Steel And Flame (Book 1) (29 page)

“A good deal were.  More are from our campaigns.  If
we capture a supply line or a holding, we take everything we can and bring it
home.  The good stuff we keep and the other stuff we sell to band members who
want it or to one of the merchant caravans who pass by.”

“How many times have you captured a supply line?”

The man smiled thinly.  “I don’t fight for the band. 
I only work here as the weapons master.”

“Really?  I’m sorry, but I didn’t ask your name
before.”

“Sennet.  Call me that, plain.  Let’s get you signed
out so I can eat my dinner.”

The procedure proved to be simple after all.  Sennet
refused to give Dietrik the rapier and dagger as a set after all so the battle
axe remained behind.  He wrote their equipment on the papers under their
names.  At the end he produced a small square bottle.  It contained a different
ink, though it turned out the last of it had been used earlier in the day. 
Cursing, he rummaged until he found a matching bottle, then needed to shake it
a great deal before its contents mixed properly.

Sennet dripped a few drops at the bottom of each
page.  The ink seemed to swallow the light, which heightened the sparkle of
what looked like flakes of gold it contained.  He turned to Marik first.  “Give
me your hand.”

Unsure what to expect, Marik did so.  The larger man
had him close his fist with his thumb sticking out.  He carefully lowered
Marik’s thumb into the ink drops, holding it there a moment, then repeated the
procedure with Dietrik.

“That’s as good as your signature.  These are going
over to Records to be stored.  Anytime you take out equipment the clerks will
check your requisition sheets to make sure you aren’t taking out more than you
should.  Let me tell you not to bother denying anything on these pages if we
ask you about it.  The mages can use your essence contained in your mark to
confirm everything on this form.  It keeps theft down.”

He ushered them into the evening and reentered his
building, firmly shutting the doors behind them.  Marik and Dietrik, the
former’s mood spoiled by the reemerging topic of the mages, returned to their
quarters to lock away their new aquisistions before foraging for dinner on Ale
House Row.

*        *        *        *        *

Hayden called for another ale from the server, a boy
on the verge of entering manhood.  The youth nodded and disappeared under the
mountain of plates and tankards he delicately balanced.

“You’re going to get a set of armor soon, right?”  He
had met Marik and Dietrik in the barracks, joining them when they left for the
Row.  Many other men shared the common room which forced them to speak louder
than normal.  Marik felt his apprehensions slide away in the face of the
crowded, noisy, but mundane tavern room.  Hayden’s laid back, slack manner of
speech helped the new recruit ground himself in the here-and-now.

“Indeed.  Except for Marik’s mail, we exhausted the
entire afternoon simply looking through the building!”

Marik nodded, his mouth full of beef stew.

“Don’t spend too much time in there now if you’re
smart.  Most of the stuff in there has already been picked over.  The loot from
the summer campaigns hasn’t been sorted out in the smithy yet.  As soon as they
move it over to the armory, then you should go back and look for the best piece
for you.”

“They didn’t look bad,” Marik mumbled around his food.

“None of it’s bad, and it’s all battle ready, but keep
your options open, that’s what I say.”

“Well I intend to hold onto that set I picked up
today,” Dietrik enthused.  “I can’t believe no one snatched it up yet!”

“What, that sewing needle you had back at the bunks?” 
Hayden looked uninterested.  “Most around here don’t go for that kind of
blade.”

“Nyla said you don’t see very many on the
battlefield,” Marik offered.

“That’s right, you don’t.  When you do, it’s usually a
merc carrying it though.  For all that the nobles love to talk about sword
fighting like it’s some kind of sport, you’ll never catch one bringing anything
less than a broadsword into a real fight.”

Dietrik would not be dissuaded.  “I’m going to use it
for the rest of the winter.  It feels at home in my hand more than my other
sword does.  Better than anything else ever has as well.”

