Dragon

I stepped back out. Rascha had moved on. I said to Virt, "The corporal seems easy enough to work with."

"Yeah. She's tough when it counts, though. She spent some time as a marine."

"A marine?"

"A shipboard soldier. They're the ones who go over the side and try to take a ship from the enemy. She saw some action in a skirmish with Easterners during the Interregnum."

"I didn't know there was a navy during the Interregnum."

"There wasn't, officially, but there was some fighting now and then around Northport and Adrilankha."

"Okay," I said. "Any idea where I might acquire a backpack?"

She shook her head. "Not around here, and we're not permitted to leave camp without permission. But I expect that when Aelburr gets back he'll be able to rig some straps for you. He's good at that sort of thing."

"Aelburr?"

"He's the other one who bunks with us."

"Oh. Where is he now?"

"He drew kitchen duty. He'll be back after lunch."

"Such as it is," put in Napper.

Virt added, "You can ask him about making you a stool as well; you'll come to appreciate whatever comfort you can find."

"I don't doubt that a bit," I said.

I sat down on the ground next to them. Yeah, a stool would be nice.

A little later there was the sound of drums, and my heart leapt to my throat, and I almost stood up and drew a weapon; I just barely saved myself from embarrassment by noticing that no one else seemed excited.

"That little tune," said Virt, "is called 'Graze the Horses.' It means lunchtime."

"It's our big excitement for the day," said Napper.

"True enough," said Virt. "Because of the danger. Grab your mess kit and come along."

Lunch was served up at a long table, which you walked along with your tin tray out so the cooks could put on it a hunk of tasteless cheese, as many biscuits as you could eat … in my case, that was about a third of one, and a piece of salted kethna that I wouldn't have served hidden in a stew full of lasher peppers. Then you filled up your collapsible tin cup with a horrid white wine and walked back to your tent to eat, and then down to the stream to clean your mess kit, and, then, perhaps, downstream to the latrines to divest yourself of what you'd just had the misfortune to consume. I fed Loiosh a bit of the kethna, and he liked it fine, which I think proves my point.

An hour after lunch were "maneuvers." We were called out and made to stand in a neat line, four abreast. On my left was Napper, next to him was a Dragonlord who turned out to be Aelburr. He was very tall—close to eight feet—and thin even for a Dragonlord. His black hair was brushed back like Virt's, and his arms were nearly as knotted as Crown's. In that formation, they marched us out to a field, where we had to do things like turn around all together, go from four abreast to eight abreast and back, spread out in different directions and come back, go from four abreast facing forward to thirty abreast and four deep, with proper distance between the lines, advance, retreat, quickstep, double-time, and all sorts of other things that everyone knew how to do except me.

We did this for about five hours, with a five-minute break each hour. During one of the breaks, I threw myself down next to the man who'd been behind me for most of the march.

"Not used to the work, Easterner?" he said.

I looked at him, and he didn't seem to be actively unfriendly, so I said, "Can't claim to enjoy it."

"Me neither," he said. He was a rather small man, almost mousy, and didn't give the impression of great strength, though he'd gone through the drills without being as winded as I was.

"But you're in it for the fighting, right?"

"Me? No. I've been in a few battles. I can't say I enjoyed them."

"Then why—?"

"Experience. I want to make a career of the Phoenix Guards. Or the Dragon Guards if the Cycle will be kind enough to turn for me. And you get along better if you start out with a few big fights under your belt."

"I see."

"What about you?"

"It's personal."

He laughed. "I would imagine so. The scuttlebutt is you know Sethra Lavode."

"We've met," I admitted.

"Is she really a vampire?"

"Well, she hasn't drunk my blood. At least that I remember."

He laughed again. "I'm Tibbs," he said.

"Vlad."

"A pleasure."

"The same."

And the drum started up, and we were off on more senseless maneuvers. The next rest period found me next to Virt and Napper again. Napper had a look of disgust on his face that didn't encourage conversation. Virt seemed her easygoing self, so I said, "Mind if I ask you a question?"

"Sure," said Virt.

"Why is everyone so … hmmm. I'm not sure how to say this. I've dealt with Dragons before, and I'm used to, ah, I'm not used to being treated so civilly by them. No offense."

Virt smiled. "It's taken some effort," she said.

"Why the effort, then?"

"I can only speak for myself."

"Well?"

"We're going to war," she said after a moment. "We're going to be fighting. You'll be fighting next to me. I'd just as soon you didn't have any reason to let me be killed."

"Ah. I hadn't thought of that."

She smiled pleasantly. "It's probably in your best interest not to give me a reason to let you be killed, either. You may want to keep that in mind, Jhereg."

Napper looked up at me, then glanced away.

And again the drum, and again the marching and running, and then, a little later, we broke for practice in throwing javelins. I couldn't get anything like the distance most of the Dragonlords got, but I was awfully damn accurate. That gave me a certain amount of pleasure.

Then there was another drumbeat that announced time to sup. Supper was much the same as lunch except that a thin broth was substituted for the kethna. I sat next to Virt outside of our tent, and said, "Does the food get any better?"

"No."

"I see." Then, "Are most of these people volunteers?"

"All of us, of course. The units with conscripts have Teckla in them."

"Oh. Why did you volunteer?"

"I'm attending the Terics Academy, and one needs experience in battle before mastering theory."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Why you?"

"Why am I here? It's personal."

"Ah."

I decided after a moment that she deserved a better answer than that, so I said, "The guy we're going up against pissed me off."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"You joined the army because you're mad at the guy whose army we're fighting?"

"Yep."

She stared at me. "You know you probably won't get a chance to, uh, what do you Jhereg call it?"

"We usually call it killing," I lied. "And, yes, I know that. But I can be useful here."

"You're nuts."

"Thanks."

"But I mean that in the nicest possible way."

