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Wolfgar smiled knowingly. ‘Remember the old saying, “never gossip about elves, for their ears are long and they hear all”?’
Dennis nodded.
‘It doesn’t bode well, that’s all.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Do you trust him?’
‘Yes,’ said Dennis.
‘Then he’ll tell you if it’s important for you to know.’
Dennis seemed unsatisfied by the answer.
‘You’re surrounded by death, Hartraft. But then again, your family usually was.’
The old man hawked and spat again. Pulling his fur cape tight, he turned and slowly hobbled down the steps, leaving Dennis alone with his thoughts.
Leaning back in his seat, Asayaga groaned and slapped his stomach.
He had never been one to pay particular notice to food the way some did, especially the effete lords who would spend hours debating the merits of a particular year’s vintage, or pay hundreds of gems, even thousands, for a slave that could create a unique sauce. Food was for the stopping of hunger, and the giving of strength so that one could continue to live.
This meal, however, would stay forever in his memory, for it was, without a doubt, the most satisfying and varied he had encountered since arriving in this gods-forsaken world.
The previous night all of them had been more concerned with sleep than anything else, but come dawn hunting parties had gone out in every direction. Hartraft had insisted that they provide their own food as much as possible so as not to burden their hosts and by mid-afternoon the Kingdom soldiers had yet again proven their skills in the forest: all of the hunting parties came back in heavily burdened, exclaiming about the unspoiled lands they had stalked through.
Asayaga’s men, as well, had contributed to the pot, spreading out along the streams, bringing in dozens of fish caught in makeshift nets, speared or simply grabbed and tossed out of the water, while others had laid traps for marmots and snagged half a dozen of them. Those who had not skills with either fishing or hunting had laboured throughout the day to bring in extra wood to heat the long house, worked in the kitchen butchering the meat, or helped tend to their wounded comrades resting quietly in the warm blacksmith’s shop.
By midday Wolfgar’s prediction of a rising storm had come to pass, and the last of the hunting and fishing parties had staggered in covered with snow. By late in the afternoon a blizzard was howling outside the long house and the mere thought of it made Asayaga shudder with dread. If they had been caught out in the storm all of them would be dead. Instead he was safe inside, a roaring blaze crackled in the two great fireplaces that warmed the feasting hall and all was well with the world.
As darkness settled, the first courses had emerged from the cook-house to be placed upon the great table. The hall was cramped with more than a hundred men jammed around the table, squeezed in together side by side, Wolfgar insisting that the two groups mix in.
By mutual agreement any who came into the hall had to set aside all weapons, even daggers, and at first the men had looked warily at each other, feeling naked without a trusted blade at their side or hidden in a boot top. It was one thing to march side by side with a dreaded enemy in close pursuit, or to lie side by side in exhausted sleep, but another once strength had returned, and with it a realization of just who might be sitting to your left or right – an enemy that might have killed an old comrade or kin.
Then the first platters had come out, heaped with steaming slabs of meat – venison, elk, wild boar – warm grease splattering on to the table, accompanied by bowls heaped with fried livers, tongues, roasted brains mixed with bread crumbs and delicious kidney pies followed by baked fish.
The marmots came last, stuffed and roasted in the manner the Tsurani adored, and though most of the Kingdom troops turned up their noses at this fare the Tsurani cried out with joy, and friendly squabbles broke out over who had the honour of consuming the hearts and livers.
More platters were spread out upon the table, laden with dried fruits, roasted potatoes, half a dozen different kinds of bread and even boiled eggs which the men greedily devoured.
At first Wolfgar had been tight-fisted with his drink but as the room heated up with the scent of cooked meat and warm bodies he finally relented and called for extra kegs of beer to be brought in and tapped. Foaming goblets, drinking horns, and leather flagons were quickly filled and passed around to eager hands, the men laughing and cheering, downing the frothy brew and leaning back to belch with comfortable delight.
