Читать книгу The Serpentwar Saga: The Complete 4-Book Collection - Raymond E. Feist - Страница 27

Erik dismounted.

Roo grabbed the reins of Erik’s and Billy’s horses and led them away. Erik and Billy ran forward, weapons at the ready, while the maneuver was repeated up and down the line.

Since leaving Brek’s at Shingazi’s Landing two weeks before. Calis had been drilling the men continually. They were now being trained as mounted infantry. At the first sign of attack, one man in three would lead the horses to be staked behind the line while the other two made a defensive position where instructed. The men had complained about this, saying it made no sense to leave a perfectly good horse and get down to fight, but the complaints had fallen on deaf ears.

Nakor had laughed it off, saying only, ‘Man and horse gives a much bigger target than man on foot hiding behind a rock.’

The drills were becoming second nature to Erik and the others, who now waited to see what would happen next. Sometimes, nothing; other times, Hatonis’s company of clansmen from the City of the Serpent River would ‘attack,’ and the results could be painful. The drills were conducted using heavy wooden swords, weighted with lead rods, that were twice the heft of a normal shortsword. Erik swore his own sword was feather-light in his hand after weeks of drilling with the false swords, which he supposed was the point of it all, but the wooden swords could leave heavy welts and even break bones, and the clansmen from the City of the Serpent River seemed to take delight in embarrassing Calis’s company.

Erik didn’t understand the politics of this strange land; he knew that Calis and Hatonis were old friends, or at least friendly acquaintances, but the other men from that distant city seemed either suspicious or contemptuous of Calis’s men. He asked and was told by one of the soldiers from Calis’s last voyage that clan warriors simply didn’t have much use for mercenaries. Erik took this to mean that only a few leaders, such as Hatonis, knew of their real purpose in coming to this distant land.

Erik heard a rattle behind him and knew that Roo had returned and was laying down the odd short spears they had picked up at Brek’s. Soft iron, they were designed to be thrown at charging opponents, either injuring them or fouling their shields. Once they struck something, they were useless, as they bent easily, so the enemy couldn’t throw them back. A shout went up from a crest nearby and suddenly it was raining arrows. Erik raised his shield, crouching low behind it, and felt two shafts strike and shatter on the heavy metal and wood. A curse nearby told Erik that Luis hadn’t been as fortunate, and had been struck by the dull point of a practice shaft. Not lethal, these shafts nevertheless stung when they struck, and occasionally they could cause real injury.

Then another shout signaled the charge, and Erik rose, gripping one of the heavy iron spears. ‘Ready!’ shouted de Loungville. As the charging clansmen came near, Erik tensed, and as if reading his mind, de Loungville shouted, ‘Wait for it!’

As the clansmen bore down upon them, the men of Calis’s company waited until de Loungville shouted, ‘Throw!’ and Erik and the others motioned throwing the pilum, as the short soft spear was known in the Quegan tongue. Having no practice pilum to use, they couldn’t throw the weapon, so after pantomiming a cast, each man dropped his spear next to where they waited and, with a few audible groans, readied the ponderous practice swords.

Erik recognized the man bearing down on him, a large somber fellow named Pataki. Erik braced himself and let the man throw the first blow, which he easily caught on his shield. He stepped slightly to his left and threw a roundhouse blow with his sword that got over the top of Pataki’s shield and caught him behind the head. Erik winced, for he knew the blow must hurt, despite the helm the other man wore.

Glancing around, he saw that his companions were easily repulsing the attackers, and within a minute the clansmen threw down their swords and removed their helms in the mercenary’s sign of surrender. A few of Calis’s company cheered the victory, but the majority were content to stand motionless for a few minutes. Riding most of the day, then suddenly fighting a battle – even if only a mock skirmish – took its toll; most of the men learned to steal rest whenever it was possible, even if only for a minute.

‘All right,’ shouted Foster. ‘Pick ’em up!’

Erik got his practice sword under one arm and was starting to retrieve his pilum when he heard Billy say, ‘This one’s not moving!’

Erik saw that Pataki was still lying facedown in the dust. Roo was the first to reach him and rolled the bulky man over. He then leaned over and after a moment said, He’s still breathing, but he’s out cold.’

De Loungville hurried over. ‘What’s this?’

Erik picked up his pilum. ‘I caught him on the back of the head. I hit him harder than I intended, I guess.’

‘You guess,’ said de Loungville, his eyes narrowing as if he was about to launch into another reprimand. Suddenly he grinned and said, ‘That’s my lad!’ He told Roo, ‘Toss some water on him and get your kit together.’