At that point we were joined by Aelburr, to whom I was then introduced. He seemed friendly enough, and agreed to modify my satchel and make me a collapsible stool. I said, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah. Tell me how to win at S'yang Stones."

"Run the game, don't play it."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. It's a rigged game. In the long run, you can't win unless the guy running the game is an idiot. If you're really, really good at it, and you concede if you don't score well on your first couple of throws, and double-up every time you have an edge with your flat stones, and you get very good at tossing, you'll only lose a little, very slowly."

"Why is that?"

"Because in, say, a ten-fifty game you're paying twelve orbs for the stones, and you're risking fifty orbs if you lose, and if you win you only get back ten plus fifty, not including doubling, which works out even in the long run. So every time you play against someone as good as you, you lose two orbs. If you play against someone better, it's worse, and if you play against someone not as good, the luck factor is almost always greater than the two orbs you're losing. Usually about four coppers' worth."

"You've got it figured that precisely?"

"Yes."

He shook his head. "What about personal games, with no one running it?"

"That's different. Then if you're better, you should win."

"So how do you play?"

"Go for the big scores with your flat stones, and use the round ones at the end to knock off his big scores, and, if he gets a big advantage on the first round, surrender your ten and start over."

"I like to use my flat stones to knock out the other guy's early scores. Then I can get lucky with the round stones."

"Yeah, a lot of guys play that way."

"And I double when, well, you know, sometimes you can just feel that you're going to hit big?"

Sure you do. I said, "I don't know, I don't actually play a whole lot."

"Well, it seems like it works."

I thought, I know exactly how you play, sucker, but didn't say it. I said, "How do you do, overall?"

"I'm about even, or maybe a little up."

I almost said it with him. The consistent losers always say, "About even, or maybe a little up." But I just nodded and didn't say anything.

"Maybe I'll try it your way," he said.

"Let me know how it works."

"I will."

"So, why are you here?"

"Here? You mean, in the service?"

"Yeah."

He was quiet for a while, then said, in a low voice, "I've always dreamed of fighting under Sethra Lavode."

"Okay," I said. "I can respect that."

"It's better than the alternative, in any case."

"Oh?"

"My last posting was with a mercenary army. They've been hired to fight against her. I wouldn't care to do that."

"No," I said. "I wouldn't either."

A little later fires were lit, and we sat around them; apparently every three tents had one fire. Virt explained that, usually, the fires were where meals were cooked, but as this whole operation had been thrown together so quickly, they had gone to communal kitchens to save the extra work of dividing up the rations. I suppose that made some sort of military sense. Someone from one of the other tents said it only made sense if we weren't staying long. Virt said we'd be moving out any day, and explained her reasoning, which provided the subject for much lively debate and led to reminiscences about past campaigns that had involved a lot of waiting in bivouac.

"Well, Loiosh, what do you think of military life so far?"

"The food's good."

"Heh."

"And there's a lot of it."

"I didn't see a lot."

"That's because everyone hasn't been feeding you scraps."

"Everyone's been feeding you?"

"They sure have, Boss. I think they think I'm good luck."

"You're lucky they don't know you."

"Heh."

The conversation continued around me, and I occasionally put in questions, such as how they could tell the different drum calls apart, which were answered with the sort of patience I might display to a potential customer who wanted to understand the interest on the loan he was inquiring about. The drum, by the way, was called a juice-drum, and the peculiar sound it made was caused by steel balls rattling around inside the steel frame as it was struck.

Later they went on to talking about what they were going to do after the campaign. If they did what they said they were going to, I'd see a big increase in business at all of my brothels. Then they went on to telling humorous anecdotes, most of which I'd heard and none of which are worth repeating, although there were some particularly military ones that were interesting—most of these had to do with peculiar injuries, ways of bugging out of battle, or embarrassing things happening to officers (but never sergeants, for some reason). Loiosh thought some of the stories were funny, but then, he'd liked the food, too.

The drum started up again, and Virt explained that it was time to sleep. I wasn't used to sleeping on a set schedule, but I realized that I was sufficiently tired that it wouldn't be a problem, even with the unfamiliar bed and the nasty, prickly woolen blanket. And it wasn't; I rolled up my cloak for a pillow, lay down, and was gone.

The drum woke me up the next morning, beginning my first full day as a soldier. We were given ten minutes at the spring to make ourselves ready, which only barely gave me time to shave. I noticed various of my comrades looking at me out of the corners of their eyes as I did so, and I rather enjoyed it.

There were fires going by the cook-tent, so I went over there and discovered that not only was there no klava, but there was no cream or honey for the coffee, so I skipped it. I forced down a biscuit because I thought I might need it, then went back and heard that morning maneuvers had been canceled.

"I wonder why?" said Aelburr.

"Be grateful," said Napper.

"I have a guess," said Virt, staring over in the direction of the Captain's tent. It was very cold; I pulled my heavy cloak around me, thinking I'd trade half my territory in the City for a good cup of klava, and didn't say anything.

Rascha came by and wished us a pleasant morning. "What's the word?" said Virt.

"You'll know as soon as I do," she said, and continued on.

I studied the sky, hoping it wouldn't rain, but I couldn't tell anything. I knew Castle Black was somewhere above us, but I couldn't see it through the overcast, even though I knew that Morrolan would be able to look down and see us. It seemed wrong, somehow.

"Loiosh, what am I doing here?"

"If I knew, Boss, I'd be sure to tell you."

About forty yards away, over the Captain's tent, the banner of Cropper Company snapped and floated in the cold morning breeze.

The drums started up again, but we'd already eaten breakfast and it was too early for lunch. Virt stood up, smiling. "Do you know how to strike a tent?" she said.

I assumed she didn't refer to hitting it, so I said, "No."

"Time to learn, then," she said. "We're moving out."

Loiosh kept asking what I was going to do when I got there, and I kept saying I didn't know. "I'll think of something," I told him.

"Why am I not reassured?"