As appropriate for such an occasion Dennis and Asayaga sat at one end of the long table, with Wolfgar between them, the scrunched-up old bard watching the proceedings with a jaundiced eye, mumbling about the expense, the noise, and the alien smell of the Tsurani. But after several beers he began to relax as well, and even accepted a platter of boar’s ribs which one of the young women who had mysteriously appeared shortly after dawn personally brought to his side.
‘Thank you, daughter,’ he whispered, reaching up to stroke her cheek as she put the plate before him.
Asayaga had noticed her within minutes after awaking in the morning. She was short for her race, nearly at his own eye-level, but that was the only aspect that might make him think she was a woman of his homeland. Her hair was blonde, the palest of blondes so that her long twin braids seemed like cascades of spun gold thread. Such hair was not unknown in his homeland, but far to the north of Coltair province, and rarely seen in his home city. Her figure was full, the tightness of her calf-length leather dress sufficient to show off every detail. Her eyes were a shimmering blue and her skin a soft delicate pink.
‘Daughter?’ Dennis asked, putting down his flagon of beer and staring straight at her.
Wolfgar laughed, a warm and lascivious grin wrinkling his pitted and leathery face. ‘Ahh, not my grand-daughter, or great-grand-daughter, though I’ll wager there’s more than one of them around.’ He reached out affectionately and pulled her to his side and the young woman planted a warm kiss on the top of his balding head. ‘Her mother, may she rest in the Blessed Lands, she was a rare lass. Two of them she bore for me. Alyssa here, who will break any man’s heart with a glance is the oldest.’
Asayaga immediately rose, his gaze locked on hers and bowed formally. ‘I am honoured to meet the daughter of our generous host,’ he said. ‘My sword will always be at your service.’
Dennis, watching Asayaga’s show, rose and stepped between the Tsurani captain and Alyssa. ‘Your father was always an honoured guest in my family’s keep. A daughter of his shall always have my protection.’
‘Protection?’ Wolfgar laughed. ‘I think the two of you need protection from her.’
Alyssa blushed but there was a light in her eyes as she stepped back slightly and looked from one captain to the other. ‘My father shames me,’ she said, and her voice was soft and whispery. ‘I thank you, Dennis Hartraft, for the kindness of your protection and you too, Asayaga of the Tsurani. I must retire to see to the serving of the food.’
‘All is well tended to,’ Wolfgar laughed, ‘come sit by my side, it’s safe here,’ and he slapped the side of his wide chair and slid over.
Alyssa demurely sat down on the side closer to Dennis.
‘Roxanne, join us!’ Wolfgar cried, looking back over his shoulder.
Asayaga was startled to see the second daughter standing behind her father’s feasting chair. When she had appeared was a mystery, and even now she was barely visible, standing in the dark shadows.
This one had the same hair as Alyssa but was taller and she had a lean, muscular look to her bare arms, and high-cheekboned face. Like her sister she wore a simple leather dress of calf length, the only feminine vanity to it a pale blue scarf tied around the waist as a belt, revealing just the slightest of curves beneath.
She didn’t move at her father’s call but simply folded her arms. ‘I prefer to remain standing,’ she replied, her voice deep and clear.
‘I told her you think the men are dead,’ Wolfgar said, looking over at Dennis. He lowered his voice. ‘The one she had a preference for was one of them.’
‘He meant nothing to me,’ she replied, ‘other than his friendship.’
Wolfgar threw a dark look over his shoulder at his daughter, then raised his voice. ‘Pimply-faced, with the brain of a drunken hare. Typical of her mother’s kin, and like a hare always fumbling after her. I was half-contemplating killing him myself.’
‘As if you’re an example of model behaviour,’ Roxanne replied coolly, and Wolfgar laughed at her response.
‘Roxanne, named after her mother,’ Wolfgar said, nodding back. ‘She took the name because her mother died giving her life.’
Again Asayaga stood, bowed and offered his formal greeting as did Dennis. Roxanne accepted both without comment.
Sitting back down, Asayaga found his gaze lingering on Alyssa who was leaning over and whispering something into her father’s ear. He laughed uproariously and slapped her on the thigh.
