Chareos walked to a nearby stream and washed his face and hands of grime. He looked down at his new clothes. The jerkin was singed, as were the troos; the shirt was blackened by smoke, the boots scuffed.
He sat down. His lungs felt hot, and his mouth tasted of woodsmoke. A young man approached him.
‘They took eleven of our women, sir. When will you ride after them?’
Chareos stood. ‘I am not a soldier, I was merely passing by. You need to see the officer with the troop; his name is Logar.’
‘A thousand curses on him!’ spat the young man. Chareos said nothing, but looked more closely at the villager. He was tall and slender, with long dark hair and keen blue eyes under thick brows. The face was handsome, despite the blackening of the smoke and charcoal.
‘Be careful what you say, youngster,’ warned Chareos. ‘Logar is the Earl’s champion.’
‘I don’t care. Old Paccus warned us of the raid and we sent to the Earl for aid three days ago. Where were the soldiers when we needed them?’
‘How did he know of the raid?’
‘He’s a seer: he told us the day and the hour. We tried to fight them, but we’ve no weapons.’
‘Who were they?’
‘Nadren. Outlaws who trade with the Nadir. For slaves! We must get them back. We must!’
‘Then see the officer. And if that does not satisfy you, go to the Earl. It will soon be Petition Day.’
‘Do you think he will care about what happens to a few poor farmers?’
‘I do not know,’ said Chareos. ‘Where is Paccus?’
The young man pointed across the ruined village to where an old man was sitting on the ground, wrapped in a blanket. Chareos made his way over to him.
‘Good day, sir.’
The old man looked up, his eyes bright in the moonlight. ‘So, it begins,’ he said softly. ‘Welcome, Chareos. How can I help you?’
‘You recognise me? Have we met?’
‘No. How can I help you?’
‘There is a young man who claims you knew of the raid. He is angry – understandably so. How did you know?’
‘I saw it in a dream. I see many things in dreams. I saw you in the clearing beyond the hill asking the vile Logar about the smoke. He and his men have been camped there all day but he did not want to be involved in a battle. Who can blame him?’
‘I can. There is no place for cowardice in an army.’
‘You think it cowardice, Chareos? We are talking of a man who has killed sixteen men in duels. No, he was paid by the Slavers. Since slavery was outlawed in Gothir lands the price per head has quadrupled. Our eleven women will fetch perhaps fifteen gold pieces each; Ravenna will fetch more.’
‘That is a great deal of money,’ Chareos agreed.
‘The Nadir can afford it. Their treasuries are bulging with gold and jewels from Drenan, Lentria, Vagria and Mashrapur.’
‘How do you know that Logar accepted a bribe?’
‘How do I know that you are planning to leave the city on Petition Day? How do I know that you will not travel alone? How do I know that an old friend awaits you in the mountains? How? Because I am a seer. And today I wish I had never been born with the Talent.’
The old man turned his head away, gazing down at the cinder-strewn ground. Chareos rose, and as he walked back towards his stallion a tall figure stepped into his path.
‘What do you want, Logar?’ he asked.
‘You insulted me. Now you will pay the price!’
‘You wish to duel with me?’
‘I do not know you, therefore the Laws of the Duel do not apply. We will merely fight.’
‘But you do know me, Logar. Look closely, and picture this face above the robes of a grey monk.’
‘Chareos? Damn you! Will you hide behind the rules of the Order? Or will you meet me like a man?’
‘Firstly, I will see the Earl and discuss your . . . curious behaviour today. Then I will consider your challenge. Good night to you.’ He moved on, then turned. ‘Oh, by the by … when you spend the gold you made today, think of the bodies that lie here. I noticed two children among the corpses. Perhaps you should help to bury them.’