Roo rolled his eyes heavenward and hurried to where the horses were picketed. He fetched a waterskin and doused the motionless man. Pataki came awake, spitting out the water, and once he had regained his feet, returned to his own company.

Erik carried his set of pilum, practice sword, and shield to where the horses were waiting. He loaded up his equipment, then waited for Roo to catch up. When the shorter man returned, he said, ‘You really caught him with that head shot.’

‘You saw?’

‘I was unoccupied at the moment. The fellow who came at me was blind-sided by Billy, so I had nothing to do.’

‘You could have lent me a hand,’ Erik said.

‘As if you needed one,’ said Roo. ‘You’re turning into something of a terror with that practice sword. Maybe you ought to keep with it when the real fighting starts. You can bludgeon with it better than most men can cut.’

Erik half smiled and shook his head. ‘Maybe I’ll find one of those big dwarven war hammers and smash rocks, too.’

‘Mount!’ came the order from Foster, and with accompanying groans the men complied.

Moving into position, Erik and Roo fell in with Sho Pi, Biggo, Luis, and Billy. The company waited. Then came the order to ride. There was at least another hour of daylight before they’d be ordered to make camp, and that would entail another two hours of work. Erik glanced at the sun, an angry red globe lowering in the west, and said, ‘It’s too damn hot for this time of year.’

From behind him, Calis said, ‘The seasons are reversed here, Erik. It’s winter in the Kingdom, but it’s early summer here. The days are getting longer and hotter.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Erik, too tired to wonder how the Captain had come to be riding next to him.

‘When we spar with the clansmen,’ said Calis, with a faint smile, ‘try to be a little more subdued with them. Pataki’s a nephew of Regin, the Lion Clan chieftain. If you’d broken his head, it would have strained things a bit.’

‘I’ll try to remember, Captain,’ said Erik without humor.

Calis set heels to his horse and moved toward the head of the line. Roo said, ‘Was he joking?’

‘Who cares?’ said Billy Goodwin. ‘It’s too hot, and I’m too tired to worry about it.’

Biggo, who rode next to Billy, said, ‘That’s strange.’

‘What?’ asked Roo.

‘The sun’s so red, but it’s another hour or more to sunset.’

Looking toward the west, they nodded. ‘What could be causing it?’ asked Luis, from his place behind Biggo.

‘Smoke,’ answered a clansman who was riding past. ‘Word came last night that Khaipur was falling. That must be it burning.’

Roo said, ‘But that’s hundreds of miles from here! At least, that’s what the Captain said!’

Sho Pi spoke softly. ‘Very big fire’ was all he said.

The training wore on, and Erik and the others no longer had to think about what to do; they just did it. Even the routine of building fortifications every night became commonplace; Erik ceased being astonished at how much work the seventy-five men could accomplish.

Once the routine was established, Calis and de Loungville would disrupt it, seeking to keep the men constantly alert. As the days wore on, Erik thought it unnecessary.

Riders came and went as messages were carried from various agents Calis had established over the years. Rather than take years to establish its control over the surrounding countryside, the host of the Emerald Queen was driving on the city of Lanada.

Riding in the second company, Erik heard Calis speaking to Hatonis and one of the riders who had just brought that news. ‘It was seven years between the fall of Sulth and the assault on Hamsa.’

Hatonis said, ‘But the invaders had to fight through the Forest of Irabek.’

‘Three years between Hamsa and Kilbar, then a year between Kilbar and Khaipur.’

Calis nodded. ‘As they control more of the continent, they seem more intent on accelerating their advance.’

De Loungville speculated, ‘Maybe the army’s getting too big to control and its generals have to keep it busy with conquest.’

Calis shrugged. ‘We need to change our line of march.’ To the rider he said, ‘Rest with us tonight and tomorrow return north. Carry word to the Jeshandi we will not be coming their way. We are going to leave the Serpent River and turn straight west. Pass the word to those who seek us that we are going to attempt to intercept the invaders between Khaipur and Lanada. Look for us at the Mercenaries’ Rendezvous.’

Erik and the others turned to look across the Serpent River, where in the distance they saw a vast valley of forests and meadows, and beyond that a small range of mountains. They would have to cross the river, ride through that and, once across the mountains, down into the river lands of the Vedra.

De Loungville said, ‘Do we turn around for the crossing point at Brek’s?’

Calis said, ‘No, it would lose us too much time. Send scouts ahead and find us a place to cross.’