“Then go with it,” Hayden shrugged.  “I know others
who say the same thing about their choices, and they’re all damned good with
them.  I don’t ever want to meet them on opposite sides of the field.”

Marik asked, “So when will Sennet move the new in with
the old?”

Hayden turned so he faced Marik squarely as his new
tankard arrived.  “Oh, you talked to Sennet himself, huh?  He usually prefers
to hole up in one of his rooms on the top.  The normal guys must have been
out.”

“He seemed nice enough.”

“I guess so.  Sennet likes to make random checks all
winter to make sure people are taking care of his precious equipment.  He knows
most everyone in the band, by sight at least since we all use his armory, but
he doesn’t talk much with anyone outside of his duties as weapons master.”

A spark of interest flared in Marik.  “How long has he
been here?”

“Don’t know.  A long time I think.  At least as long
as Fraser, and he’s been here near on seven years now.”

So he was here when father was.  And he knows everyone
in the band does he?
  Marik filed
that away for later consideration while Hayden continued.

“He should move it all in two or three eightdays, I
think, once he’s sorted through the junk.”  Hayden paused for a moment.  “You
know, I remember.  There’s going to be a huge merchant fair in Thoenar next
summer and Sennet was going to purge out most of the stuff that’s been sitting
around for years without being touched.  You might find a good deal right now
if you offer to make a purchase.”

“Why bother though?” Marik replied.  “The band lets us
use anything we need, and probably better quality too.”

“Are you going to stay with the band forever?  You’ll
need equipment for the road when you leave.”

“What about my new rapier and dagger?  Would the
weapons master send those out, too?  I wouldn’t mind having them at a good
price.”

“I doubt it.  He loves to hold onto things if they’re
good craftsmanship.  I think he’d want to keep them even if no one else has
ever used them.”

Disappointment clouded Dietrik’s eyes.  “Oh well.  For
now we can train in ordinary mail and helms.  The extra weight will help our
growth in the training areas.”

“You’re right.”  Hayden swirled the last of his ale
around the tankard’s bottom and gazed about in search of the serving boy. 
Dietrik downed the last of his stew, then exhaled deeply in appreciation.

“Ahhh, that’s good.  Much better than that foul
concoction this afternoon.”

“You don’t like Luiez’s cooking?”

“Is that his name?  The one with the brown skin?”

“Yeah, that’s him.  The other one is Borrno, with the pale
eyes.  They handle the Ninth’s cooking at home.  What was the menu today?”

They described it to him, sparing no detail.

“I don’t see how people can eat that,” Marik confided.

“Oh I don’t know.  The meals are all usually pretty
good, but I know that one.  Some like it.”

“I saw the ones who did.  It does nothing to reassure
me.”

Hayden laughed.  “Naw, the ingredients are all normal,
but they combine strange.  Find an alchemist and he could probably tell you
what goes wrong in that dish when it’s cooking.  Even so, I’ve had worse
before.”

“Out during a contract?”

He nodded.  “The worst right now is the east, out on
the Nolier border.  The skirmishing’s been getting worse lately and the farmers
there can’t grow much.”

“I heard about that,” Dietrik interjected.  “The king
over there died recently, didn’t he?  The son has been causing trouble?”

“Yeah, it’s a long story.  Galemar wasn’t exactly
friends with the old man, but we weren’t enemies either.  He did okay by his
people.  His son that took over though, he’s a different story.  We got more
contracts from the border barons to the east than from anyone else last year.”

“What, is he trying to start a war?”

“I don’t know what in the hells is going on over
there.  The man doesn’t make any sense at all.  He does whatever strikes his
fancy, it seems like to me.  Too bad the contest is over.  I wouldn’t mind
pulling bodyguard duty next summer.”

“You mean the Arm of Galemar?” Marik asked. 
“Tattersfield is right on the Southern Road, so we usually got tournament news,
except I wasn’t talking to very many people in the town last summer.  Nyla
mentioned contracts there, didn’t she?”