"Getting close enough is half—what's that?"

"More of the same battle, Boss. Just not our part in it."

"Look closer, Loiosh."

"Oh."

Off to my right, a bit over a hundred yards away, was a large body of Easterners—no doubt the mercenaries I'd been informed of. They were far enough away that I wouldn't have been able to tell they were human except that I could just barely make out a beard here and there, and that was sufficient.

They were going up against a cavalry troop, and I could just make out Morrolan's form, sitting on a dark horse and laying about him with—yes, it had to be Blackwand. With each cut of that blade, another died—and died forever, because there is no return, reincarnation, no afterlife of any sort to someone struck down with that weapon. The beliefs among humans regarding what happens after the death of the body are varied, peculiar, and often silly; but a hundred yards to my right Morrolan was making the question moot.

In spite of all I had seen, it was this that sickened me.

I discovered that I'd gotten all the way to the knot of sorcerers and their honor guard on top of the hill. Before any of them could speak to me, I said, "Can we stop all this nonsense, please?"

"Good work, Boss," said Loiosh. "You've gotten their attention."

"That was my secret plan," I said.

They looked at me and I looked at them, and I realized with an almost profound sense of importance that I'd stopped. I'd reached the place. Whatever was going to happen would happen here, and then it would end, and a sudden, terrible delight filled me that, for better or worse, I was done marching. This meant, above all, that I was done marching in the rain.

It had started raining a little before noon the very first day I'd marched with Cropper Company, and sometimes it seems that it had rained ever since. We'd been marching for about four hours, and after the first I had decided I didn't care for it. The rain did nothing to change my mind. Marching through mud just isn't as much fun as they say, especially with a folded-up cot, a jury-rigged backpack, and a few pieces of tent on your back. I wore my heavy cloak because it was cold when we started, but at the first break I switched to the light one because marching turned out to be much harder work than I'd expected, and I became hot and sweaty inside the first mile. Then, of course, the rain started, so I was too hot while we marched, and too cold every time we had to stop because a wagon had gotten stuck in the mud and it was either in front of us and blocked the road or behind us and we weren't permitted to get too far ahead.

Virt kept looking around, as if trying to guess where we were going and what we were doing; occasionally she would make helpful observations about how the engineers would have been able to keep the roads passable if only there were wood in the region. Napper never said a word, but kept up a constant stream of invective through inarticulate grunts and hisses. Aelburr seemed cheerful, which was really annoying. Loiosh sometimes rested on my shoulder and sometimes flew over the company, enjoying his unexpected popularity and, fortunately, not making any wisecracks to me. I did my best to keep my thoughts to myself, mostly as a matter of pride.

Somewhere in there we crossed into enemy-held territory. I didn't notice it at the time, but put it together some time later when I realized that our commissary was no longer paying for the supplies we took from the locals. Years later I found out that Sethra had cut the entire army off from its supply lines—a move she was fond of. I guess she was good at it, too, because the food never changed.

Pity.

The rainfall grew heavier. It's funny how little I notice weather in the City; but it just doesn't matter that much. A little bit of sorcery will keep the rain off, and then I'm at the office, or wherever I'm going. Here it was different; most of us had the sorcerous ability to keep the rain off our heads, but that did nothing for the road, and you can only keep up a spell like that for a certain amount of time before you start to get brain-fatigued, and then it can slip and you can lose control of the energy. It would be humiliating to fry your brain because a Verra-be-damned umbrella spell got out of control.

Worse for a Dragonlord, though, because he'd be likely to show up in the Paths of the Dead and have to explain just how he Got It.

The Paths of the Dead.

I remembered them, then, as I was walking; I remembered thinking I'd never find my way out, and then saving myself, and Aliera, and Morrolan, with a homemade bit of witchcraft I hadn't known I could perform. And where were Morrolan and Aliera now? Probably snug and dry in Castle Black, waiting to teleport to wherever we ended up, while my boots went flllp flllp in the mud.

But it was my choice, and I knew I'd feel better when we made contact with Fornia's army and I did something nasty and disruptive to it. Maybe only one or two things, then I could bug out.

"Boss, you've got to let the spell go."

I wanted to argue with him, but there's no point in having a familiar if you don't let him do his job. "Okay, thanks," I told him, and got wet. Looking at the line of march, I was pleased to see I'd held mine longer than many of them. I also knew that there would be some brain-fry casualties from this march; I wondered if that was one of the things calculated out by Sethra when she planned her campaigns: "Well, we're going to lose one percent every day to brain-fry if the weather's bad … "

"You're right, Loiosh. My mind is getting numb."

"Soggy, too, Boss."

"You're not as funny as you think you are."

We stopped then—this one an official rest, as opposed to waiting for a mud-stuck wagon. I gratefully took off my gear, unfolded the stool Aelburr had made me, and sat down.

"We're bound for interesting country," said Virt.

I looked around; it was plain, and flat, with never a hill and hardly a tree to break up the terrain. "It is?"

"Well, this is good ground to fight on, but that isn't what I mean. I mean we're moving toward a hilly area, and it makes me wonder if Sethra plans to bring us directly into a fight or if we're reserves, because if we're reserves, I'd expect us to start heading north soon."

"Well, I know we're in the van."

"You do? How?"

"Morrolan told me. That's why I'm assigned to this company."

She looked at me as if waiting for me to go on. "Boss!"

"Bloody death, Loiosh. I am brain-tired, aren't I?"

"Never mind," I told Virt. "I've already said too much."

"All right."

"I'm not a spy, though."

"I didn't think you were," she said. "And I pretty much assumed that you weren't along just as a soldier."

"Yeah."

"But we're in the van, are we? Then, at a guess, we won't have more than a two-day march. Three, maybe, if the weather stays like this."

"And then battle?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Will you be around for the fighting?"

