DAVID A. GEMMEL. SWORD IN THE STORM

‘I was thinking of old times.’

‘Not good ones,’ observed Banouin.

Garshon grinned. ‘You are nearly as sharp as me.’ Forcing himself to think of business he haggled with Banouin for a while, finally making an offer on the merchant’s ponies. As they shook hands Garshon realized the price was too high, and he cursed himself for allowing the past to distract him. ‘You want the money in gold?’ he asked.

‘Hold it for me,’ said Banouin. ‘I will be back in the autumn.’

‘You are a very trusting man, Banouin,’ said Garshon. ‘What if you do not make it back?’

‘Then give it to Connavar, who is travelling with me. And, before you ask, if we both fail to return send it to my wife in Three Streams.’

‘You are wed? My congratulations, Banouin. It will be as you say. And I thank you for your faith in my honesty.’

Banouin gave a broad smile. ‘I would trust your word with more than my gold, Garshon.’

The one-eyed merchant was both touched and embarrassed. He rose, bade farewell to Banouin and moved from the small office out into a narrow corridor and up the stairs to his inner quarters on the upper floor of Travellers’ Hall. His guest was sitting on a wide couch, his legs stretched out on the soft fabric. Garshon noticed he had removed his boots, which was more than he would have expected.

‘I understand you were attacked,’ said Garshon, snapping his fingers. A young maidservant ran forward and poured red wine into a goblet of blue glass. Garshon sipped it.

‘I thought I had lost them,’ said Valanus. ‘They surprised me.’

‘And I thought you Stone warriors were invincible.’

‘No man is invincible,’ said Valanus, swinging his legs to the floor and sitting up. He winced as a sharp pain seared behind his eye.

‘You have a lump the size of a goose egg. Perhaps your skull is cracked.’ Garshon grinned as he said it, then pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Valanus. He peered at the swelling. ‘Who was your saviour?’

‘A young Rigante – not old enough to know better.’

Garshon started hard at his guest. At the mention of the word saviour Valanus’ expression had changed momentarily. The change was fleeting, but Garshon caught it. What had it signified? Irritation? Possibly. But something more. ‘Did you gain information from the survivor?’ asked the merchant.

‘No.’

‘Ah, you killed him, then?’

‘No, I did not. Connavar asked me to spare him.’

Garshon leaned back and smiled. ‘Asked you? The blow to the head must have put you in a very good mood. It is not like you, Valanus, to spare your enemies.’

‘I have come here to talk about other matters,’ said Valanus, casting a look at the servant girl.

‘Ah yes. Other matters.’ Turning to the girl Garshon waved his hand. She bowed and walked from the room. Garshon sat quietly for a moment, and when he spoke it was in the language of Stone. ‘The general, Jasaray, is very generous. My man in Escelium sends word that three thousand gold pieces have been left with him for safe keeping.’

‘Only five hundred is for you,’ Valanus reminded him. ‘The rest is to be used for our allies.’

‘Allies? You have no allies. You have only servants. What is it you require of my . . . friends among the Gath?’

‘Large amounts of grain, beef, spare horses, and two thousand auxiliary cavalry. We will pay ten silver pieces for every warrior. But they must supply their own mounts.’

‘How much grain?’

‘I will send you full details when the general has decided on his line of march.’

Garshon poured more wine. ‘What would you do, Stone man, if you could not find traitors?’

‘We would still win, Garshon. But it would be more slowly. And I do not think of our allies as traitors. They help us to defeat their own enemies. Nothing treacherous in that.’ Valanus rose. ‘I think I will go to my bed. My head hurts like the hammers of Hades are pounding in it.’

‘You will not require a woman tonight, then?’

‘Not tonight.’

The tall, silver-haired warrior strode from the room. Garshon watched him go. The Stone soldier was a tough man, apparently fearless. And yet . . .

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