“She did indeed,” confirmed Dietrik.

“The Eighth, Eleventh and Fourteenth got contest duty
this year, the lucky bastards.  They got to miss out on the fun against the
Noliers.  Border duty’s the worst contract to get.”

“Why?  A higher danger factor?”

“You can take that to the counting houses!  Half the
time in a dispute between lords, the one who shows up with the fewest men sends
out one of their strongest fighters for a duel of honor, or whatever load of
crap they like to swallow.  You stand there looking mean and holding your
weapon while the other sends his man out.  They fight, face is saved and
everyone turns around and goes home after the higher ups meet to agree on
restitution.”

“That doesn’t sound likely in a border war.”

“You’re damn right it doesn’t happen!  Where’s the
lad?”  Finally spotting him, he flagged the boy down and dropped his empty
tankard atop many others in his hands.  Marik felt slightly disappointed when
the boy recovered, saving the tower from collapse.  That would have been a
spectacular crash.

“And more bread too!”  If the boy heard Hayden’s
shout, Marik saw no sign of acknowledgement.  “It’s good bread here.”

Dietrik mentioned, “We’ve noticed the food here is
higher quality overall.  This afternoon was the exception of course.”

“It’s mostly fresh at least,” Marik added.

“Yeah, one of the early band leaders read his tea
leaves right or something and decided to buy up all the fields around here a
long time ago.  The ones that aren’t full of rocks, anyway.  Spent every last
coin the band earned for a decade to do it, too.  The Kings actually own more
land than a lot of barons!  Now we lend the fields out to different sharecroppers
and livestock ranchers who give us half the yield in exchange for not charging
them taxes or fees or anything for the land.  Our yearly food cost is almost
nothing.  It’s a bargain!”

“So I imagine!  A sharp bunch of chaps running the
show.”

“Ever since the first one anyway.  I told you about
that, didn’t I?”

“You did, yes.”

“Where’s that boy?”

The ale seemed to be catching up with Hayden.  Also
the rowdiness in the common room increased by the moment.  Given the Kings’
attitude toward outsiders in their town, Marik doubted any entertainers would
take the floor to play their instruments or regale them with tales in exchange
for a spot by the fire.  He and Dietrik called it a night, leaving Hayden to
his tankard and bread which arrived as they rose.

They experienced a slight delay during their return to
the Ninth’s barrack due to avoiding Beld.  He and his gathering were intent on
reaching the Row in time to drink themselves into greater feats of violence and
temper.  The two managed to arrive home without mishap.

Marik said, while he settled on his cot to remove his
leather boots, “I suppose tomorrow we should start to get serious.”

“I agree.  Let’s start by the shacks in the Second
Area with our new toys.  It’s flat and we can get each other’s measure.  We
haven’t truly done that yet, have we?”

“We did well against Harlan on the slopes, but you’re
right.  We need to see where we stand.”

Dietrik retrieved his new sword and began inspecting
the blade closely, rubbing a blemish on the metal.  “Then we had better be
ready, hadn’t we?”

*        *        *        *        *

The weather grew colder as winter deepened, increasing
its hold on the world.  This region rarely had snowfall but the wind still cut
in knife slashes through Chatham’s cloak where he perched in an opening between
log spikes atop the eastern wall, watching the men below exercise their combat
skills.  He wrapped his cloak tightly about his body, gripping the edges to
keep it from flapping.

Harlan walked along the wall.  He noticed the slight
upturn at the corner of his companion’s mouth.  Rather than ask, he dropped
into a sitting position as well and followed Chatham’s line of sight.

“Marik?”

“Indeed my friend,” replied Chatham, his voice lower
than its usual ringing call to the kingdom at large.  “I was depressed with
nothing to do in that cave o’ a barracks an’ decided to take a walk.  I noticed
my young protégé down there an’ decided to squat here for awhile.”  He kept his
gaze on the distant training area while he spoke.