I looked at her and knew what she was thinking—was I going to be sharing the danger, or was I just along for the ride and would bug out as soon as they went into battle. The answer, of course, was that I intended to bug out.

"I'll be there," I told her.

She nodded.

The bloody damn juice-drum again, and I stood up, refolded the stool, and eventually we moved out. The rain gave a last burst, then tapered off to a drizzle.

"Can't Morrolan's sorcerers do something about the rain?" I said.

"Chances are they just did."

I grunted. "Took them long enough."

"You're starting to sound like Napper."

Napper gave her a quick glare. I said, "I'm starting to understand him."

He gave no indication that he wanted to be understood.

I said, "I've been given to understand that bitching is the universal right of soldiers."

She laughed briefly, though I didn't think it was funny. "Not in an elite corps," she said.

"We're an elite corps?"

"Didn't you know?"

"How am I supposed to tell?"

"See any Teckla? See any conscripts?"

"Ah. Okay, I hadn't known to look for them."

"Well, there you have it. How do you feel, being part of an elite corps?"

"Bursting with pride," I said.

"That's the spirit."

Napper snorted. The breeze picked up and I shivered, but the rain stopped completely soon after that, and I was able to perform a quick drying spell, and then I felt better.

We put a few miles behind us, then stopped where we were on the road and ate salted kethna, cheese, and biscuits. I ate three biscuits. They tasted much better after not eating a decent meal for a day.

"If this goes on long enough, Loiosh, I'll have no more taste than you.

"I weep bitter tears."

"Reptiles don't weep."

"And we have other natural advantages, too."

I filled a pocket with some extra biscuits to eat on the way. They weren't all that bad, really, as long as you didn't compare them to anything good.

The grey clouds that had gathered beneath the orange-red overcast were gone, and in the distance there were now a few hills to be seen. That meant we were probably climbing, very gradually, which realization made my legs tired. Periodically, the Captain would ride by on a horse, presumably to make us feel even more tired. I hadn't seen much of horses before, and watching the Captain ride by while we kept trudging didn't give me any great affection for them.

As the light failed the drums rattled, and we stopped and I watched the other three put up the tent, making certain to show me how the pieces fit together. Then we lit fires, ate an evening meal that was suspiciously like the one yesterday, and sat around in front of the fire. Rascha approached and said, "Aelburr and Vlad, first shift on picket duty tonight."

"Okay," said Aelburr.

"Vlad?"

"Yes?"

"Did you hear?"

"Yes."

"Then acknowledge."

"Sorry."

Rascha moved on. I said, "How long does a shift last?"

"Two hours," said Virt, "unless they decide we're in imminent, in which case time doubles and personnel triples."

" 'In imminent'?"

"In imminent danger."

"Ah."

"Which I don't think we are."

I looked an inquiry at Virt, who shrugged and said, "I doubt it."

Aelburr stood up and buckled on his sword. I did the same. He led the way past the rows of tents to where we could just make out the banner in the fading light. Crown was there, and pairs would approach him to be sent off; to us he said, "North edge, forty yards out," and pointed. Aelburr saluted and turned away. I also saluted, which earned me a glance I couldn't read, then I went after Aelburr. But I was pleased; I'd finally gotten to salute.

"What do we do?" I said. "Stand in place like idiots or walk back and forth like morons?"

He gave a token chuckle. "Stand in place," he said. "More or less, anyway. As long as we keep watching, and we don't stray out of call, it shouldn't matter much."

We were out there for two hours, and nothing happened, but it was spooky. At first there was a hum of low conversation from the camp, but that died fairly soon, and then it was quiet, and I was one of those guards whom I'd spent so much time figuring out ways of circumventing, or sometimes knocking out, or occasionally killing. All of those occasions presented themselves to my memory with a snicker of revenge. I wasn't really worried, because Loiosh was there, but it was a position I didn't enjoy being in. I tried to start a conversation, but Aelburr let me know that we were supposed to use our ears, and that if we were caught conversing Bad Things would happen.

"What does the military consider a Bad Thing?"

"Latrine duty."

"Sold," I said, and shut up for the rest of our shift. We were relieved right on time by a couple of soldiers I didn't know and who didn't seem interested in either conversation or latrine duty. I followed Aelburr to the tent, which I couldn't have found on my own, and I climbed into my cot just an instant after I fell asleep.

Thirty hours later I got a practical demonstration of what "in imminent" meant. My feet were a day more sore, my legs a day more tired, and my spirits a day nastier. Virt seemed slightly amused at either my discomfort or my annoyance; Aelburr seemed lost in thought, and Napper, still scowling as before, appeared the only sane one of the lot of us. In any case, our entire tent was informed we'd be doing four hours of picket duty in the middle of the night, which made Virt nod sagaciously, Napper scowl menacingly, and Aelburr shrug philosophically. Then, an hour later, Rascha called me aside and informed me that I was excused and was not expected to do picket duty after all, and then she turned away before I could ask her why. I cursed under my breath.

"What is it, Boss? You enjoyed it so much last night that you want to do a double-shift tonight?"

"No, I just resent the implication that I'm not as reliable as anyone else."

"Getting a bit touchy, are we?"

"Bug off."

About then a mixed group of strangers—say a hundred of them—came rolling into camp on wagons pulled by horses. By mixed I mean I identified at least a couple of Vallista, and a few Teckla, and some Dragons. I looked an inquiry at Virt, who said, "Engineers."

"Ah. What will they be engineering?"

"Defenses. Earthworks. Bulwarks. We're apparently going to be required to hold this position."

"This position? Where in blazes are we?"

"You'll see the Eastern Mountains in the daylight."

"Oh. I guess we made good time today."

"We did at that." I recalled Sethra's plans, and then wished I hadn't known them, because I suddenly got the impression that our entire company was a marker on a gameboard that she was going to be maneuvering around with no concern for the individuals who comprised it. In an effort to distract myself, I strained my eyes eastward, but in the failing light couldn't see any mountain.