De Loungville ordered riders forward, and two days later they reported a broadening of the river where the current was slow enough that rafting might be possible. Calis reached that point and agreed it was worth the try. He ordered the men to cut what little growth there was along the river to make a set of small rafts. A dozen men, including Erik and Biggo, made the treacherous crossing, poling their way from one side to the other, carrying lines that would be used to get the others across. On the far bank, the dozen men cut enough trees of a size to lash together logs into four rafts, each large enough to hold four horses. The horses for the most part cooperated, though one raft was lost on the second-to-the-last trip as a line parted and the logs broke apart. The horses and men jumped into the water as the raft disintegrated, and all the men were pulled out downstream, but only one horse made it to the shore.

There were sufficient remounts so that the losing of three horses was not a serious deprivation, but the thought of the animals drowning bothered Erik. He found that disturbing, for the specter of battle and men dying held no pain for him, but the idea of a horse, terrified as it was being swept downriver, made him very sad.

The valley swept from the fork in the river to the west, ending in a series of rising meadows, until at last they would have to crest the ridge of mountains. On the tenth day of the march, a scout returned to tell Calis of a party of hunters he had encountered ahead.

Erik, Roo, and four other men were sent ahead with Foster to negotiate with the hunters. Erik was grateful for anything that broke the monotony of the march. Every day had been toil without respite. As much as he enjoyed horses and working with them, Erik had never been a great rider. He found twelve hours in the saddle, interrupted only by walking beside the horses to rest them, making and breaking camp, mock combats, and a steady diet of dried rations more drudgery than even his worst days at the forge.

The countryside was sloping hills, all moving quickly up into peaks and crests. The mountains of this region topped out at a lower elevation than the biggest Erik was used to at home, but there were far more of them here. The three major peaks of Darkmoor were surrounded by many hills, but otherwise few true mountains. Mostly they were high plateaus and sloping hillsides. But here, while modest in altitude, the mountains were plentiful and steep, with quickly rising buttes and prominences, dead-end valleys and box canyons, hard granite cut by streams and rivers. Trees grew in abundance and none of the surrounding peaks rose high enough above the timberline to give them a clear point of reference as they traveled through the dense woods. Erik suspected this range of mountains might prove a hazard as well as an inconvenience.

The hunters were waiting at the agreed-upon location. Erik reined in as Foster dismounted, removed his sword belt, and approached with his hands open. Erik studied the hunters.

They were hill people, dressed in fur-covered vests and long woolen trousers. Erik suspected there were herds of sheep or goats secreted away in the local meadows. Each man carried an efficient-looking bow, not quite as impressive as the Kingdom longbow, but clearly powerful enough to kill a man or bear as well as a deer.

The leader was a grey-bearded man who stepped forward to speak with Foster, while the other three stood motionless. Erik glanced around and saw no sign of any horses; these men hunted on foot. Given the terrain, Erik judged that more sensible than trying to convince a horse to act like a donkey or goat. If the hunters’ village was any higher up the slopes, horses would be less than an inconvenience; they’d be a danger.

Two of the other men bore a strong resemblance to the leader, while the third appeared like him in manner only. Erik guessed they were a family, with the odd man perhaps being married to a daughter.

Foster nodded, reached into his tunic, and pulled out a heavy purse. He counted out some gold pieces and returned to where Roo held his mount. ‘You men wait here.’ With a motion of his head he made it clear that they were to keep the hunters from running off with the gold he just gave them. ‘I’ll bring up the rest of the company. These fellows have a way over the mountains that’s safe for the horses.’

Erik glanced at the steep rise of the landscape before him and nodded. ‘I hope so.’

While they waited, the hunters talked among themselves. The one who didn’t resemble the other three listened as the leader spoke, then without comment he turned and began to trot toward the tree line.

One of the soldiers, a man named Greely, shouted, ‘Where does he think he’s going?’ The hunter stopped. Greely’s command of the local language, learned on ship and while traveling, was better than Erik’s, but his accent obviously struck the hillmen as odd enough that they looked puzzled by the question.

The leader looked at him. ‘Do you think treachery?’

Seeing that all four hunters were ready to unsling bows and start firing if the wrong answer was forthcoming, Erik glanced at Roo; suddenly Roo said, ‘He’s sending his son-in-law home to tell his wife and daughter that he and his sons won’t be home for supper tonight. Am I right?’

The lead hunter nodded, once, and waited. Greely said, ‘Well … I guess that’s all right.’

The leader made a curt gesture and the fourth hunter began trotting off again. Then the leader of the hunters said, ‘And tomorrow, too. It’s a harsh two days over the ridge, with no easy time going down the day after, but once on the trail you’ll have that well enough without my help.’ He leaned upon his bow once more.

About fifteen minutes of silence followed, then the sound of horses approaching from the rear heralded Calis and his company’s approach. Calis rode at the head of the company and when he pulled up he spoke rapidly to the hunter. The exchange was so quick and heavily accented that Erik couldn’t follow most of it.

