River of Spears (Kingdom's Forge Book 0) (12 page)

“There is simply no way the savages could defeat so many men, not to mention the Pyre Riders. I think the mercenaries betrayed us. The expedition was doomed from the start. I think Balerion took a city and its treasure and then turned traitor and left. And I think you are a deserter. I think you turned coward. I think you fled at the first sign of bloodshed and you’ve been lost, wandering in the grass these few months until Major Milick here found you.”

Savages
, Dain thought. He remembered the Tyberons’ great city, its precise construction, the sciences and engineering they must have mastered to build it, and then the complex people themselves. How long had it been since he had thought of them as savage? He couldn’t remember.

“I did not desert,” he said simply. He was tired. It had been too long since he’d been free and his patience was running thin.

“Do you see, Milick? It is as I’ve told you and your fellows. The reputation of these mercenaries far exceeds their real capabilities. The paladin here was reputed to be one of the best. But here he is, a damned deserter.”

Dain didn’t bother to respond. The commander’s mind was made up. He hadn’t endured so much only to be doubted by an idiot. He wondered how quickly he could reach across the desk and snap Grayson’s miserable neck. He wouldn’t even need the Light for it; the time in the quarry had made him strong.

Milick leaned back in his chair. He’d have a demon’s own time getting his sword free, and before he did Dain could easily take him, too.

Grayson steepled his fingers and stared at Dain with a wolfish grin.

“You do know what happens to deserters, yes?”

Dain stared back. He’d never be able to prove, not ever, that the army was gone. And even if he succeeded they’d be calling him a spy next.

“The penalty for desertion isn’t death, not for mercs,” Dain replied. “No merc would work for you or anyone else under threat of death. It’s immediate removal from service and forfeiture of all backpay.”

A look of confusion passed over Grayson’s face. He shook his head and started to speak when Milick interrupted.

“That’s technically correct,” Milick said.

“Fine then,” Dain said. “I hereby resign my commission. I’ll get my gear and be gone.”

Grayson’s mouth dropped open. Mercs never resigned. Not from the Esterians; the pay was too good. For once the commander had nothing to say.

Before he could recover, Dain stood and left.

No point trying to convince them their army is lost. And the more distance between me and this dung heap the better.

He headed off to find Boon.

On the way he passed by a pair of covered Pyre Riders. Evidently, Hycropolis had dispatched reinforcements. Both were small and slight and, looking close, he saw their slender fingers and soft eyes. Every Rider was female. Were they here for pay or to find out what happened to Jensen and the others? If they learned he’d left with the expedition they’d question him.
Better if I’m gone before they find out I was here.

As he walked, he thought of Nicola and what it had cost to escape. The memory of her last pained expression and the wicked flash of holy Light when he’d killed her was sharp and vivid. He tried to drive the image away, to remember the happier times when she’d smiled or laughed or the wild look of her flame-red hair when it had first grown back in—to remember how it felt when he’d first realized he was beginning to think of her almost as a younger sister—but it was no use. All he could see was her face, the rock imbedded in her temple, the shocked look in her child-like eyes as she fell.

We all could have made it. Why couldn’t you just let me go?

For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, Dain felt very young. He wiped at his eyes and continued toward the stables.

In an outside pen with a half-dozen other horses stood a tall buckskin warhorse. Boon. Dain stepped to the rails and watched him.

“No point trying to buy that one,” a passing merc said. “The last man that bought him lasted half a minute in the saddle and then that hell-beast killed him. Just stomped his brains out.”

“Wonder why they keep a horse like that,” another merc said.

“Just look at him. There isn’t another horse that fine north of Bymreh. Besides he’s a good moneymaker. They’ve sold him four times and he killed every rider. Wait a month or two and they’ll sell him again,” the first man said.

Without a word, Dain gave the pair half a smile. He leaned close to the railing and whistled; Boon approached and then nuzzled against his hand. He scratched behind the horse’s chin.

“Missed me, did you?” Dain said.

The mercs who’d spoken stood slackjawed at his side.

“So I’ve been busy getting captured and trying to earn us a living and you’ve been here making time with the mares, huh? I see how it is.”