"We're pretty high up, Boss; I can tell you that much."

"How?"

"It's noticeably harder to fly."

"Why should it be harder to fly just because you're starting higher?"

"That's for you higher order animals to figure out; we avians just do our business on instinct."

"You're not an avion, you're a reptile."

"I still don't know why it works that way."

"If you had opposable thumbs you probably would."

"You want to drop that opposable thumbs bit, Boss?"

I suddenly had the impression that there was something I'd meant to do, something I should be thinking about, something … oh. Right.

"Who is it?"

"Morrolan."

"What do you want?"

"Aren't you even going to thank me, Vlad?"

"For what?"

"There's never been a soldier born who wasn't grateful to get out of midnight guard duty."

"I see. No, I don't think I'm going to thank you. I take it this is a good night to act?"

"The Captain is expecting you, and I'll be there."

"On my way," I said, relieved to know that I hadn't been let out of picket duty because they didn't trust me, and then annoyed with myself for caring.

I made my way through the camp toward where the Captain's tent should be.

"This way, Boss."

"Thanks."

It was very dark by this time, but I found it with Loiosh's directions and by hearing the flap of the banner. Then I wandered around it like an idiot until I found the entrance. The worst part of this nonsense was that I kept finding myself doing things I wasn't good at, and that meant looking stupid, in front of my-self if no one else, and I've always hated that. I clapped outside of the tent.

"Enter," said the Captain, and at the same time I heard Morrolan's voice: "Please come in."

"Well," I said, stepping in. "How pleasant that we should all run into each other here."

"Sit down, Vlad," said Morrolan.

I did so. I tried to read the expression on the Captain's face, but I couldn't quite make it out. But from the instant I'd stepped into the tent, things were different, and I think he sensed it: I was no longer one of his soldiers; now I was something else, though he wasn't certain what. I suspect I enjoyed the sensation more than he did.

"Their nearest outpost is three miles northeast of us," Morrolan began without preamble. "We can expect an attack tomorrow."

"Which means I have things to do tonight."

"Yes."

"What, exactly, do you want?" Morrolan said, "Captain?"

The Captain's eyes widened, then he grunted, as if it all made sense to him now. "Let me think. We're still planning … uh … "

"You may speak in front of Vlad."

He grunted again. "We're still planning a withdrawal to the southeast?"

"Yes."

He considered some more, then said, "How much of his army are we facing?"

"About a third. We know another third is marching to reinforce, and he probably has a division that's trying to move around our flank."

"What if he decides not to attack? Maybe he'll wait for the other divisions to arrive. Functionally, they're an outpost; they're losing a big part of their advantage right from the start if they launch an attack."

"They may not; if they don't, we'll attack."

The Captain shook his head. "We're an advance guard. I don't like the idea of attacking."

"We won't commit a great deal of force, just enough to encourage a counterattack."

"Right. I know. But if they don't counterattack?"

"We have sufficient force to overrun this outpost. If they won't counterattack, we'll take it and let them try to take it back from us. As far as Sethra is concerned, that's just as good."

"She's the general."

"Yes, she is. But, in any case, Fornia is very aggressive. Sethra thinks he'll test us tomorrow."

"All right. In that case, assuming he is planning a morning assault, anything that will delay it for even an hour or two would be useful. I'd like to give the engineers a little more time."

Morrolan nodded and said, "Vlad?"

I shrugged. "I don't know this work. How would I go about it?"

"There are a number of possibilities," said Morrolan.

The Captain said, "Do you care if they identify it as sabotage right away?"

"All things being equal, it would be better if they didn't, but that's not a high priority."

"Okay, then. What if you just went in and put holes in their water barrels? They're going to need coffee, or at least water, before they go into action. That should set them back a bit."

"Not very elegant," I said. "But I should be able to do it."

"I have a better idea," said Morrolan, with a sudden glint of humor in his eyes. "I believe you are going to like this, Vlad."

"I'll just bet," I told him …

Thirty-four hours earlier I had been on picket duty, assigned to make sure no one could get in the camp unseen; now I was on the other side, trying to do exactly that. This side felt more natural to me, and my new sympathy with the opposition didn't get in my way.

Loiosh flew overhead, keeping an eye out for exactly where they were stationed, as I moved slowly toward where I had been told the enemy was camped. My feet made no sounds, my grey cloak blended into the night, and in my left hand was a small rod that would alert me well before I crossed the line of any sort of detection spell.

"Anything, Loiosh?" I asked, just because the silence was hard on my nerves.

"Not yet, Boss."

"Maybe they've packed up and left."

"I'll believe it if you will."

Then, "Found 'em, Boss. Three of them, straight ahead of you."

"I'll bear to the left, then."

"It's clear that way."

I kept moving, not too fast, avoiding any abrupt motions. Now I could see the embers of campfires, which not only gave me a target but made it harder for me to be spotted from within the camp. I remembered from last night that I'd only rarely looked back toward the camp; my attention had been focused outward. Still, I made certain not to stand between any of the fires and the picket spot Loiosh had identified.

There should have been an interior line of pickets as well, and there probably was, but I didn't see them and they didn't see me. Once I was in the camp it was easier; the fires had mostly burned down, and nearly everyone was asleep. I walked with confidence, as if I belonged there, and the few guards who were wandering around pretty much stared through me. '

"Do you see their banner?"

"Forty yards, this way."

I went that way. Light glowed from the overlarge tent to which Loiosh directed me, the flickering light of lamps. As I got closer I heard low voices—officers, no doubt, discussing plans for the morrow, when our "advance guard" would be "tested" by their "outpost."

There was a guard posted right in front of the tent, a very inconvenient place. But that was all right.

"Okay, Loiosh. Take it away."

"I'm there, Boss."

He launched himself from my shoulder and swooped on the guard, missing his head by about three feet. The guard swore and took a step back. Loiosh swooped again. The guard drew his sword and took an aimless swipe into the air. I drew a knife from my belt and found the flagpole.