But in the end Calis seemed satisfied and turned to the others, who were still riding up behind. ‘This is Kirzon and his sons. They know a trail over the ridge and down into the Vedra River valley. It’s narrow and difficult.’

For two hours they followed the hunters along a narrow trail, winding up into the hills. The way was dangerous enough that they took it at a slow pace, since any mistake could cause an injury to horse and rider. After reaching a small meadow, the hunter turned to confer with Calis. Calis nodded, then said, ‘We’ll camp now and leave at first light.’

Suddenly de Loungville and Foster were shouting orders and Erik and Roo were snapping to without thought. Getting the horses in picket, unsaddled and placed so they could crop the long grass, proved more time-consuming than if they had simply been staked out in a line and had fodder carried to them.

By the time Erik and the others in charge of the horses were finished, the rest of the company had already dug most of the moat, throwing up dirt on four sides in a breastwork. Erik grabbed a shovel and jumped down next to the others. Quickly the defense was made ready. The drop gate was assembled, interlocking planks of wood carried on a baggage animal that, when run out, served as a broad bridge over the trench. Then Erik climbed out as others were doing, on the short side of the trench, walked to the gate and crossed over, and began tamping the earth of the breastwork. Roo came over with a set of iron-tipped wooden stakes, which he inserted at a set distance along the top of the breastwork. Then they hurried to join with the rest of the men and erect their six-man tent, fashioned with interwoven pieces of fabric, one section carried by each man. They placed their bedrolls inside and returned to the commissary area, where soup was being boiled.

On the march they ate dried bread and fruits, with vegetable soups whenever possible. At first Erik and some others grumbled over the lack of meat in the diet, but he now found he agreed with the older soldiers that heavy food weighed them down in the field. He knew that while the thought of a steaming roast or a joint of mutton, or his mother’s meat pies, could make his mouth water, he hadn’t felt stronger in his life.

Wooden bowls were handed out, and each man came away with a steaming helping of stewed vegetables, with just enough beef suet and flour to give it some texture. Sitting near the campfire, Roo said, ‘I’d love some hot bread to soak this up with.’

Foster, who was walking by, said, ‘People in the lower hills would love a cool drink of water, me lad. Enjoy what you have. Tomorrow we’re on trail rations.’

The men groaned. The dried fruit and hardtack was nourishing but almost tasteless, and a man could seemingly chew for hours without making the mess any easier to swallow. What Erik found himself missing most was wine. Growing up in Darkmoor, he had taken wine for granted. The quality of the wine made in the region was near-legendary, and this made even the cheapest ‘plonk’ drunk at meals by the commoners a cut above the usual. Until he reached Krondor, he had no idea that wine that was too inexpensive to justify transport would have earned a fair return in the taverns and kitchens of the Prince’s City.

He remarked on this to Roo, who said, ‘That might be just the ticket for an enterprising lad such as myself.’ He grinned and Erik laughed.

Biggo, who was sitting on the other side of the fire, said, ‘What? You going to truck bottles of the stuff into Krondor and lose money?’

Roo narrowed his gaze. ‘After my father-in-law, Helmut Grindle, advances me enough gold to work with, I have a plan that will put good wine on every table in the Western Realm.’

Erik laughed. ‘You haven’t even met the girl! She may be married with a brace of children by the time you return!’

Jerome Handy snorted. ‘If you return.’

They fell silent.

Horses are contrary creatures, thought Erik as he blinked dust out of his eyes. He had been given the responsibility of herding the remounts over the mountains and had picked a half-dozen of the better riders to ride herd. One surprise had been Nakor volunteering. Most men would find riding behind the herd – ‘drag,’ as the position was called – choking on their dust, poor duty, but the chronically curious Isalani found the entire process fascinating. And it turned out, to Erik’s relief, that the man was a competent enough horseman.

Twice, horses had been content to walk down a bluff that would have taken them to a place where they would either have to back up – one of the least-favored choices of most horses – or learn to fly, which Erik judged even less likely. ‘Whoa!’ he shouted at one particularly troublesome horse who was determined to walk off the mountain. He shied a rock at her, which bounced off her right shoulder, turning her in the direction he wanted. ‘Stupid bitch!’ he shouted. ‘Trying to turn yourself into crow bait?’

Nakor rode closer to the edge than any sane man was like to do and seemed ready to somehow will his horse into flight so he could interpose himself between a horse bolting the wrong way and thin air. Whenever Erik mentioned he might come in a bit, the little man just grinned and told him everything was fine. ‘She’s in season. Mares get very stupid when in heat,’ he observed.

