I settled into camp life well enough. I mostly stayed close to Escgel, not much trusting in the other men there, and we more often than not made our beds at a little distance away from the others. It suited me well enough in other respects, of course, for I ate far better than I had in a long time and we were almost constantly on the move - fearful of being found and captured as well as seeking richer pickings in other parts of the country - which fitted my compulsion to run rather nicely.
For the most part, I reluctantly indulged in lessons with Escgel who had taken it upon himself to teach me how to read, write, speak and act properly. They were not the only things he taught me over the course of our time together. From him, I learned how to pick locks, lie convincingly and he even aided me in sneaking better. He also began tutoring me in the use of weaponry, although it swiftly became apparant that my talents in those areas were somewhat specialised. With a sword, club or mace I was worse than useless. With a bow or staff I was more of a danger to myself than any opponent. However, I handled myself adequately with a halberd after I grew taller, and with the art of throwing knives is something I picked up very quickly indeed and even came to excel in.
The first raid I was involved in was a rather easy affair. I was somewhat nervous at the idea until Escgel explained properly what would be expected of me. I was, he said, to sit in the middle of the road and cry, or pretend to at least. A small girl-child on her own and upset, I was informed, would melt even the hardest of hearts for just long enough to provide the men with an adequate opportunity to strike.
It all went very well to begin with. I sat in the indicated place, raised my hands to my face and sniffled a lot. I even managed to work up some actual tears by the time the caravan arrived. Seeing me there, it stopped and some kindly strangers jumped down out of the wagons to come check on me. So far so good.
It all went a bit pear-shaped after the men attacked. I was supposed to have run away as soon as they descended on the wagons, which I fully intended to do. However, the first shot from one of the bandits arrows missed its target and clipped me instead. I felt the sting as it raked a deep gash in my leg and looked down to see what had happened. My pale face drained further of colour even as my leg became rather brightly red with my blood. Shocked, nauseous and suddenly light-headed, the world swiftly began to swim in my vision and that is when I passed out.
I came to some time later to find myself back in our camp amongst the trees. Escgel was nearby watching grimly as Hound gave some of the men a good telling off. It was not, he hollared with his barrel-chested lungs, acceptable to shoot the bait. It was abundantly clear from his words that he was not in the least bit interested in my health or safety, his sole interest lay in my usefulness. I could not be the bait for them if I was dead. I did not take his lack of regard personally, though. In the years I remained with this group, I learned that those who were no longer useful to the band as a whole were quickly gotten rid of in one manner or another.
Other than my passing out and one or two minor injuries amongst the bandits, the raid had been a complete success. Many of the caravan, inclusing their guards, had paid with their lives for trying to fend us off but it seemed some of them, at least, had been so intent on defending the poor innocent and unconscious child that they had quite forgotten to form a defensive ring about the wagons themselves, thus forgoing the protection of the wood and canvass at their backs.
We came out of that with a tidy sum of gold, which Hound locked away in a little wooden chest which he kept in his tent, plenty of food and a lot of useful trade goods which some of them would take to nearby villages to sell. They also came out of it with a great source of amusement: me.
They thought it a great game to see how often they could cause me to pass out. Indeed, I was tormented by them poking me with needles as I passed by, or other sharp objects, in an effort to make me bleed. They only did it when Escgel could not see, of course, and I never complained about it. I knew instinctively that to do so would only incur their wrath after their subsequent discipline.
It was not all terrible, though. Yes, we were frozen in winter, often hungry, rarely clean, never comfortable and always in fear of being caught or killed by those we targeted. I will grant you that I bore the brunt of many a prank or was generally tormented by the men for not only being a child, but also being a girl who threw up at the sight of someone elses blood or passed out at the sight of her own. Still, following the words of my brother some years before, I chose to think of it all as a game and, in so doing, I came to enjoy it immensly. The raids were by far the best part. They were exciting and fraught with danger, but the sense of satisfaction when it all went well was more than worth the peril, the occasional wound or even the death of one of those travelling with us.
Introduced to such morbid things as I was at such an early age, I quickly came to accept them not only as a part of life but indeed how things should be. When a man - or woman on the few occasions we had females join our ranks - was no longer of use to us they were to be dispatched without haste. If one died during the course or in the aftermath of a raid, then hey ho, that was part of the lifestyle.
People were, and still are, a dispensible commodity. There will always be more if one knows how to find them and how best to cultivate them. Once they are no longer of use, it is best to be rid of them rather than have them forever lurking around. If they remain, they will only draw upon your resources without adding anything back, not to mention that they can get in the way, turn on you to your peril and generally become a nuisance. Like any pest, it is best to swat them.