It took about a second to cut the rope, and the banner slid down silently. Another second, and I was holding the banner in my hands. I slipped into the darkness behind a nearby tent and said, "Okay, Loiosh. I've got it. One down."

"I'll be there in a while, Boss."

"Loiosh … "

"Oh, come on, Boss. I'm having fun."

"Loiosh."

"All right, I'm coming."

Someone from inside the tent called, "What's that ruckus?" but I didn't hang around to hear the answer.

The others were easier; they were next to dark tents that had no sentries posted outside of them. It was just a matter of being careful and, as always, not getting caught. All in all it took about an hour, and then another twenty minutes to work my way back to our own lines.

Just for practice, I snuck past our own sentries and made my way to the Captain's tent. There was a sentry there, too, but to him I announced myself. He glanced at the bundle in my arms but didn't seem to recognize what it was. He announced me, then pulled aside the flap. The Captain and Morrolan were sitting around the Captain's table, drinking wine. I tossed my bundle onto the floor and said, "I'll have some of that, if you've any left."

"I think we can spare some," said Morrolan.

The Captain looked at the banners and laughed. "Well done," he said. "How many did you get?"

"Eleven."

"Well, well. We've captured eleven colors and haven't drawn sword. I wonder if history records its equal?"

"I very much doubt it," said Morrolan.

I drank some wine. Wine tastes especially good after you've pulled off something scary and you're easing up on muscles you hadn't known were tense.

"Any trouble?" said Morrolan.

"Nothing Loiosh couldn't handle."

"Heard and witnessed, Boss."

"Shut up, Loiosh."

The Captain said, "We ought, then, to have gotten a couple of hours' reprieve while they rig up some new colors, but we can't count on it. That means I still need to check on the earthworks."

"And you, Vlad," put in Morrolan, "should catch some rest. Tomorrow you stand to battle."

"Heh," I said. "What makes you think I'll be there?"

He shrugged and didn't answer, which left nothing to say, so I finished my wine and went off to get some sleep.

I think Morrolan's little scheme worked. At any rate, it wasn't until the ninth hour of the morning that they commenced their assault on our position.

I scanned the faces before me; mostly I was looking at warriors, all of them large and, well, scary-looking. Most of them were Dragonlords, but I saw at least two Dzurlords among them. They were all noticeably lacking in sympathy. Behind them were the sorcerers, and, though I couldn't see him, I knew Fornia was behind them somewhere, watching the progress of the battle—the slaughter—and making decisions that would let his forces do more of the slaughtering. That, after all, was what war was about.

Someone came forward, a Dragonlord I'd never seen before. He said, "I am Jurg'n e'Tennith. You are here to ask for terms?" He seemed doubtful. He probably didn't think Morrolan would send an Easterner.

I said, "Not exactly."

"To negotiate, then?"

I was considering how to answer this when someone else pushed his way through the warriors, and I recognized Ori. He said, "He's no negotiator; he's an assassin. Kill him."

Well, I reflected, that certainly put the negotiations on a different footing. Now would be a really good time to hear the juice-drum signaling "charge," and have the company come suddenly to my rescue. Unfortunately, I'd left them rather far behind, and any drum I was likely to hear would be support for those in front of me; not that they needed it.

All of which reminds me that I never much cared for the sound of the juice-drum, and provides another splendid opportunity to leave you hanging for a while. Don't worry, I'll come back to the fight in a little bit.

Where was I? Oh, yes: the juice-drum.

I'd pretty much hated it since the first time its call had woken me up earlier than I'd had to get up since I quit running a restaurant. It had woken me up even earlier than usual the morning of the attack. That day there wasn't a nearby creek, so those in charge had set up casks of water. I forced myself to shave. Shaving in cold water, by the way, isn't as much fun as they say. I decided it was a good omen, however, that I didn't cut myself. Virt, who was next to me at the water casks, explained that one difference between an elite corps and the usual sort of conscript army was that we were trusted to get ourselves up in the morning; in a conscript army the corporals came through the tents throwing everyone out and striking them with sticks if they weren't fast enough.

"And they aren't killed?"

"Corporals are hardly ever killed by conscripts. Officers, now, have to be a little careful."

I wanted her to explain that, but the juice-drum cut in again, and I realized with a kind of horror that I recognized the particular rattle and bang as the call to breakfast. Of course, there was a kind of horror associated with breakfast, too.

I tried forcing plain coffee down my throat, but only managed a swallow before I had to give up. Around me, everyone was swilling the stuff like it was peach brandy. I shrugged and ate a few biscuits, washing them down with water. Then I wandered back toward our tent, and only then noticed that, during the night, dirt had been piled up between us and the enemy camp, forming a kind of wall. Okay, now I knew what earthworks were.

Someone I didn't recognize came by and dumped a pile of javelins in front of the tent. Aelburr, who was standing there, picked up three of them, Virt did the same. That left six. I looked at them, then at Virt, then I picked up three of them.

Aelburr said, "You know how to use one of these?"

I thought he was asking about the javelin until I noticed he was handing me a whetstone. Wisecracks passed through my mind, but I only said, "Yes," and took it. He passed me a small flask of oil. There was already, all around, the scraping sound of weapons being sharpened. I added my voice to the chorus, but I only sharpened the javelins and my sword; I was feeling a bit bashful about my collection of nasties.

The bloody damn drum called out again. I hadn't heard that drum call before, and I hated it that I could tell it was unfamiliar. I asked Aelburr what it was. "It's called," he said, " 'Corporal's Tears.' It means squad leaders report to the Captain. They're getting final instructions for the battle." My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my face expressionless.

"Loiosh, keep your eyes opened for a good time to make myself scarce. Preferably before the fighting starts."

"Noted, Boss."

I continued sharpening javelins. Virt said, "How far did you throw that thing?"