Dain leaned over and checked the horse’s legs.

“Well you’re all healed up at least. It’s time for us to move on. Past time.”

There was a river barge below offloading cargo. He’d seen it on the ride in, and when it headed downriver in an hour Dain aimed to be on it.

One more matter first
, he thought
. Some traveling money
. There was some hidden in his tent.

Dain held no illusions on what he would find there. Bix was a grown woman. She would have given him up for dead, she would have moved on as before. Like him, she was a survivor.

He paused at his tent’s outer flap.

No
, he corrected himself,
not my tent anymore
.

Bix’s voice, sweet and silky smooth, came from inside. A rough voice answered it and she giggled.
Perfect timing as usual.
Normally, he wouldn’t have interrupted, but today he was too tired to care and there were questions to avoid and a barge to catch. It wouldn’t wait, and it would be a week before another came.

He yanked the tent’s flap open and ducked inside.

Bix held a serving tray. She stood to the right of a seated man. A flash of annoyance crossed her features as she looked up, and then her face fell flat when she saw it was Dain.

The seated man turned. His face was scruffy, and he was short an eye. One of his hands was holding Bix’s rear.

“Do I knows you?” he said. His words came out in a slur.

Awful early to be getting a drunk on
, Dain thought. He ignored the merc and spoke to Bix.

“Don’t mind me. I’ve just come for my things. Where are they?”

Bix said nothing, but the honey-blonde’s eyes flashed toward a weathered chest in the corner.

“Hey, who do you think you are?” the one-eyed man asked. He pushed his chair from the table.

Dain stepped by him, opened the chest, and removed its contents. His saddlebags were on top, the frayed edges where his emblem had once been marking them. He stuffed his clothing into them along with some personal effects—tokens from various lands he’d visited, a few books. The chest held nothing else. The money was gone, all of it.

No surprises there.
He couldn’t help but smile to himself.
Oh, Bix.

“I said who do you think you are? Get out of my tent!” The drunken merc was on his feet now, unsteady and angry.

“Just leave him be, love. He’s leaving. Aren’t you, Dain?” Bix slid a placating hand to the big man’s shoulder.

“I am. I’ll be leaving on the barge and getting as far from here as possible. But first I need my gold.” Dain met her eyes. She squared her shoulders.

“I took it. I told you I would. That was our deal, same as I’ve made with the others. Though I might give it back,” she paused, “if you take me with you.”

A look of confusion passed over the merc’s face. He shook his head and seemed to grow a little more sober.

“Hey, what’re you talking about? You’re with me now and we’re going to run this camp together. I’ll make us rich beyond belief. The Tyberon cities are full of gold and I’m going to capture one.”

“No. You won’t,” Dain said to him. “All you’ll find is grass if you’re lucky, or, if you aren’t, a spear in the belly and an unmarked grave.”

The merc shoved Bix away. He reached at his waist for his sword, but the weapon hung in its scabbard across the room. His eyes focused and refocused on it. He mumbled something and then lunged.

Sidestepping the merc easily, Dain punched him in the throat.

The man fell to his knees, gasping for air. He wouldn’t experience any lasting damage, but for a few days he’d have trouble swallowing.

Dain faced Bix again. He thought about how much time had already passed. How many bags and crates the barge would have unloaded. How soon would the barge set out or the Pyre Riders come searching? It was past time to leave.

“No Bix, I think I’ll be going alone. Was it Philosopher Halsten who said ‘we are who we are unless we choose differently’? Or was it ‘we are what we do’?” He sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever it may be, I choose different. I don’t want to be a mercenary anymore. And I could never support the lifestyle you desire doing anything else.”

“Foxer said both of those things in his first Discourse on the Capacity of Change,” Bix said, one eyebrow arching. “Halsten said that the heart of morality is honoring your commitments. You made your commitment, Dain. You knew my requirements. The gold stays with me.”

She crossed arms over her chest.

She had a point, he knew. But he also knew that the circumstances of their agreement had changed. He wasn’t dead, after all. Dain reached for the Tyberon spear, the one he’d driven into the tent’s centerpole as a trophy. He took a string of garlic from it, jerked it free, and felt the weight of it.

