trained force – ”
“Any force would be better trained,” Darll muttered.
“That’s harsh, sir. We won through strategy – ”
“Luck.”
“Or luck, but not,” Graym said sadly, “without
casualties. We smashed two barrels, a major loss.” He
stared, brooding, into the fire.
Jarek counted on his fingers twice, then said proudly. “I
know! I know! That leaves six barrels – ”
“Yes. Five full barrels,” Graym said. He walked
unsteadily to the wagon. “And one other” He thumped it
three times, pausing to let it echo. “One . . . empty . . .
barrel.”
The others ducked their heads, avoided his eyes. “It
leaked,” Darll said, shrugging.
Graym rocked the barrel back and forth and ran his
hands around it. “Bone dry. No water marks, no foam
flecks.”
“Ghosts.” Jarek looked solemn.
Graym snorted. “Ever seen a drunk ghost?”
Since none of them had seen a ghost of any sort, drunk
or sober, they all shook their heads reluctantly.
“Might have been magic,” Fenris said.
“True enough,” Fanris said quickly.
Graym wiped the mud off the barrel end to expose a
second, cleverly hidden bunghole. He felt in the comer of
the wagon and pulled out a second tap. “And which one of
you,” he said firmly, “was the mage?”
He folded his arms. “Now, I know it’s been a long,
hard, dusty trip. A man gets thirsty. And you’ve all known
me as long as you’ve worn dry pants. I’m not a hard man.”
“You’re a soft man,” Darll said, but wouldn’t look him
in the eye.
“I’m a forgiving man.”
“Hah! If you were, you’d let me go, but no – ”
“It’s a matter of principle, sir,” Graym said firmly.
“And the money,” Jarek reminded him.
“And the money, of course.”
“Tenpiece,” Darll said bitterly. “Took me straight from
the Bailey of Sarem with a promise and a bag of tenpiece.”
“Plus twenty when we get to Krinneor,” Fen said.
“When we hand you up,” Fan said.
“Thirtypiece.” Darll shook his head. “The best fighter in
Goodlund, second or third best in Istar, carted off to prison
for thirtypiece.”
“But enough prologuizing.” Graym was swaying on his
feet. “I can’t stand a fella who prologuizes all the time. Let’s
say I’m forgiving and let it go at that. And, now, I’m going
to ask who’s been sneaking ale while I wasn’t looking. I
expect an honest answer. Who was it?”
Jarek raised one hand.
The Wolf brothers each raised a hand.
Graym looked at them in silence.
Darll raised a hand, his chains pulling the other after it.
After a long pause, Graym sighed. “Good to have it out
in the open at last. Better to be honest with each other, I
say.”
” ‘True thieves best rob false owners,’ ” Darll muttered.
“I’ve always thought that a fine saying, sir,” Graym said.
“Witty, yet simple. But I don’t see it applying here.”
Darll shook his head.
“Still and all,” Graym continued, “we’ve done well.
Three months on the road, and we’ve four barrels left.” He
shook a finger at the others. “No sneaking drinks from here.
We’ll need it all at the end of the road in Krinneor.”
Jarek said eagerly, “Tell us about Krinneor, Graym.”
“What? Again?”
“Please!”
Jarek wasn’t alone. Fen and Fan begged to hear the
story, and even Darll settled, resignedly, to listen.
Graym picked up a bowl and took a deep swig of Skull-
Splitter. “I’ve told you this night after night, day after day –
in the Black Rains, when the dust clouds came through, and
in the afterquakes, and when we’d spent a long day dragging
this wagon over flood-boils, potholes, and heaved-up rock
on the road. And now you say you’re not tired of it.” He
looked at them fondly. “I’m not either.
“Back in Sarem, I was nobody. Every town needs a
cooper, but they don’t care about him. They buy his barrels
and leave. And I’d watch them, and I’d know they were off –
to fill the barrels, travel up roads, and sell their stock.”
Jarek leaned forward. “The city, tell us about the city!”
“I’m coming to that.” Graym loved this part. “Every time