Mindful again of his duty, Asayaga tore his attention away from her charms and carefully gazed around the room, chiding himself for his momentary lapse before the barbarian and his daughter. Toomany years in the field, he thought. Too many months since last he had known a woman.
He studied the condition of his men. Almost all them were still concentrating on gorging themselves, hands reaching for food and drink. The noise was slowly rising, conversations starting, punctuated by ripples of laughter. In places he saw where Kingdom troops and his own were even trying to talk to one another. He caught a glimpse of two soldiers moving their hands about in pantomime and from their gestures he guessed they were talking about women. One of them laughed as the other, grinning, made a universal gesture.
He caught Tasemu’s eye. The Strike Leader was at the far end of the table, flagon in hand, leaning back, watching carefully. Interestingly, the Kingdom sergeant – whose name he had learned was Barry, sat beside Tasemu, flagon in hand as well, the two of them almost like mirror-images of each other. Both were doing their jobs, silently watching. Barry nudged Tasemu and nodded to where several Tsurani seemed to be in a heated argument. In fact they were debating the merits of who was the best wrestler in the army. Tasemu merely grunted and smiled, the gesture enough to reassure Barry.
To one side Asayaga saw Sugama who was eating quietly, delicately, carefully taking each piece of fish with only his thumb and forefinger in the proper noble manner, while talking quietly with a few of Asayaga’s men. Asayaga felt a moment’s disquiet. In only a few days could this minor son of a rival house have gained a following? He studied the faces of the four men who were with him and realized that all were younger sons and brothers, men whose destiny was to linger as soldiers in a minor house until they were granted leave to wed and start families, living on a small parcel of land granted them by the Lord of the Tondora. It was just this sort of man who might be lured to betray his oath for promises of a higher station through adoption into a new house.
Then when Sugama turned to take an offered flagon of ale from one of the local boys, two of Asayaga’s men exchanged a smirk and a silently-mouthed word, and Asayaga realized they were mocking Sugama behind his back, enduring his company for the sake of entertainment. Asayaga let out a silent sigh and allowed the tension to flow from his body. Even here, as remote as any Tsurani had ever been from the Empire, he worried over the Great Game and the loyalty of men of his own household.
A Kingdom soldier pushed a platter of roasted boar over Sugama’s way, and one of Sugama’s companions pushed it back, his comment lost in the general uproar, but Asayaga could read lips well enough to know that one of the worst of insults had been spoken softly, words that the Kingdom soldier did not understand and therefore let pass. Asayaga marked the man and made a note to have Tasemu speak with him later; he might be loyal, but he was also stupid to provoke needlessly a man who might save his life in the days to come.
A roar of laughter erupted and Asayaga saw where two soldiers, one from each side were standing, full flagons in hand. Someone slapped the table hard and the two started to drain their flagons, gulping down the contents, the Kingdom soldier winning handily. Again laughter and a few coins were traded, a Tsurani having shrewdly bet against his own comrade and thus gaining a rare and precious piece of silver that was worth more than an entire suit of armour. When the loser realized what his comrade had done a heated argument ensued to the delight of the Kingdom soldiers around them.
A platter containing a half-consumed marmot was pushed down to Asayaga and in spite of feeling bloated he reached into the body, pulled out a leg-bone and sucked the meat off.
‘Hey, Ass-you. Just how the hell can you eat that?’
Asayaga looked over at Wolfgar and started to bristle. Then he caught Alyssa’s bemused stare. Without comment he pushed the platter to Wolfgar. ‘Try it.’
Wolfgar belched loudly and shook his head. ‘I’d sooner eat horse dung that was still warm. And tell me, why do you Tsurani smell funny? By the gods, I think you were a bunch of temple harlots.’
The conversation around them drifted off, though Asayaga’s men did not understand the words, they knew enough of Wolfgar after one day to sense that their leader was being baited.
‘It’s because we don’t smell,’ Asayaga replied.
‘How is that? You speak in riddles.’
