She didn't even have to look; she knew who it was. Zaran.
"Did you like it?" she replied, turning to face him. "Aren't you afraid?"
"No," came the curt reply.
Zaran stepped closer and leaned over Dameron, who was desperately making rasping sounds.
"I've never seen anything like this before," he said with fascination. "I have to try this sometime." Standing, he smiled at Setia. "I followed you all the time, wondering if you could handle it, my lady. I intended to play your protector. And here you are, but why would such a lady need these trinkets?" He pointed to Daremon's gold jewelry.
"What do you want?" Setia didn't feel like explaining herself.
"What wouldn't I want?" Zaran sighed and approached her. "I've never had a duchess, but this isn't it. I've never met a woman like you, my lady." Setia felt a cold sweat trickle down her spine; she felt as if she'd had a similar conversation before. "My father is as fickle as a flag in the wind. He is only waiting until you reach Fenigrid to stab you in the back. I don't go back on my word, and for you, my lady, I would do anything."
"Anything? Would you kill your father?" Setia tucked the dagger under her sleeve.
"Rosnar is my father only because he raped my mother. He only recently became interested in me. I fight for him and cover his back. I owe him nothing. To answer your question, yes, I would kill him," he whispered almost in her ear.
"Would Rosnar's men follow you?" Setia took a step back from the young mercenary.
"What choice do they have? These people have nothing but each other. They live by the sword, and by the sword they die when their strength fails." Zaran touched her hair. "You smell beautifully, my lady."
"If the scent is enough for you, then you already have something mine." Setia pulled her hood back up and took one last look at Daremon, who was still lying on the ground, trying to spit out the blood gathering in his mouth.
"The handkerchief no longer smells as strongly of you as it did at first," he said with disarming sincerity. "You would have to carry it close to your body again..."
Setia turned and headed for the tent. When she finally arrived, Moros was already sound asleep. Setia poured herself some wine and began thinking intensely about what Zaran had told her. She placed the empty cup on the chair next to the bed and lay down. Sleep came quickly, the exhaustion took over.
Morning found her in bed; in fact, she was woken by Moros pacing around the tent. "Why are you running around?" she said, not rising from her bed.
"I'm looking for something to drink," she heard the reply.
"The wine is on the table," she pointed.
"It's the wine and that strange aniseed drink that's making me so thirsty. I need water," Moros groaned.
"The jug is under the chair, along with the bowl." Setia stood and stretched. "You know what, pour me one too." She reached for her mug, which she had left on the chair.
Next to her lay a lace handkerchief. Moros approached her with the jug, and Setia handed him the mug without taking her eyes off the handkerchief. She stood and walked to the tent entrance, where two guards stood.
"Did you keep watch here last night?"
"Yes, my lady, we changed at midnight," replied the tall blond man with a two-day stubble.
"Did you see anything suspicious, or did you perhaps fall asleep?" Setia watched them carefully. - No, my lady, we didn't fall asleep and it was quiet.
Setia nodded and went inside. She glanced around the tent; a loose tent flap was visible next to the chair. So that was where he'd slipped in. She washed her face, combed her hair, and adjusted her eye patch. Moros was sitting in the chair, finishing another cup of water; he was pale.
"Don't drink anything tonight," she said to him, "because you're taking part in the attack tomorrow morning. It's better not to have a headache then."
"Thank you for the wise advice, little sister," Moros groaned, and Setia took her weapon and picked up a handkerchief, which after a moment's thought, she tucked into the inside pocket of her jacket.
"Hurry, we're leaving soon," Setia urged, and exited the tent.
Her unit was almost ready. Setia, holding a mug of hot herbal tea with a hint of mint, watched as the camp slowly took shape. The sky, rosy after sunrise, was cloudless, promising a beautiful spring day. They had the longest stretch ahead of them; they had to cover almost the entire Pretonian plain today.
"My Lady," the Emfer's guard officer approached her, "we are ready."
Setia turned around; there was no sign of the tent. Even Moros was ready to go.
"Very well, let's go." She poured out the last of the brew, handed the cup to a nearby soldier, and mounted her horse.
The wagon train set off. Each unit took its place, and Setia rode to the head of the procession. After a moment, Rosnar and Zaran, Warang, and Komer joined them. They wore gloomy expressions. They stopped to the side while the wagon train continued on its way.
"Something's wrong?" Setia asked upon seeing them.
"Someone took out Dameron," Warang said in a throaty voice.
"What do you mean? Was he killed?" Setia asked, surprised. "Here at the camp?" Zaran looked at Setia with a faint smile on his face. Setia waited for his reaction, but he remained silent.
"That's strange," Rosnar scratched his chin. "Dameron didn't die an easy death; they had to finish him off."
"He lay there like a rag doll, his tongue even cut off, but he was alive," Komer nodded. "I've never seen anything like that."
"I did," Rosnar looked at Setia. "I saw a similar stunt a long time ago."
"His golden chains are gone," Warang added. "I told him it was a bad idea to flaunt them like that."
"That's a problem. Who will take his place?" Setia decided to interrupt.
"They're still talking, Tralan's with them," Zaran interjected. "Probably one of his five officers. In any case, we'll find out by evening." He looked at Setia. "Lady, the reconnaissance team has already left, so you don't have to worry."
"Very well, we should go too." Setia spurred her horse and set off to catch up with the front of the train. Warang and Komer returned to their units, while Rosnar, accompanied by Zaran, followed Setia. Rosnar caught up with her, Zaran keeping behind but within earshot.
"I remember a certain mercenary," Rosnar began, "it was a long time ago. He took out one of his men in a similar manner. A precise blow to the spine, and the man lies limp, waiting for death. Terrible." He spat thick saliva next to Setia's leg. "That's not an easy move to learn," he added after a moment.
"So? What's the moral of this?" Setia asked in a bored voice.
"Whoever did this had a bone to pick with Dameron." Rosnar continued, glancing at Setia every now and then. "First of all, he must have been a trained assassin, and one who enjoyed his work. I knew one, his name was Setes, and he died fighting in Gardynia."