here. Get word to the force you sent, before they do something you’ll regret. Start behaving like the leader you’re supposed to be.”

I was certain Kalyxis would go for her then — and though I’d seen enough to know that Estrada could hold her own in a fair fight, I doubted she’d fare so well with a few dozen Shoanish thrown into the equation and only Navare and myself to back her up.

Then Kalyxis relaxed, ever so slightly, eased her fingers with forced casualness away from the hilt of her sword. “I care everything for the people of Shoan,” she said, loud enough that any of her followers could hear. “There’s no risk I wouldn’t take for them… not even this.” Returning her attention to Estrada she added, with chilly disdain, “Now perhaps you’d be good enough to furnish us with a guide to this godsforsaken land of yours?”

In the end, Kalyxis had left through the small western gate. If I didn’t quite trust her to call off the attack on Pasaeda, there was some reassurance in the fact that Gailus departed with her as the requested guide, and more in the knowledge that with Panchessa’s great army marching rapidly northward, any attack upon the Ans Pasaedan capital would be nothing more than a messy suicide. The woman might be terrifying and vindictive beyond reason, but I’d come to suspect that she wasn’t quite as crazy as she might seem.

I saw that she said a few last words to Malekrin, though I wasn’t close enough to overhear just what passed between them. Perhaps Panchessa had settled their differences more ably than either of them could, for she had to leave and he had to stay, and the price if either resisted would undoubtedly be war.

Afterwards, seeing Malekrin looking lost and aimless, I pressed my way through the crowd that had gathered to watch Kalyxis go and said, “You look like a man in need of a drink.”

Malekrin turned, startled. Then his brow furrowed. “I still remember what happened the last time you bought me a drink.”

I grinned, to hide my embarrassment; I’d practically forgotten about drugging him. “I promise that any passing out you do with be entirely your own fault,” I said.

“You could have warned me, you know,” Malekrin said.

He was no longer talking about that day in Midendo, I realised. “What, and miss your expression? I tell you, it made all of this worthwhile. Now will you come drink, or are you too royal now to mix with the likes of me?”

Malekrin made a show of considering. Then, with a perfectly straight face, he said, “I’m going to have to learn to mingle with the common folk, aren’t I? I suppose you’re as good a place to start as any.”

As we wandered back through Altapasaeda, I left Malekrin to his own thoughts. For all his show of good cheer, it wasn’t hard to see the apprehension bubbling beneath the surface. Anyway, I felt a little guilty at my duplicity — for in fact it had been Estrada who’d asked me to seek him out, and asked too that I bring him to the Dancing Cat once Kalyxis was safely gone. Still, I reasoned, the drinking part had been all my idea, and at least I’d meant it honestly.

The streets felt alive for the first time in days. There were carts and horses, and a great many people moving hither and thither on foot, all of them travelling at speed. It wasn’t entirely clear what everyone was doing; most seemed to be hurrying purely for the sake of it. Perhaps it was simply a process of waking up, I thought — the whole of Altapasaeda stretching like a bear that had roused after a long, cruel winter.

Whatever the case, I sensed that the general mood was more shocked than jubilant. Altapasaedans had grown used to the threat of first Mounteban and then Panchessa, and surely it would be a while before normality — whatever that word now meant for the city — truly returned. At any rate, I was grateful no one recognised Malekrin, for I doubted he would be ready yet for the demands and questions that would soon be hurled his way. Tomorrow he would be Prince Malekrin of Altapasaeda, but maybe for tonight at least he could remain plain, ill-tempered Mal.

The Dancing Cat, when we arrived, was surprisingly empty. Probably the crowd that I’d come to think of as its regulars, that motley crew of ex-guardsmen and Mounteban’s former lackeys who had become the heart of the Altapasaedan defence, were off doing whatever important things needed to be done in a city that had just so narrowly escaped disaster.

I took the opportunity to requisition a bottle of wine and two cups from beneath the bar. Mal was already at his table of choice by the time I returned; I filled our cups to brimming, pushed one beneath his nose and said, “So what do you plan to do with the palace then? You can’t live in all of it, you know.”

“I couldn’t live in a hundredth of it,” said Malekrin. “I doubt there’s a single room small enough that my tent back home wouldn’t fit into it. So, I don’t know. In the short term, though, I think it would make a good hospital. Better than what they have now, at any rate,” he added, with a shudder.

“Anyway,” I said, “I think you’ll make a good prince…”

Malekrin’s face lit, just for an instant. “Really?”

“Wait, let me finish. I think you’ll make a good prince, is what I’d like to tell you… but the truth is, I expect you’ll be awful at it. Still, I’m sure you’ll try your best, and with everything that’s happened, it might do people good to have a prince again for a while. Maybe you can hold things together until Estrada comes up with a better solution, at any rate.”