‘She’s not overly bright even when she’s not ready to breed. At least we have no stallions along. That would make life interesting.’

‘I had a stallion once,’ said Nakor. ‘A great black horse given me by the Empress of Great Kesh.’

Erik regarded the man. ‘That’s … interesting.’ Like the others who had gotten to know Nakor, he was reluctant to call him a liar. So much of what he said was highly improbable, but he never said he could do anything he couldn’t back up, so the men had come to take most of what he claimed at face value.

‘The horse died,’ Nakor said. ‘Good horse. Sorry to see him go. Ate some bad grass; got colic.’

A shout from ahead warned Erik the herd was bunching up, and he sent Billy Goodwin forward to help keep the horses moving through a narrow defile that cut across the ridge of the mountains. Once through that, they would be heading downward into the valley of the Vedra River.

Erik shouted for Billy to come back to the rear and ride drag while he urged his own horse on, to the head of the thirty horses that served as the company’s remounts. A balky gelding was trying to turn around, and Erik used his own horse to push the recalcitrant animal into the gap, and then the horses were moving in orderly fashion. Erik pulled up and waited for the rest of the animals to pass, then joined again with Billy and Nakor in back.

‘Downhill from here,’ said Billy.

Suddenly Nakor’s mare took a bite at Billy’s horse, and his animal reared. Nakor shouted, ‘Look out!’

Billy lost his grip on his reins and fell backwards, and landed hard on the ground. Erik jumped down from his animal and ran over while Billy’s horse ran after the herd.

Leaning over, he saw Billy staring up into the sky. His head rested upon a large rock while a crimson pool spread behind him.

Nakor shouted, ‘How is he?’

Erik said, ‘He’s dead.’

There was a moment of silence, then Nakor said, ‘I’ll follow the horses. You bring him along to where we can bury him.’

Erik stood up, started to reach down to grab Billy, and suddenly remembered having to pick up Tyndal’s body. ‘Oh, damn,’ he said as tears came unbidden to his eyes.

He found himself trembling as he realized that of those who had been sentenced to hang that day, Billy was the first to die. ‘Oh, damn,’ he repeated, as he stood clenching and unclenching his fists. ‘Why?’ he asked the fates.

One moment Billy had been sitting astride his horse; the next he was dead. And nothing more important than a stupid, poorly trained gelding shying from a bite by a mare in heat had caused it.

Erik didn’t know why he suddenly felt so sad at Billy’s death. He felt his body tremble, and realized he was afraid. Sucking down a lungful of air, he closed his eyes and bent and picked up Billy. The body was surprisingly light. He turned and moved to his own horse, who started to shy as he approached. ‘Whoa!’ he commanded, almost yelling, and the horse obeyed.

He lifted Billy across the horse’s neck and the front of the saddle, then swung up behind. Sliding into the saddle, he lifted Billy enough so that he could rest him as much as possible across his upper thighs, so the horse could manage the weight. Slowly he moved after the distant herd.

‘Damn,’ he whispered again as he willed his fear and anger back deep inside himself.

A man named Notombi, with a heavy Keshian accent, was moved into their tent, taking Billy’s place. The five remaining members of Erik’s company were cordial, but distant. While he was an outsider, his training made him mesh quickly, knowing exactly which duties to perform without being told.

Two days after crossing the ridge of the mountains, Kirzon and his sons pointed the way down and returned to their hunting. Calis paid them off in gold and bade them farewell.

Erik returned to the routine of travel, though the difficult descent into the hills west of the mountains gave little time for reflection. He buried all his memories of his feelings at Billy’s death and continued as before.

Five days after crossing the mountains, they encountered a difficult rise. Erik went ahead with Calis to scout out a clear trail before allowing the full company to proceed. Turning around nearly seventy-five riders and another thirty remounts was tricky business under the best of conditions. In tight quarters, it was nearly impossible.

Reaching a crest, they reined in and Erik exclaimed, ‘The gods weep!’

In the distance, to the north, the great tower of smoke that had been turning the sun red could now be seen. ‘How far is that?’ asked Erik.

Still more than a hundred miles distant,’ answered Calis. ‘They must be burning every village and farm within a week’s ride of Khaipur. The wind’s blowing it east, else we’d be tasting that soot as well as seeing it.’

Erik’s eyes stung slightly. ‘I’m feeling it now.’

Calis smiled his strange half-smile. ‘It would be worse if you were closer.’

Riding back, they found an easier trail than the first, and as they moved toward the company, Erik said, ‘Captain, what are our chances of getting home?’

Calis laughed, and Erik turned to regard him. ‘You’re the first with the grit to come out and ask; I was wondering who it would be.’

Erik said nothing.

