Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (82 page)

Dietrik, unable to hold it in, exploded with, “Ninety
silvers?  By the Twelve, man!  You could purchase half a village for that
amount of coin!”

Sennet glance at Dietrik.  Marik never flinched.  The
weapons master replied, “Indeed.  And I’m not charging any labor coin, strictly
materials cost, which makes it less than half what a qualified smith would
charge.  I’m doing that because he’s a band member and because, after this, I
wash my hands of him and his father both.  Their troubles are their troubles,
not mine.”  He addressed Marik directly.  “You’re lucky I have already made
your father’s blade.  With that experience, I won’t waste material on
unanticipated mistakes.”

“My father paid you a gold for his blade?”

The tall armory chief had started to depart.  He
glanced back to answer this last question.  “No, not quite.  He gave me a pair
of pure gold nuggets as payment.”  Sennet shook his head, still unable to
believe it after all the years.  “Large damned nuggets, larger than any I’ve
heard tell of.  I sold them to a caravan merchant buying our extra looted
blades that season, and got over twice as much coin for them as I’d meant to
charge Rail.  But he’s never returned.  The gold is still sitting on my shelf
until he does.”

Dietrik opened his mouth to say the extra coin Rail
had left behind ought to be bloody enough to pay for his son’s sword…except
Marik spoke before he could form the words.

“I’ll pay it.  If you can make the sword I want, then
I’ll pay it.  I have enough saved up.”

Sennet nodded.  He left for the armory’s deeper
recesses, ordering the normal assistant to return to the counter in case any
band members needed service.

Marik exited.  He walked with his head down, Dietrik
on his heels.  “That was your greatest example of foolishness yet, mate!  If
he’s been saving that coin all this time, he would have given it to you since
you are Rail’s son!”

“It belongs to Sennet.”  Marik glanced sideways, his
face unreadable to Dietrik.  “I know father that much.  He left too much on
purpose, to pay Sennet for keeping his silence about the sword and about his
return after leaving the Kings.”

“But Sennet just turned over that bucket.  Now you
know.”

“I know? 
What
do I know, Dietrik?  I have more
questions than I ever did before!  What’s in the hells is going on?”  He
directed this last upward, as if to implore the gods for the answer.  Marik
lowered his head when his foot stumbled over a stone.  “Sennet can do whatever
he wants.  He can keep the coin for his years of protecting father’s secrets,
or throw it down a well for revealing what he knew.  I don’t care.”

“Still, that’s bloody near all the coin you own, isn’t
it?  And all on one sword?”  Dietrik placed his palm to Marik’s forehead as
they walked.  “Are you feeling well?”

Marik jerked his head away from Dietrik’s reach. 
“Knock it off!”

Dietrik shrugged.  “It is your coin, but you don’t
have any solid gold nuggets to sell off when your purse’s walls pinch
together.”

“Nuggets again…”  Marik resumed mumbling.  “What does
all this mean?”

“I can’t say, mate.  But I do know one thing.”

“Oh?”

“If you do not stop scowling like that, you and Colbey
will be a matched set.”

Marik stopped.  Dietrik could see him pull his mind
with an effort from whatever pit Sennet’s story had dropped him into.  “Not
possible.  No one could match Colbey for that.”

“You were giving it a decent go.  Come on.  I smelled
Luiez cooking up his mushroom gravy.  There will be pork chops aplenty tonight,
unless he has changed his lineup.  You can’t solve any mysteries fresh the
first day.  Let’s go have a raring spar, then a good meal.”

His friend shook off the last of his frustrations as a
dog shakes water from its fur.  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Together they walked to the Second Training Area,
Marik seeming his old self, but Dietrik wondering what new sack of worms the
armory master’s words had untied.

*        *        *        *        *

In mid-winter, a courier with his guard escort rode at
a gallop from the front gates straight to the command building.  The hard ride
over such a short distance instantly started rumors through the men,
speculating on issues Torrance already knew of.  This courier’s arrival had
been expected.  Tollaf had learned the facts long since from Celerity.  She
contacted him with new questions every few days.