Malekrin grinned. “Thank you, Damasco… for everything you’ve done.”

“What? I haven’t done anything.”

“Well then, thank you for that.” He frowned. “Anyway, where will you go now?”

I hadn’t given the question much thought; there hadn’t seemed much point in considering the future when I didn’t expect to have one. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe I’ll head north.” I thought of Huero and his family, who had helped me to get the giants moving from the hillside where Moaradrid had abandoned them. “I made a few friends there. I think I’d like to see how they’re doing.”

“But you won’t leave straightaway?” Malekrin asked. There was a hint of concern in his voice.

“No,” I said, “I may as well hang around for a few days… see how this all pans out.”

We both looked round then at the creak of footsteps on old wood, to see Estrada appear from the direction of the stairs. “There you are,” she said — and, as her gaze took in the bottle of wine and the two now almost empty cups, she added, “Why aren’t I surprised?”

“Because,” I told her, “you are a woman of rare, keen insight.”

“That’s true,” Estrada replied, with a sage nod, “that’s certainly true. But don’t think you can talk your way out of getting our new prince drunk, Easie. Anyway, it’s you I was hoping to find.” To Malekrin she said, “Do you mind if I borrow your drinking partner, your highness?”

Malekrin smiled, bowed low in his seat. “You may. So long as you return him before I’m forced to empty this bottle on my own.”

I got to my feet, not quite steadily — for I’d cleaned my cup a little quicker than was prudent — and threaded my way over to Estrada. As we began up the stairs, she said softly, “That poor boy. After everything he’s been through, and now a responsibility like this to bear. I wish there was another way.”

“He’ll be fine,” I whispered back. “He’s tougher than he looks.” Then louder, I continued, “Anyway, did I understand what you told him in front of Panchessa? You’re staying here in Altapasaeda with your boyfriend?”

Estrada paused at the head of the stairs — and I’d have sworn she was blushing. “I’ve told you before,” she said, “he’s not my boyfriend. But he needs someone here while he heals, and after that… well, I might stay on.” Suddenly all of the defensiveness fell from her face and she said, “I love him, Easie. I don’t want to live my life without him anymore.”

Now it was my turn for embarrassment. My overwhelming urge was to make some glib comment, but seeing the weight of old sadness relieved by the hope in Estrada’s eyes, I knew I just couldn’t get away with it. “He loves you too,” I said. “I doubt he’s any better at saying it than he is at showing it, but believe me… I’ve spent far too much time with the man, and he’d give everything he has for you.”

Estrada’s smile was so bashful, so girlish, that for a moment the years seemed to slew off her and I saw the young woman she must have been when she first met a certain Guard-Captain Lunto Alvantes. “I know,” she said. “I do know.” Then the moment passed, the Estrada I was familiar with returned quicker than I could register, and she added, “Anyway, you’ll be glad to know that Lunto is awake and feeling much better. And he has something he’d like to say to you. In fact we both do.”

She carried on up the hallway, knocked lightly on the door to her own room, paused a moment and then opened it. Following behind her, I was more surprised than I should have been to see Alvantes lying in her bed.

He was wearing a cotton night shirt, but most of the side and one arm had been trimmed away to expose thick layers of bandage. He looked pale and hollow-eyed; but as Estrada had said, he was certainly awake, and — with the aid of a great many pillows — sitting up.

Alvantes looked uneasy at my presence, all the more so when Estrada leaned to kiss his forehead, and I found myself uncomfortably reminded of the last time someone I knew had summoned me. The memory of my last talk with Saltlick sent a tremor of tension through my chest. Was this to be another goodbye?

However, once Estrada had seated herself in the chair beside the bed, Alvantes regain a little of his composure — and weak though his voice was, I could tell he was trying to be jovial as he said, “Marina tells me you singlehandedly talked Panchessa into marching his armies out of here.”

“Actually,” I replied, “Malekrin did most of the work, last night.” Then I remembered that neither Estrada nor Alvantes even knew about our clandestine meeting with Panchessa. “It’s a long story,” I added lamely.

“Either way,” said Alvantes, “I wanted to thank you. You did well, Damasco.”

For a moment, I was so startled that I could hardly think to reply — not so much because he’d said it, I realised, but because of how my heart swelled to hear him say it. It reminded me of something I’d been wanting to tell him for some time now. “I’m sorry, Alvantes… sorry I attacked you, and sorry I doubted you.”

“It’s forgotten.” Alvantes touched two fingers to the side of his jaw, where the flesh was still faintly purpled, and grimaced. “Just never do it again, all right?”

