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?”
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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.
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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.”
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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.
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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 blend-
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ing 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 aban-
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doned, 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-hid-den 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.
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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 compari-son 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.
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“Get raided often enough and I expect you learn how to hide things in a hurry, fella-me-lad,” 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!”
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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?”
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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.
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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.”
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