The courier stayed in the command building only a few
candlemarks.  He departed before evening could obscure the roads too heavily
for speedy travel.  Mercenaries taking their ease along Ale House Row noticed
every lieutenant follow clerks into the building for a hasty meeting.  No one
liked it.  Whatever that might mean, there was no chance it could be good news.

During the dining mark’s last quarter, the lieutenants
each entered their respective barracks.  Marik sat with Dietrik and Edwin. 
None of the new recruits shared the table.  Colbey occupied the table’s other
end alone, his space unviolated by outsiders.  None usually sat at Marik’s
table since his mage abilities were common knowledge.

They noticed Fraser the moment he stepped into the
dining area, as did every other veteran.  Sergeants Bindrift, Sloan and Giles
entered as well and stood to the side.  Kineta always ate with her squad,
mostly, Marik believed, to keep them under her thumb by constantly subjecting
them to her hard presence.

The new men kept eating and talking until Fraser
stepped to the kitchen window, shoved aside the water pitchers and lifted the
tin tray underneath.  He slammed it smartly against the countertop.  It’s loud
flat
slap
cut through the conversations.

Once satisfied he had everyone’s attention, Fraser
spoke in a loud, authoritative voice.  “I hope you all enjoyed this fine meal
tonight, because it’s the last you’ll be having for a long time!  Everyone get
to sleep when you finish eating!  We’re marching out tomorrow morning!”

Several surprised cries and inquiries rang out. 
Fraser ignored the lot until a First Unit man shouted over everyone else.  “What
the damn hells you mean we’re marching?  All of us?  These green fish D’s,
too?”  He pointed with his spoon to several new recruits at the next table.

“All of us,” Fraser confirmed.  “They might still be D
Class fighters, but they’ll get the chance to prove their metal soon enough.” 
He addressed the D Classes as a whole.  “You’ll either live or die.  Pull
through, and you’ll prove worthy of the Crimson Kings.”

Before anyone could ask further questions, the First
Unit man erupted from his bench.  “You’re crack-brained!  Ain’t no gods damned
D Class going to leave
my
back open to a Nolier sword!  Either kick
their arses out the gates or test them over, ‘cause I ain’t letting fresh fish
dance into the band after all the training
I
went through!”

Kineta had been sitting at the next table, behind the
man’s back.  She stood in order to slap him across the back of his head without
gentleness.  “Drop your butt down on that bench, Hackett!  I haven’t received
any notice that you’ve been promoted.”

Hackett glared at her, and she returned the unfriendly
gaze with twice as much challenge.  Marik remembered Hackett had been one of
the men who’d challenged her the longest before the repeated beatings finally
kneaded him into a grumbling acceptance.

He slowly settled back into his seat, whereupon
Kineta, the only person standing, faced Fraser.  If learning of their next
contract at the same time as her men nettled her, she kept a tight rein on her
emotion.  Instead, she asked, “Are you going to tell us the details?”

Fraser nodded.  He spoke to the room at large.  “We
are not going to Nolier.  Everyone, by which I mean the whole band, is going to
the western border with Tullainia.  Trouble is on the verge of spilling over
into Galemar.”

Fresh questions greeted this announcement.  Marik
ignored them to lean closer to Dietrik, who showed as little surprise as he
felt.  He meant to ask Dietrik if he thought they would be stationed with
forces serving a border baron, like Riley’s group, but Dietrik nudged his knee
and flicked his eyes toward Colbey.

Marik glanced.  The scout looked as he had that day in
Rawlings when they’d heard those preposterous stories of horned demons running
loose.  His fist clenched his spoon so hard it was a wonder it did not twist
the utensil into a crumpled ball.  Colbey’s body had tensed to bowstring
tautness, yet his blazing eyes were what caught Marik’s breath.  Again he
wondered if Colbey were entirely well.

