and we robbed them, then we’d be better off, right?”
Graym considered. “Now that’s an idea. We rob from
the rich. And then . . .”
“And then what?” Jarek asked.
“Can’t rob from the poor,” Fenris said.
“No future in it,” Fanris agreed.
Jarek objected, “There’s more poor people than rich
people. Easier to find.”
“Ah, but they don’t have as much, do they?”
“Now that’s telling him what, Fen.”
“Thank you, Fan.”
Darll said firmly, “You’re not robbing these people.”
Graym wasn’t too keen on robbing, but he thought Darll
was being a bit bossy, for a prisoner, even if he was a
mercenary. “And why not, sir?”
Darll shook his head wearily. “Because they have us
surrounded.”
While they had been talking, the townspeople had
encircled the hill and closed ranks. They approached
silently. There were thirty or forty of them, dressed in
ragged, ill-fitting clothes. Several wore robes.
Graym looked around at the circle of men and women.
“Good to sec so many of you here to greet us.” He waved an
arm. “I’d offer a drink, but we’re running short.”
A robed and hooded figure came forward. The robe was
too long, clearly borrowed, and had been dyed a neutral
color. “I am Rhael,” said the person. “I am the elder.”
The voice was strong and dear, strangely high. Graym
said dubiously, “Are you sure? You sound kinda young for
an elder.”
“Quite sure.” The woman pulled back her hood and
shook her hair free of it.
Darll snorted. “Who are you all?”
“I am Rhael. These are my people. We come from the
village of Graveside.”
Darll asked, “A law-abiding village?”
She nodded.
“Good.” He raised his manacled hands. “Arrest these
fools and free me.”
“Arrest them? Why?”
“Because they’re crooks.”
“What have they done?”
“What haven’t they? Theft, resisting arrest, drunk and
disorderly plenty of times, drunk but not disorderly at least
once, sober and disorderly a few times – ”
Rhael seemed impressed. “What are they like as
fighters?”
Terrible,” Darll said truthfully. “Awful to watch. You
can’t imagine.”
“Brutal?”
“That man – ” Darll pointed to Graym – “drove off a
band of bounty hunters, with only me in chains to help
him.”
“That one . . .” He pointed to Jarek. “He nearly killed a
man with one blow.” More or less true, counting a thrown
rock as a blow.
“And those two . . . ?”
Darll glanced at the Wolf brothers, who waited eagerly
to hear what he could say about them.
“Well, just look at them,” Darll said.
The folk of Graveside looked them up and down. The
Wolf brothers did look dangerous, both as criminals and as
a health risk.
Darll held out his arms, waiting for his release.
Rhael walked straight up to Graym. “Would you be
willing to lead an army?”
Darll choked. Graym’s mouth sagged open.
“We need brave men like you,” Rhael said. “We’re
facing a scourge.”
One of the elders quavered, “A terrible scourge!”
“I didn’t think it would be a nice scourge,” Darll muttered.
“His name,” Rhael lowered her voice, “is Skorm Bone-
lover.”
“Not his given name, I take it, Miss?” Graym said.
“He is also called the Sorrow of Huma, the Dark Lady’s
Liege Man, the Teeth of Death, the Grave of Hope – ”
“I’ve always wanted a nickname,” Fen said wistfully.
“We’ve had some,” Fan reminded him.
“Not ones we’ve always wanted, Fan.”
“True enough, Fen.” He sighed.
Darll said, suddenly interested, “Don’t you people have
any fighters, or a bailey or something?”
They all looked sorrowful. “Gone, gone,” one said.
“Killed?” Graym said sympathetically.
Rhael shook her head. “The Protector came to me one
morning and warned me about the coming of Skorm. A
stranger had come in the night and told him, said that he had
already fled before Skorm’s army. The Protector said the
only sensible thing to do was flee, leaving all our things
behind, so that Skorm would stay and plunder instead of
pursuing us.”
Graym frowned. “This Protector wasn’t much of an
optimist.”
“He was terrified,” Rhael said. “He said that Skorm
would drink the blood of one victim, only to spit it in the
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