‘Because we bathe the way all civilized men do. You’re smelling someone who is clean, which is more than I can say for you. I think the butt end of a she bear in heat smells better in comparison to you.’
He said the words calmly, but there was the slightest flicker of a smile at the corners of lips.
Wolfgar stared at him intently and then threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘By the gods you and I shall have a game of insults some night. You strike me as a civilized man who knows something beyond half a dozen of the crudest words which any idiot can let dribble out of his face.’
‘An honour,’ Asayaga replied. ‘But the name is Asayaga, not Ass-you.’ The flicker of a smile had disappeared and he spoke the words with intensity.
Wolfgar nodded and said nothing. Finally he leant over and reached into the marmot to pull out a piece of meat. His gesture elicited a scattering of applause from the men who had been watching the interchange.
‘Daughters!’ Wolfgar cried, changing the subject and waving expansively to the men gathered around the table. ‘Take your choice of one of these. Better breeding-stock than what was stabled here before. One of them might be man enough to put up with your evil tempers and barbed tongues.’
Alyssa laughed coyly and lowered her eyes, raising them again for a second to gaze at Asayaga. Dennis, noticing the exchange of glances, muttered into his cup and then gazed straight ahead.
‘Virginity is preferable,’ Roxanne replied coolly, hands resting on her slender hips.
Wolfgar, laughing, picked up a flagon and handed it back to her and she took it, drained what was left and then tossed it aside. Then the flicker of a smile creased her face, and Wolfgar reached up and patted her on the cheek.
‘You always did have more of my blood in you than your mother’s.’
‘Look out for her, Hartraft,’ Wolfgar announced. ‘She can drop a stag on the run at fifty paces with her bow, or with her bare hands claw out the eyes of a man who tries to touch her!’
Asayaga looked at Roxanne intently, but her gaze was not on him; rather it was fixed appraisingly on Dennis, who did not seem to notice her, his attention fixed suddenly on the far corner of the room. Dennis nodded to Asayaga and made a subtle hand gesture.
Asayaga looked around and saw that Sugama and his companions were in a small knot around one of the tapped kegs of beer. As they spoke one of them kept looking back over his shoulder at several Kingdom soldiers who were eyeing them with equal distrust. Words were being exchanged by both groups: it was obvious that both sides were half-drunk, and insulting each other in their own tongues. Then one of the Kingdom soldiers stood up, fists clenched, and men to either side began to back up.
What happened next caught Asayaga completely by surprise. From the corner of his eye he saw Roxanne reach down behind her father’s chair and then stand back up a few seconds later with a crossbow. She shouldered the weapon, aimed it and squeezed the trigger.
The bolt hissed across the room, brushing past the Kingdom soldier and buried itself in the side of the keg not a hand’s-span away from Sugama.
The hall fell instantly silent, everyone looking from the quivering bolt and then to Roxanne.
‘In my father’s hall,’ she said coldly, ‘there is no brawling. Take it outside: I hate cleaning spilled blood off the table I must eat from.’
The silence reigned for several long seconds. Alwin Barry, still sitting by Tasemu’s side, stood up, raised his flagon to Roxanne and then drained it. Putting the flagon back down he began to laugh, a soft chuckle at first, shaking his head as the laughter built. Tasemu, following Alwin’s gesture, stood and did likewise, the two laughing together until finally they were slapping each other on the back, pointing at Roxanne and then to the thoroughly discomfited knot of men around the keg. Within seconds the entire hall was roaring.
Roxanne looked around the room and then with a gesture of disdain, placed the front of the crossbow on the floor, recocked it, loaded another bolt in and slipped the weapon back under the seat. This gesture caused a redoubling of laughter and finally, looking a bit irritated, she stalked out of the hall.
‘Ahh, that’s my blood!’ Wolfgar roared. ‘That’s the type of women I can sire. By all the gods, I can still do it, I can, if only I could find a wench blind enough to let me!’