Calis said, ‘I think our chances of getting home are as good as we can make them. Only the gods know just how mad this plan is.’

‘Why couldn’t you sneak one man in, have him look around, then sneak him out?’

‘Good question,’ said Calis. ‘We tried. Several times.’ He glanced around as he rode, as if scouting was a habit. ‘This land is a land of few standing armies, as we know them in the Kingdom and Kesh. Here you’re either a swordsman for your family or clan, or you’re in the palace guard of some city ruler, or you’re a hired sword. Mercenary armies are the rule.’

‘I would think that with hired swords on both sides, it would be easy enough to slip a man across the lines.’

Calis’s expression showed it was a fair observation. ‘One would think that. But a single man attracts notice, especially one who is ignorant of basic customs and attitudes. But a company of freebooters from a distant land? That’s not unusual in these parts. And reputation counts for much. So, I am Calis, and we’re the Crimson Eagles, and no one looks twice at an elf living among humans here. A “long-lived” leading such a company is rare but not unheard of. You would be found out by magic or treachery were you to come here alone, Erik. But as a member of my company, no one will pay you the least heed.’ He said nothing for a while, looking down on the rolling hills that led down to the river. After a while he said, ‘This is a beautiful land, isn’t it?’

Erik said, ‘Yes, it seems so.’

Calis was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Twenty-four years ago I came to this country for the first time, Erik. I’ve been back twice since then, once with my own army. I’ve left graves behind me in numbers you can’t imagine.’

‘I overheard de Loungville and Nakor, back on Sorcerer’s Isle,’ admitted Erik as he reined his horse around for better footing on the trail. ‘It sounded terrible.’

‘It was. Many of the Kingdom’s best soldiers died on that march. Hand-picked men. Foster, de Loungville, and a few others were able to escape with me, and only because we took a chance and went where the enemy didn’t expect us to go.’ Calis was again silent a moment. ‘That’s why I agreed with Bobby’s plan, and convinced Arutha that only men desperate to stay alive would serve. Soldiers are all too willing to die for the colors, and we need men who would do everything in their power to stay alive, short of betraying us.’

Erik nodded. ‘And soldiers don’t make convincing mercenaries.’

‘That, too. You’re going to meet some men who will change your thinking about what humanity is capable of, and you won’t be better for knowing them.’ He looked at Erik as if studying him. ‘You’re part of an odd lot. We searched for those things in each man that would give us all the chance of blending in – an ability to be violent, no pretension of ideals, just men who are as rough as those we must go among – but we also needed men who were more than the common scum the tides of battle usually wash ashore. We needed men who, when it came time, would answer the call rather than run.’ He smiled and it was a smile of genuine amusement. ‘Or at least they would run in the proper direction, and keep their wits about them.’ As if a thought struck him for the first time, he said, ‘I think I had better keep you and your company close by. Most of the men we’ve selected are cutthroats who would happily kill their grannies to earn a gold piece, but your little band numbers some of our oddest characters. If your friend Biggo starts talking about the Death Goddess – who is a figure of terror in this land, named Khali-shi, and who is only worshiped in secret – or if Sho Pi starts discussing philosophy with some of the blood drinkers we’re going to hook up with, we’ll have hell to pay. I’ll tell de Loungville when we camp tonight that your six is to be billeted closest to my tent.’

Erik fell silent. He was surprised that Calis knew enough about them as individuals to know about Biggo’s theories on the Death Goddess or Sho Pi’s odd views of things. And he didn’t know if being close to the Captain, de Loungville, and Foster was a comfort or nuisance.

Days of cautious travel at last brought them to rolling lowlands. Then on the fifth day after leaving the mountains, they approached a village, one that sat athwart the major north-south road between Lanada and Khaipur. They found the houses abandoned, for the presence of a company of armed men usually meant a raid in this land. Calis waited an hour in the small town square, his men tending their horses with water from the well, but otherwise leaving everything untouched.

A young man in his early twenties appeared from hiding in a stand of trees close by. ‘What company?’ he called out, ready to duck back into the sheltering copse at the first sign of trouble.

‘Calis’s Crimson Eagles. What village is this?’

‘Weanat.’

‘Whom do you serve?’

The man, eyeing Calis suspiciously, said, ‘Are you pledged?’

‘We are a free company.’

That answer didn’t seem to sit well with the villager. He spoke softly, conferring with someone hidden behind him, then at last he said, ‘We tithe the Priest-King of Lanada.’

Where lies Lanada from here?’

‘A day’s ride south along that road,’ came the answer.

Calis turned to de Loungville. ‘We’re farther south than I wanted to be, but the army will catch up with us, sooner or later.’

