his mouth open.
For a fat middle-aged man, Graym could move
quickly. He slammed into Jarek, and both went sprawling.
The barrel crashed onto a rock and bounced off, spraying
foam sideways before it came to rest, punctured end up.
Graym, unfortunately, came to rest on top of Jarek.
Darll, manacles clanging, pulled Graym to his feet.
“You all right?”
“Fine, sir, fine.” Graym felt his ribs and arms for
breakage.
“Pity,” Darll grunted. “What about you, boy?” He bent
down and helped Jarek up. “If you only hurt your head,
we’re in luck.”
Jarek wheezed and gasped.
“He’ll be fine,” Graym said, slapping Jarek’s shoulder.
Jarek collapsed again, and Graym helped him up again.
“Probably do us both good. Exercise new muscles.”
“Try thinking. That should exercise a new muscle for
you.” Darll looked down at their feet. Foam was seeping
quickly into the ground. The smell of ale was
overpowering.
Graym followed his glance. “Only another loss,” he
said cheerfully. “Crisis of transport, sir. Part of business.”
He and Jarek limped over to the broken barrel.
Jarek, still wheezing, managed to say, “I’m sorry,
Graym. You said ‘Stop pushing when I say now,’ and that
was when you said ‘now,’ so then I thought you meant
‘now.’ ”
“Don’t you feel bad at all, boy.” Graym looked at the
damp rock and the damp soil below it. “This’ll drive the
price up when we reach Krinneor. Supply and demand.”
He added, struck by it, “Makes the other kegs worth
more.”
He finished, convinced, “Best thing that could happen,
really.”
Graym shook Jarek’s limp hand. “Thank you for upping
profits. A bold move – not one I’d have made – but worth it
in the long run.”
Jarek smiled proudly. Darll snorted.
The Wolf brothers looked down from the perch on top
of the cart. “Want us to roll another off?” Fenris asked
eagerly.
“Say when,” Fanris added.
Graym shook his head. “Let’s take inventory first.”
The Wolf brothers slid cautiously off the wagon. They
looked (and claimed) to be several years older than Jarek,
but no one would ever know their real age until one of them
washed, which was hardly likely. From their narrow beetle-
browed eyes to their black boots, they looked wickedly
dangerous.
A songbird whistled, and the two jumped and crouched
low behind the wagon wheel.
“Don’t crawl underneath,” Graym pleaded. “That’s how
you tipped it the last time. It’s all right now. The bad men
are gone. And they weren’t that bad, once we got their
weapons away from them.”
“We? WE?” Darll demanded.
“I helped,” Jarek said proudly. “I threw a rock at one.
You did most of it,” he added honestly. “But you should
have. You’re supposed to be a great mercenary.”
“I’m SUPPOSED to be your prisoner” Darll said
bitingly.
Graym put a hand on Darll’s shoulder. “Don’t take it so
hard, sir. You’re the Bailey of Sarem’s prisoner. We’re just
transporting you to Krinneor.” He patted Darll. “Think of
us as company.”
“I think of you,” Darll said bitterly, “the way I’d think
of the underside of an owlbear’s – ”
“I’m going to be a mercenary like you someday,” Jarek
broke in.
Fenris came out from behind the wagon wheel. He
looked worried. “Did you hear what that man said just
before running off?”
“You mean the part about ‘Let Skorm Bonelover take
them’?” Fanris finished nervously. “I heard it. What does it
mean? Who’s Skorm Bonelover?”
Graym was checking the fallen barrel. “An idle threat.
Poor man, I don’t think he was happy.” He examined the
sprung staves.
“You may be a cooper,” Darll said, “but you can’t mend
that.”
Graym felt along the keg sides, skilled hands finding
the sprung barrel stave. “Not on the road,” he said
reluctantly. “And it’s over half full still.”
The Wolf brothers edged forward hopefully. “Be a
shame to let it go to waste, Fan.”
“Right again, Fen.”
Jarek, rubbing his head, looked meaningfully at the
bung-puller stored inside the cart.
“Half a keg of Skull-Splitter Premium. Well . . .”
Graym sighed loudly, then smiled. “Not a bad place to
camp.”
*****
They waited until nightfall to light the fire, so no one
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