“Well,” I said, “I can’t promise anything.”

There was an awkward pause then, each of us having exhausted whatever limited stocks of manly sympathy nature had gifted us with. I knew that Alvantes was trying to shift our conversation onto more comfortable ground when he asked, “So Marina’s told you that she plans to stay here in Altapasaeda?”

“She has,” I agreed.

“This is a real opportunity for the city,” he said, “A new beginning.”

An odd thought occurred to me. “I can’t see Malekrin carrying on the way Panchetto did, charging taxes just to keep himself in banquets. In fact, I can’t see him staying on as prince for any longer than he has to. Today might be the first step towards a free Altapasaeda… a free Castoval, even, in time. Wasn’t that Mounteban’s dream?”

Alvantes scowled. “Perhaps a better version of it,” he said gruffly, “if we get it right.”

“Anyway, Easie,” put in Estrada, “this brings us to the reason we wanted to talk to you. If I’m going to stay here with Lunto, someone else will need to look after Muena Palaiya. The charter allows me to nominate a proxy to serve until the next election, but obviously it can’t be just anyone. It would have to be someone who knows the town, who cares about it… someone I can rely on to do the right thing.”

“Good luck with that,” I said. “Just finding anyone who knows the place and likes it could take all of a month.”

“Yes,” agreed Estrada, “it’s occurred to me that town politics isn’t for everyone. Of course, honesty isn’t really a prerequisite; in fact, it’s probably a disadvantage. It took me a while to appreciate it, but half the time it isn’t about what you can do, it’s about what you make people think you can do. What the job needs is a sincere heart and the mind of a swindler.”

“So you’re looking for an honest crook to run your town?” I said. “Good luck with finding one of those.”

Estrada smiled. “I’ve only ever met the one.”

“Well,” I told her, “you should probably ask them then. Of course, if they have half the sense you credit them with, they’ll probably say no, and… Estrada, why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like… like… Wait, you don’t mean me?”

“Easie,” she said, “you’re selfish, rude, insensitive, and probably the most bloody-minded person I’ve ever come across in my life.”

“Hey!”

“But from the moment I met you, I knew you could be far more than you were — and you haven’t let me down. Look what you’ve helped accomplish in these last months: Moaradrid defeated, the giants rescued, a war averted. You do things your own way, and it’s invariably the wrong way… but I’d say the results have been worth it.”

Suddenly my heart was beating far too fast. Had the woman gone mad? I couldn’t imagine anything worse than politics — and after my recent experiences, my imagination had plenty of scope. How did she think I could look after an entire town full of people, when I could hardly even look after myself?

Reading my reaction from the dread surely etched across my face, Estrada added gently, “Look at it this way, Damasco… can you honestly tell me you have anything better to do?”

I was ready to turn her down. The words were halfway to my tongue. Had Estrada said something else, anything else, I would have refused, and kept refusing until there was no breath left in my lungs.

Somewhere beneath the whirling panic that my thoughts had become, a small, detached voice observed that the woman had come to know me too damn well. Because, could I truthfully claim I had anything better to do than be mayor of Muena Palaiya?

I couldn’t. I really couldn’t.

There was no getting around it; I just wasn’t the thief I’d been. And maybe, just maybe, that meant it was time to try something new. “When I accidentally burn the town down,” I said, “or single-handedly start a war with Shoan, it will be on your head. You understand that, don’t you?”

Estrada smiled. “It’s a risk I’m prepared to take.”

I offered her my hand. “Then in that case, I accept.”

She shook. “I thought you would.”

As she released my palm, I fought against the dizzying sensation that my world had finally, irrevocably tumbled off its axis. How had I come to this point? I’d accidentally crossed a lunatic warlord, inadvertently stolen something of inconceivable value. I’d fallen in with dangerous sorts like Estrada and Alvantes, the kind of people who believed in such perilous notions as heroism and self-sacrifice. I’d learned, to my great shock, that when I made mistakes, people other than me got hurt. And at the beginning of it all, I’d rescued a giant who wanted to fight even less than I did, never once imagining I might end up calling him my friend.

But Saltlick was gone — and the thought that he wasn’t here to share in our victory, that he’d never even know he hadn’t left us to our deaths, twisted like a cold blade in my guts. I finally, truly understood then the choice he’d had to make; save his people, or abandon everything he believed in to try to rescue his friends. It was a choice, and a sacrifice, that were bound to torment him for the rest of his days.

I couldn’t have that. And I wasn’t willing to let my friend go, either — not without a fight.

“A horse,” I cried. “Estrada, I need a fast horse!” Then I remembered my past experiences of riding. “But perhaps not too fast,” I added.