‘Or grind over us,’ answered de Loungville.

‘Make camp tonight in that meadow over to the east,’ instructed Calis. Turning to the still-half-hidden villager, he said, ‘We’ll need a market. I need feed, grain for bread, chickens if you have any, fruit, vegetables, and wine.’

‘We are poor. We have little to share,’ said the man, backing deeper into the shadow of the trees.

Erik’s squad was stationed right behind Calis, and Biggo, who had listened to the exchange, whispered to Erik, ‘And I’m a monk of Dala. This is rich land, and those beggars have whatever they own stashed away somewhere in those woods.’

Luis leaned down from where he still sat his horse, and said, ‘And we are probably being watched over a half-dozen arrows.’

Calis called out, ‘We’ll pay in gold.’ He reached into his tunic, pulled out a small purse, and turned it over, emptying a dozen pieces of gold onto the ground.

As if signaled, a score of men appeared, all holding weapons. Erik studied them, making a comparison to the townspeople he had grown up with. These were farmers, but they also held their weapons in a sure-handed fashion. These men had to fight to keep what was theirs, and Erik was glad that Calis was the sort of leader who paid for what he needed rather than taking it.

The leader, an older man with a limp who carried a large sword strapped across his back, knelt and picked up the gold pieces. ‘You’ll bond peace?’ he asked Calis.

‘Done!’ said Calis, throwing the reins of his horse to Foster. He held out his arm and the village leader gripped his wrist, as Calis gripped in return. They shook twice and let go.

Abruptly the trees emptied of men, followed a short time after by women and children. Before Erik’s eyes he saw a market take form in the small square of the village.

Roo said,‘I don’t know where they kept all this,’ as he motioned to pots of honey, jars of wine, and baskets of fruit that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

‘Get raided often enough and I expect you learn how to hide things in a hurry, fella-me-Iad,’ observed Biggo. ‘Plenty of basements with hidden traps, and false walls in those buildings, I’m thinking.’

Sho Pi, who motioned for the others to follow to where camp was being set up, said. ‘They have the look of fighting men, those farmers.’

Erik agreed. ‘I think we’re in a beautiful but very harsh land.’

They picketed their horses where instructed by Corporal Foster, then began the routine of making camp.

They rested while Calis waited. What he was waiting for wasn’t clear to Erik and the others, and Calis wasn’t taking them into his confidence. The villagers were guarded in dealing with the mercenaries; approachable, but not warm. There was no inn, but one of the local merchants had erected a pavilion and served average-quality wine and ale. Foster warned against any public drunkenness, promising a flogging to any man who couldn’t pull his weight the next morning because of a thick head.

Each day brought more drills and new practices. For three days they worked on holding their shields above their heads while moving heavy objects about. Foster and de Loungville stood on top of a hillock nearby throwing rocks into the air so they would fall straight down on the drilling men, reminding them to keep their shields up.

After a week had passed, one of the guards set at the north end of the town cried out, ‘Riders!’

Foster barked out orders for the men to get ready, and practice swords were discarded, replaced by steel. Those men selected as bowmen hurried to a position overlooking the town, under Foster’s command, while de Loungville and Calis moved the rest of the company to defensive positions at the north end of the village.

Calis moved to where Erik and his companions waited, and said, ‘They’re coming fast.’

Erik squinted and saw a half-dozen men racing down the road that led into the village. As they drew near, they reined in, probably having seen a glint of metal or the movement of men.

Biggo said, ‘They’re not so quick to come rushing in now that they know we’re here.’

Erik nodded. Roo said, ‘Look over there.’

Erik turned to where Roo pointed, back into the village, and was astonished to see it was once again deserted. ‘They do know how to make themselves scarce, don’t they?’

The riders began to trot toward the village, and when they were close enough to be seen clearly, Calis shouted, ‘Praji!’

The leader waved and spurred his horse into a canter, while his companions followed. As they neared, Erik saw that the six men were mercenaries, or at least dressed as such, and that the man in the van was easily the ugliest person he had ever seen. A face like seamed leather was dominated by an improbably large nose and a huge brow. His long hair, mostly grey, was tied back. He rode poorly; his hands were far too busy, and it was irritating his horse.

Getting down, the man walked toward the defensive position. ‘Calis?’

Calis walked forward and the two men embraced, with heavy back-slapping on both sides. The man pushed Calis away and said, ‘You don’t look a damn day older; curse you long-lived bastards – steal all the pretty women, then come back and steal their daughters.’

Calis said, ‘I expected to see you at the rendezvous.’

‘There isn’t going to be one,’ the man called Praji said; ‘at least not where you’d expect it to be. Khaipur has fallen.’