“No,” Fraser said in response to several questions at
once.  “New reports say it’s something other than a civil war.  The situation
is a boiling mess.  It’s not our job to sort it out.  Our contract is to help
the highwayguards and soldiers with border patrol and keep it on their side.”

“Keep what?  The fighting, or the refugees?”

“Yeah,” echoed a different voice.  “And if the
Tullainians aren’t knifing each other, then what’s going on?”

“As far as we know, an army is attacking Tullainia. 
Our information is sketchy but it looks like a bid to take control of their
kingdom.”

“By whom?  Perrisan?”

“We don’t know,” Fraser shouted over similar
questions.  “And it’s not important in any event.  We have one duty.  Lockdown
the border and keep the fighting, whether it is Tullainians or someone else,
in
Tullainia.  Ninth Squad drew the straight shot.  We’ll march down the Southern
Road and join a garrison near the Rovasii Forest.  The road will be free of
most snow from the travelers, so we’ll have the easiest time of it.”

Fraser fielded no further questions, choosing instead
to depart with the four sergeants in tow.

The noise level in the mess area escalated to a
cacophony with the lieutenant’s withdrawal.  Everyone talked about this rare
winter contract.  Marik spoke at a normal volume to Dietrik, which came across
as a whisper with the din drowning his words.

“Looks like Riley will get extra men after all.”

“So it would seem,” Dietrik nodded.  “And with us
traveling directly along the road, we could end up stationed under his baron. 
That would be a turn of luck.  The captain struck me as a man capable of
leading others without killing them all.”

Marik started to make a joke about arriving and
finding, in all likelihood, Balfourth ready to lead them with stalwart
enthusiasm, when a horrible thought struck him a physical blow.  He sat staring
across the table, mouth slightly agape, until Dietrik turned around to see what
had caught his attention.

When nothing appeared, he bumped Marik’s knee again. 
“What’s got you wiggy, mate?”

“I thought…no.”

“No?  No what?”

“For a moment, I suddenly thought we might be stationed
in Tattersfield.  But that’s not going to happen.”

Dietrik considered his friend’s words.  “Perhaps it
might.  From your descriptions, I would not say Tattersfield is an overly large
town, but it is the largest around the northern Rovasii area.  An ideal
garrison location in the event of a border war.”

Marik shook his head.  “The largest town in the area,
yes.  But it’s too far away.  Too far if we’re supposed to be doing border
patrols.”

“Yes, I suppose.  Still, you said it is right there on
the road.  We will pass through.”

“Mmm,” Marik grunted through his nose.  “I can keep my
head down.  And I can walk in the middle of everyone else.”

Dietrik laughed.  “Mate!  I’d wager none there would
recognize you if you stopped to say ‘hello’!  Your looks have changed a great
deal, and you are no lad to be pushed about by them.  Don’t have a care for
it.  But it is too bad we must leave so soon.  I was hoping Sennet might finish
this new sword of yours earlier than he promised.”

“Sennet will have it done by the time we return,”
Marik replied, and squared his shoulders.  Dietrik was right.  If anyone in
Tattersfield did happen to recognize him, he would die before bowing to them. 
He had worked hard to become a man, and would never revert for the pleasure of
those pompous hicks.

He happened to glance to the side, and felt his
confidence melt under Colbey’s burning eyes.  The scout studied Marik.  Under
that intense scrutiny, Marik wondered how much of a man he had become if a
simple gaze could make him feel so small and uncomfortable.

“What?” he asked, tearing his eyes from Colbey’s,
Dietrik’s question having been shredded by the other shouts in the dining area.

Dietrik tapped his forehead amusedly, a small grin
plastered to his face.  “I asked if you intended to bid your lady love a fond
farewell.  Personally, I do not think it wise, because you wouldn’t get back
until dawn, and the march all day would kill you.”

“Ilona!”  He had never considered that!  What should
he do about her?  Colbey’s unflinching gaze on him only made his mind stumble
worse as it strove for a solution.  “Oh, hells.  I can’t leave without saying
something!”