"About sixty-five or seventy yards."

"All right, ignore the first command to launch; if you wait for the second they should be in about the right place. The first throw is just for annoyance anyway; the last two we send at them quickly, and you can aim."

"From that far away we should have time for more than two casts."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But over this kind of terrain, you'd be amazed at how fast they can cover ground at a charge. Depending on what sort of troops we're up against, of course."

"Do the javelins do any good?"

"A little. We dent some shields, anyway."

"Shields? They have shields? Why don't we get to have shields?"

"Do you know how to use a shield?"

"Uh … no. But still they'll have them."

"Probably. As I said, depends who we're up against. If it's cavalry, they won't have shields, but then we'll have other problems."

"Cavalry?"

"Or it might be a spear phalanx, in which case the javelins will be pretty much a waste of time, and we'll have to countercharge and try to flank them. It's up to the enemy what they throw at us. That's the advantage of attack."

"So, what do we have instead of shields?"

"We're light infantry. We have javelins and the capability to maneuver quickly."

"Oh, good."

"Boss, why do you care? You won't be there."

"I know. But I can't help thinking about what it would be like. This is no place for a self-respecting assassin."

"You knew that all along."

"Not viscerally."

The engineers came by, with more dirt to unload, build up, tramp down. I realized for the first time that as they went they were also digging a ditch in front of the thing. Virt and I watched them.

I said, "What do they do when it rains?"

"Hope there's a lot of wood around."

"For what?"

"For—"

And the juice-drum started up again.

"I've heard that one before," I said.

"Strike camp."

"Ah."

I was able to be a bit more help this time, and soon we had our backpacks in place, and, with our stools packed, we sat or knelt on the ground. There was no sign of the camp except for the pits where the fires had been. Then there came another call, this one I didn't recognize. "Let's go," said Virt. "Leave your pack by this mark and take the line."

"All right."

She walked toward the earthwork. Rascha motioned us toward a position, and I found myself between Virt and Napper. Napper wasn't scowling now; his eyes gleamed and as I watched he licked his lips, then bit them, first the top, then the bottom, then licked them again, and repeated.

"You okay?" I said.

"This," he said. "This is what it's all about."

"Oh," I said.

"Here they come," he said, his lips pulling back into a grin.

Oh, good. I was about to take a step back and get myself lost behind the lines when I noticed Virt looking at me. I stuck my javelins in the earthwork in front of me, drew my sword, and transferred it to my left hand. Maybe they'd throw something back at us and I could pretend to be hit, roll backward, and get out that way. No, that didn't sound practical. Maybe—

Virt clapped me on the shoulder. "You'll do fine, Easterner. Everyone—at least, everyone who isn't an idiot—is a little nervous before his first battle. You're worried you won't stand up to the test. It's normal. But once things get hot, you'll do fine. Trust me."

I'd never heard that line before, but it still sounded trite. For how many soldiers had words like that been the last thing they ever had spoken to them? Damned reassuring.

They appeared in a line in front of us, all at once. A whole lot of them. More than there were of us, I thought. They seemed to be walking at a steady pace, and I guessed the distance at about two hundred yards. A long way.

"Heavy infantry," said someone.

"Aim low," said someone else.

Virt tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped, but she was polite enough to ignore it. She said, "Their shields won't be long enough to protect their legs, and they'll naturally raise them once we release our javelins, so—"

"Got it," I said.

I guessed there were at least four or five thousand of them, which was more than ten times the number of our Company. Of course, it was more than just our Company on the line. I wondered how many of us there were all together. Not as many as there were of them. Soon they were close enough so that I could see they carried spears.

"Conscripts," someone said. "They'll break if we make it hot enough for them."

Napper was gnashing his teeth next to mm, as if it were all he could do not to charge out at them. Aelburr, just beyond him was tapping a javelin against the ground and whistling.

"Boss, what are you waiting for?"

"I can't run while she's watching me."

"Why not?"

"Because … I don't know. I just can't."

"Boss … "

"Loose javelins!" came the call from somewhere, and everyone except me did so. The enemy had gotten much closer, say a hundred yards away, and as our javelins flew they broke into a run. The flight of the javelins looked like we'd picked up a piece of black metal and thrown it as a body, dropping in on an enemy—

"Loose javelins!"

—who might not even have noticed for all the good they did, as I threw mine and instantly lost sight of it, and then I remembered that I was supposed to aim low, but the idea of aiming was beyond me as I picked up my second, readied it and—

"Loose javelins!"

—threw it, and who knows where it went, because they were awful close now, as I picked up my third—

"Prepare to engage!"

—and transferred it to my left hand while switching my sword to my right as they made it to the ditch, and over it, clawing at the earthworks, and everyone was yelling, including me, and there was this annoying wooden shield in my face, so I stuck my javelin into it and used it as a lever to force the thing away and then cut someone's face open, and I kept trying to move ahead, but there was this damned mound of dirt in front of me and I cut once more, hit someone's shield, then dropped to my knees and cut at the side of someone's legs, and then Virt was pulling me backward and saying, "Vlad! Vlad! It's over! Didn't you hear the drum?"

I stood there, panting for a moment, then, moved by exhaustion or disgust, I'm wasn't sure which, I pitched forward onto my face, rolled over onto my back, and lay there staring up at the sky and breathing. Oddly, it was only then that I became aware of screaming and invocations to various Gods from all around me. There was also some quieter moaning from nearby, but I didn't turn my head to look at it. I had an idea of what I'd see if I looked: bodies strewn here and there, many of them alive, some of them missing portions of themselves. The sound told enough of a story.

"You injured?"

"No," I heard myself say, and I wanted to laugh because the question was funny. Of all the things I could have said I was—hurt, damaged, destroyed, demolished, ruined—she'd asked the one question to which I had to answer "No."