‘So I heard.’

‘That’s why you’re here and not marching up the banks of the Serpent River,’ said Praji.

Foster motioned for Erik and five other men to take the horses. As they gathered the animals, they studied the other five riders. Hard men all, they had a beaten, tired look. Praji said, ‘We got our tails singed, for sure. I barely got out with a score of our men; we got as close to the siege as we could, but the greenskins had outriders and they came down on us hard. I didn’t even have time to claim we were looking for work. No truces. You’re either with them or you’re attacked.’ He hiked a thumb at his companions. ‘After we got loose, we split up. Half the lads went with Vaja to the Jeshandi. Figured you’d be coming up that way, but in case you put in at Maharta I was heading that way. Figured you’d send word through our agents where you were if I was wrong. Give me something to drink; my throat’s coated with half the dirt between here and Khaipur.’

Calis said, ‘Let’s get a drink and you can tell me more.’

He took the man over to the pavilion, and as they moved, villagers began to appear as if from the air. Erik and the other men detailed to the horses took the riders over to the remounts, and Erik inspected them all. They had been ridden hard; they were heavily lathered and breathing deep. He unsaddled the horse he led, and told the other men to start walking the animals. They needed an hour’s cooling at least, he judged, before they could be allowed to eat or drink, lest they become colicky.

After the horses were cooled, Erik staked them out and rubbed them down, checking to make sure none was injured or coming up lame. When he was satisfied the horses were all right, he returned to his own tent.

With the arrival of the riders, order in camp was lax, and he found his five bunkmates lying on their bedrolls. He knew that it could be seconds before the order to fall to was issued, so he luxuriated in the first moment he felt the bedroll under him.

Natombi said, ‘Legionaries always grab whatever rest they can, minute to minute.’

‘Who?’ asked Luis.

‘You call them Dog Soldiers,’ said the Keshian. ‘In ancient times they were kept away from the cities, penned up like dogs, to be unleashed upon the Empire’s enemies.’ Like Jadow, Natombi shaved his head, and his dark skin made the whites of his eyes and his teeth appear in stark contrast when he spoke. The nearly black irises made Erik think of deep secrets.

‘You’re a dog, then, you’re saying?’ asked Biggo with mock innocence.

The others laughed. Natombi snorted. ‘No, stupid-head, I was a Legionary.’ He sat up on his bedroll, his head almost touching the canvas above. He placed his fist on his chest. ‘I served with the Ninth Legion, on the Overn Deep.’

‘I’ve heard of those,’ said Luis, making a display of not being impressed by shaking his open hand back and forth.

Sho Pi rolled over and raised up on his elbows. ‘In my country, Kesh is the heartland of the Empire. Isalani is my nation, but we are ruled by Kesh. Those he speaks of are the heart of the army. How did one from the Legion come so far?’

Natombi shrugged. ‘Bad company.’

Biggo laughed. ‘This isn’t an improvement, I’ll wager.’

‘I was serving with a patrol that was to escort a man, a very important man of the Trueblood. We traveled to Durbin, and there I fell into disgrace.’

‘Women, gambling, or what?’ asked Biggo, now genuinely interested. Natombi was something of a mystery to the others, even though they had shared the same tent with him for more than a week since Billy’s death.

‘I let the man die at the hands of an assassin. I was disgraced and fled.’

‘You let him die?’ asked Roo. ‘Were you in charge?’

‘I was a captain of the Legion.’

‘And I was Queen of the Midsummer Festival,’ said Biggo with a laugh.

‘It’s true. But now I am as you, a criminal living on time given to me by another. My life is over, and now I live another man’s life.’

‘That doesn’t make us particularly unique,’ observed Biggo.

Roo said, ‘What was it like in the Legion?’

Natombi laughed. ‘You know. You live like a Legionary.’

‘What do you mean?’ Roo looked confused.

‘This is a Legion camp,’ said Natombi.

‘It’s true,’ agreed Sho Pi. ‘The formations, the way we march, the practices, this is all of the Legion.’

Natombi said, ‘This man Calis, our Captain, he is a very smart man, I am thinking.’ He tapped his head to make the point. ‘This Captain, he trains us to survive, for, man to man, there is no army on this world that can face the Legion of the Overn and survive. No army here has faced the Legions of Kesh, and when you fight someone, it’s good to fight them with tactics they’ve never encountered before. Makes even better the chance to survive.’

Luis was cleaning his fingernails with his dagger. Flipping it up, he balanced it on the tip, resting lightly upon one finger point, then he let it slip, caught it by the handle, and slammed it point first into the dirt. Watching it vibrate from the impact, he said, ‘And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, my friends? Survival.’