The awesome follies of war, for which Tarantio received twenty silver pieces a month.
Four miles along the road, with dusk deepening, Tarantio saw the glimmer of a camp-fire in the trees to the west. Angling his horse, he rode towards the wood. ‘Try to be careful,’ warned Dace. ‘We don’t have too many friends in this area.’
‘Would you like to ride in?’
‘Thank you, brother,’ said Dace. He drew in a deep breath, and felt the cool breeze upon his skin. The gelding became suddenly skittish, his ears flattening.
‘He senses you,’ said Tarantio. ‘Best to soothe him, or he’ll throw you.’ Dace stroked the gelding’s long neck and, keeping his voice low and soothing, said, aloud, ‘Throw me, you ugly son of a bitch, and I’ll cut your eyes out.’ Still nervous, the gelding moved forward as Dace touched his heels to the beast’s flanks. Right hand raised, Dace rode slowly towards the wood. ‘Hello the fire!’ he called.
‘Are you alone?’ came a voice.
‘Indeed I am friend. Do I smell beef cooking?’
‘You have a good nose. Ride in.’
Warily Dace did so. As soon as he came close enough to recognize the men he grinned. ‘Ride out! Now!’ urged Tarantio.
‘Before the fun has started, brother? Surely not.’ Before Tarantio could wrest back control, Dace leapt from the saddle and led his horse towards the fire.
There were three men seated around a fire-pit above which a leg of beef was being turned on a spit by a fourth – the red-bearded warrior Forin. Two of the others were the comrades of the dead mercenary Brys. Dace tethered his horse to a bush.
‘There’s too much for just the four of us,’ said the first man, a tall and slender swordsman in forester’s garb of fringed buckskin. He was thin-faced, with an easy smile not echoed in his close-set pale eyes.
‘The bowman in the bushes is not eating?’ asked Dace, stepping in close.
‘You’ve a sharp eye as well as a sharp nose,’ said the other, with a wide grin. Turning his head he called, ‘Come in, Brune! There’s no danger here. Now, Tarantio, let me introduce you to my Knights of the Cess Pit. The clumsy bowman is Brune. I told him to lie low, but he bobs like a rabbit.’ A tall, gangly, sandy-haired young man stepped from the bushes and shifted uneasily from foot to foot. ‘Useless, he is. I only keep him with me out of pity. The big man by the fire is a newcomer to our band. He calls himself Forin.’
Forin rose, the firelight glinting on his red-forked beard. ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, his face devoid of expression.
‘And I am Latais,’ said the leader. ‘Welcome to my camp, Tarantio. You put the fear of Hell into my last two Knights. Step up, you dung beetles!’ The two mercenaries rose and edged forward. ‘These two, who understand when to put wisdom before valour, are Styart and Tobin. When the gods sketched out their personalities, they failed to place courage high on the list.’
‘Perhaps wisdom is preferable,’ said Dace.
‘It is a trap,’ said Tarantio.
‘Of course it is,’ agreed Dace. ‘The question is, which side is Forin on? I should have killed him back at the cave. I wonder if he’s still got our gold coin?’
‘Find yourself a place to sit,’ said Latais amiably, ‘and I’ll bring you some food.’
Dace moved around the fire and sat on a tree-stump. Forin took up a wooden plate and cut himself some beef; then he sat away from the others. Latais brought Tarantio some meat and flat bread and the two men ate in silence. When he had finished, Dace cleaned the plate on the grass and returned it to the mercenary leader.
‘So where are you heading?’ asked Latais.
‘Corduin. I think I’ll winter there.’
‘You have enough funds to sit out the cold season?’
‘No, but I’ll survive. What about you?’
Latais drew his dagger and picked a piece of beef from between his teeth. ‘There’s an army gathering near Hlobane, and Duke Albreck is offering thirty pieces of silver for veterans.’
‘I’d hardly call your group veterans — save for the big man.’