would see the smoke. They hung a shield of blankets around
the fire to hide the light. Both were Darll’s idea. Graym saw
no need for such precautions, but was willing to humor him.
The sunset was blood red, like every one had been since
the Cataclysm.
Graym sipped at the bowl of Skull-Splitter and said, to
no one in particular, “Life is attitude – good or bad.” He
waved an arm at the desolate landscape. “What do you
see?”
Darll grunted. “What else? Disaster. Broken trees,
clogged streams, fallen buildings, and a godsforsaken
broken road rougher than a troll’s – ”
“That’s your problem, sir.” Graym thumped Darll’s
back. “You see disaster. I see opportunity. Look here.” He
traced a map in the dirt. “See this road?”
He looked up and realized that Darll – ale rolling in his
mouth, eyes shut to savor the flavor – wasn’t seeing
anything. “Excuse me, sir, but do you see the road?”
“The road from Goodlund to Krinneor,” Jarek breathed
reverently.
“Right. And do you know what’s ahead?”
Darll opened his eyes. “Nothing. The end of the world.”
Graym downed an entire bowl of Skull-Splitter, wiped
his lips on his sleeve, and smiled genially. “Maybe it is, sir,
but I say” – he waved the empty dipper for emphasis – “if
I’m going to see the end of the world, I should see it with a
positive attitude.” He gazed up at the sky. “I mean, look at
the world now. No gods, no heroes.” He sighed loudly and
happily. “It makes a man feel fresh.”
“We were heroes this afternoon,” Jarek objected, “me
and Darll. We whipped those bastards.”
“Now, now,” Graym said admonishingly. “You hardly
knew them, Jarek. Don’t speak ill of people just because
they tried to kill you.”
Darll agreed. “Other than being the usual low, sorry
sort of lowlifes you find in these parts, they weren’t bad at
all. They were bounty hunters.” He eyed Graym
suspiciously.
“Seems an unfriendly way to make a living,” Graym
said. He scratched his head, belched, and settled back.
“Inventory,” he announced.
The others suddenly looked nervous. “Will we have to
sign for things?” Jarek asked. “I hate that.”
Graym shook his head. “Nah, nah. This is just counting,
and remembering” – he took another sip of ale – “and
history. We started with nine barrels. Remember the
loading? We pushed them on from all sides, and they
shifted when we started rolling.”
Fenris nudged his brother. “And one rolled away and
smashed on Dog Street.”
Fanris kicked him. “I couldn’t hold it. It was hard to
see, it being dark and all.”
Darll’s eyes opened. “You loaded in the dark? For the
love of Paladine, why?”
Jarek said reasonably, “We didn’t want to be seen.”
Darll laughed, a short bark. “No wonder the horses ran
off. They didn’t even know you, did they? You stole them!
AND the cart, I’ll wager.”
“Jem and Renny, poor flighty nags. They never liked
us,” Graym said sadly. “Well, that’s one barrel. Eight left.”
“There was the barrel on the bridge,” Jarek offered, “out
side of town.”
“We’d picked up Darll, and he was putting up a fight – ”
“That’s right, blame me.” Darll glared at them all. “I
only wanted to leap off at the bridge.”
“And hit us,” Fenris said.
“And kill us,” Fanris added, hurt.
“And hit and kill you,” Darll agreed. “I did fairly well,
for being hung over.”
“You might have drowned, sir,” Graym said. “That
wouldn’t do when you’re in our charge, would it?”
“He hit me,” Jarek said, rubbing his head.
“And me,” Fen said.
“And me,” Fan added.
Darll settled back. “Stop whining. I didn’t kill you.” His
scowl, fierce under his salt-and-pepper beard, seemed to
add an unspoken “yet.”
After a short silence, Graym continued. “One of the
barrels dropped into Mirk River, leaving seven. After that,
we didn’t lose a one – not in the Black Rain, not in the Dry
Lands, not in the swamps. We can be proud of that.”
Jarek squared his shoulders. The Wolf brothers grinned,
exposing teeth best left hidden.
Graym went on. “And today we beat back a better-