His comment caused a hearty round of toasts and cheers, Asayaga translating the boast to one of the soldiers sitting by his side so that it shot around the room, the laughter increasing as it spread to the other Tsurani. The few women in the room were also laughing, shaking their heads and holding their hands up in mock horror.
Wolfgar stood up, and with a groan somehow managed to step up on to the feasting table, knocking over a platter of meat. Raising his feasting cup, he drained it to the dregs, tossed it aside and slowly walked down the length of the table, acknowledging the upraised flagons and goblets and the lusty cheers of the men. A number of the Kingdom troops started into an obscene ditty about a blacksmith who had five daughters, and the fate that befell each of their midnight visitors who were dragged out to face the hot tongs and anvil. The Tsurani were singing as well. Somehow they had understood the nature of Wolfgar’s boasting, and Asayaga was intrigued that the song they started to sing in counterpoint had almost the identical plot.
Finally Wolfgar held out his hands for the men to be silent and the room fell quiet. As he stood the years seemed to fall from his shoulders. Dennis watched with approval, knowing that before them stood one of the Kingdom’s finest singers of sagas, even if he was a reprobate, liar, and thief.
Softly at first, but with firm control, the old man began a very old song:
‘Fare thee well, my sweet Kingdom lassie, Fare thee well, and I bid you goodbye, For I’m off with the dawning to cold northern mountains, Off to the north, where for King shall I die …’
Dennis sat back and looked over at Asayaga, who seemed intrigued by the old song of a soldier knowing he was sent to face the Dark Brothers in a campaign doomed from the start. Dennis closed his eyes and remembered when he had first heard the song as a boy. He had sat by his father’s side, silently listening to Wolfgar, while tears had flowed unchecked down his cheeks. The song was about duty, honour, and sacrifice, and Dennis wondered at Wolfgar’s choice. For if any Kingdom men were doomed to the fate of the hero of that song, it was the men in this room.
Asayaga saw Dennis’s expression, and realized the song had some meaning for him. He listened to the story in the song, ignoring its odd rhythm and strange tonal qualities. The story was heroic, about a man who put honour above common sense. Asayaga was torn, because on one hand, it was a very Tsurani attitude, yet on the other, no Tsurani would even raise the question of failure and debate it, even within himself. To die for honour was a great thing.
‘I’ve spent too much time on this world,’ he muttered to himself, as Wolfgar finished to a deeply appreciative round of applause. Asayaga saw that some of his own men had translated for the others, and more than one soldier on both sides sat with eyes rimmed with moisture.
Yes, thought the Tsurani Force Commander, it is a powerful tale.
He left the room, ignoring the bitter cold outside, and went to the slit trench he had ordered dug earlier in the day. The men had used the common area in the centre of the stockade when first arising, and he had put a stop to that as soon as he realized there were no latrine facilities inside the stockade. No soldier with any field experience would let his men foul their own camp. Disease came too quickly on the heels of filth, a point that seemed to be lost on the barbarians. He reached the trench and started to relieve himself, a sense of relief flooding through him.
‘They’re happy in there.’
Startled, Asayaga saw that Dennis was by his side, relieving himself as well. Finished, the two stood silent for a moment, the blizzard driving the snow around them. The lanterns hanging on the outside of the long house swayed in the wind, casting dim shadows, barely visible as a heavy gust of snow swept across the narrow courtyard.
‘We’re going to be stuck here for a while,’ Dennis said. ‘The only way out now is through the high passes and they’ll be blocked by morning.’
‘It keeps the Dark Brothers out, though, even as it keeps us in.’
‘Yes. The chase is over.’
‘For now at least. I doubt if they will give up. We’ve injured them. If it was reversed, Hartraft, if they were trapped in here …’ His voice trailed off.
‘No. If it was me and my men trapped in here and you were on the far side of the mountains, what would you do?’
‘Wait you out.’
‘I see.’
Again they were silent for a moment.
‘You are a hard man. A hard opponent, Hartraft. Were you this way before the war?’
‘That’s not your concern. What we face now is my concern.’