Bix’s chin lifted. “You know better than that. You can’t torture me. I’ll never tell you where it is.”

Her words were bold, but there was a hint of fear in her eyes. It was easy to talk of withstanding torture before it started.

“You’re right, I do know better than that,” Dain said. “And that’s why my father taught me…” He flexed the spear over his knee. It cracked, shattered, and then the bone tip split away from the handle. “…to keep most of my gold hidden.”

He turned the hollow spear upright and three-dozen gold coins slid out and clinked into the saddlebags.

“Bastard,” Bix said, but her tone no longer had any fire behind it.

“We both have our little secrets, don’t we, Bix. Pasts we try to escape. Scars we try to cover.” Dain glanced at the leather band on her upper arm and the puckered scar beneath it. “I wonder what bird’s feather once hung there.”

Instinctively she raised a hand to cover the armband and her eyes grew hard. They considered each other for a few silent moments.

Shifting, Dain stepped over the wheezing merc and picked up the man’s sword to examine it. Not a bad weapon. It had a nice balance and the narrow blade suited him. Next to it was a steel tomahawk with a wicked spike offsetting the half-moon blade.

Both are certainly better weapons than this drunk deserves
, he thought. The proud ones never lasted long. They were lucky to live out a month.
It’d be a shame to let these go to waste.

He buckled both weapons around his own waist. Then he regarded the writhing man on the floor.

“Tell you what friend, you keep Bix, and I’ll keep the gear. Sounds fair enough to me.”

The merc waved a weak hand and Bix cursed him. Dain stepped out of the tent and climbed into Boon’s saddle. He trotted the horse toward the freight elevator and they rode it down to the dock.

The bargemaster was a gruff man, with a shaggy beard and a sweat-stained shirt left open at the neck. Like his leaky barge, he stank of mildew and rot.

“A gold for passage,” he said.

“How long to the seaport at Youngston?” Dain asked. He handed over the coin.

“Three days. Fort Eight here’s the last stop so we’ll run straight through. Had your fill of fighting?”

“And then some.” Dain led Boon to the center of the barge and tied him there.

The first mate cast off the last line and they began to move downstream. The bargemaster moved to stand near Dain at the wheel.

“Heading to Galena like everyone else?” he asked.

“Everyone?” The barge looked empty; other than the deckhands, he and Boon were the only passengers.

“Last trip I took a dozen mercs. They were all talking about the place, this Galena. Gold was on their lips. Gold in the northern mountains. Gold in rocky streams. So much gold you’d trip over it. Shining in their eyes like a thousand treasure coins.” The bargemaster shook his head. “Damn fools…the lot of them. As if finding gold were easy.”

“Nothing in this life’s easy,” Dain muttered. He thought of his dream. The quiet little village on the edge of the Spine Mountains, where the sawtooth peaks swept down to the plains below. The wind in the pines sang to him. He’d need a good amount of coin to start. Enough to live off of for several years. He felt at his purse.

Not enough here, even with the small Magentite, not enough by far.

Galena…he’d heard about the place before, a land where the frozen peaks clenched close together and held a fistful of gold in their grip. Maybe he’d find a fortune of his own there.

He knew a bit about mining; at least what his tutors had squeezed into his education.

It will take coin to get there and more to get outfitted. Hell of a long trip.

From the seaport he could catch a vessel to Newsong and then travel overland. Maybe winter in Harland. He might find out more about Galena there from someone who knows of it. Despite the gold he’d lost to Bix, he might have enough to start out with. Or he might have to take on a job or two first.

He drew the half-moon tomahawk and stared at his reflection in it.

Not a suitable weapon for a paladin
.

Dain smiled at the thought.
Lord Chalmer said I wasn’t suitable as a paladin.
He recalled the commandments of his order, the tenets of the Creator’s faith. His sin, the reason for his exile, violated none of them. But he’d broken several since. How then could he still draw on the Creator’s Light? He was honorless, that he accepted, but maybe that wasn’t the whole of it. Maybe a man could be honorless yet still hold the Creator’s faith inside of him. If he held to the tenets afresh, could he be a paladin still?