Napper's face suddenly appeared above me. I couldn't read his expression because his face was upside down. There was blood spattered all over him, clothing and face. It seemed natural. He said, "You'll do, Easterner."

If I'd been able to move, I think I would have killed him.

I spent about five or ten minutes lying there before someone I didn't recognize knelt down next to me.

"We'll have to get that jerkin off," he said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The jerkin has to come off."

"Shouldn't we be introduced first?"

His smile came and went, like he'd heard that sort of thing before, and someone behind me grabbed my shoulders and pushed me up, and he started to pull my jerkin off.

"Wait a minute," I said.

"You'd rather bleed to death?"

"I—" I looked down and saw a gash in the jerkin, and there was a great deal of blood coming from it. Be damned. I was injured. Well, that gave me some justification for lying flat on my back staring up at the sky.

The funny thing was I still didn't feel anything. But, yeah, I'd managed to get myself cut. I didn't look closely, but it was within a couple of inches of the same place I'd been cut a few days before. My grandfather would have told me my fourth position guard was drifting up. My grandfather, no doubt, would have been right. I'd have to—

"The jerkin?" said the physicker.

"Go ahead," I told him.

He pulled the jerkin off, dropping four knives, a couple of shuriken, and three darts onto the ground. He gave me a look.

"What?" I said.

He shook his head. "Lie down."

"I can do that."

He poured something onto my side; it felt cold, but there was still no pain. However, I did feel a few drops of rain on my face, then a few more. The first couple felt nice. After that I hated it, and I only wanted to get out of the mud.

Mud.

Gods, but I hate mud. I'd never noticed it before, but now I think I'll hate it until they bury me in it. I had always thought my boots fit well, until the mud kept trying to pull them off my feet with each step. Sometimes it would succeed well enough that I had to step out of line, adjust, then run to catch up, and even without that I felt like I was constantly out of breath just from the extra effort. The water that leaked into my boots wasn't that much fun either. And now I was lying in it.

I began to shiver, which, more than the knowledge of the wound, made me feel weak and vulnerable. The physicker did a few things I'm not sure of, probably sorcerous but maybe not, then he slapped a bandage onto my side and put some sort of cloth against my skin that held the bandage in place. They were both instantly soaked with water; maybe they'd have carried me to someplace dry if I were more seriously injured or if there were any such place.

The rain increased to a driving torrent, and I hated it.

"Why didn't you tell me I was wounded?"

"I was afraid if I did it would start to hurt."

"Oh. You're pretty smart for a guy with no opposable thumbs."

"Thank you so much."

"That should do," I was told. "Take it easy with that side for a few days."

Physickers always say things like that. What exactly did he mean? Was I supposed to avoid having any more holes put in it? Good plan. I'd go with it.

"Okay," I told him. "Thank you."

He grunted and moved on. There were no more screams, but there were still a few moans that I could hear over the sound of rain striking wooden shields, metal swords, and whatever else was there to make sound against. Whoever had helped with my jerkin now helped me stand up, which made my side hurt, but not badly, which was just as well since I don't much care for pain. It turned out to be Aelburr. I said, "Anyone else hurt?" which of course was a stupid question, but he knew what I meant.

"Napper lost some skin on his left hand, but nothing else."

"Can't one of our sorcerers stop this Verra-be-damned rain?"

"I suspect our sorcerers are more exhausted than anyone else on the field."

"Oh. I suppose. Any idea what happens now?"

"We've picked up our wounded and our javelins, that's always the first thing. Now, I imagine, we'll re-form and—"

The juice-drum cut in again. I was getting very tired of the thing. Aelburr paused, then said, "Or maybe we retreat to a prepared position."

"What does that mean?"

"With luck, it means the higher-ups had this in mind all along. Without luck, it means we're running and they don't want us to fall apart."

"Oh. Yeah. I didn't have to ask: They had it planned."

"How do you know that?"

"Uh … I'm an Easterner. We know things."

He didn't look convinced, but he did help me find my pack, get my heavy cloak out and on, and then put the converted satchel onto my back. That hurt, too, but I could carry it.

"Carry it on the wounded side," said Aelburr.

"Excuse me?"

"If you carry it on the healthy side the wound will open up." That made too much sense for me to ignore it, so I did as I was told, then made my way up to the mudworks, which were vanishing into the field, and stared out; I could just make the enemy out through the drizzle, formed in a solid, even line, not moving, about a hundred and fifty yards away.

The command came a little later, and this time it was in plain words: "Fall back!" Seemed like a fine idea. Rascha came along and formed us into something like a line, and then Crown yelled something and everyone else turned around so I did, too; we began to move, in one long line, the Captain to the extreme right, our backs to the enemy. We started out at a quick trot, which I can safely say that everyone in the company was better at than I was, but I kept up. Eventually, on command, we dropped it back to a fast march, which we kept up much too long, and then we halted and turned and waited.

The rain stopped at last, and it was followed by a bitter wind that was only partially blocked by my rain-drenched cloak. Happiness, I decided, would be a nice campfire, proving once again that happiness is minor misery where before was extreme misery, if that ever needed proving. But there was no fire, and we waited.

At the time I had no idea what was going on, or how our part fit into Sethra's grand design, nor, to be honest, did I give it even a passing thought; but it is rare that a foot soldier has the chance to ask questions of his commanding general over a glass of red wine, and I had that advantage, so I ought to give you the benefit of what I was able to learn, later, when I had the leisure for curiosity.

Most of the division led by Morrolan had been about half a day's march away from us the entire time, and while we pulled back after their first attack, they were advancing. The engineers had been killing themselves preparing a defensive position for just this circumstance, and it was Sethra's hope (though not, she says, her expectation) that their entire corps could be lured into battle against our company and the other companies in the van, which would hold them just long enough for Morrolan's division to arrive and scatter, trap, or crush them. Of course, it didn't work that way, and what happened instead is that we fell back to the "fortified" position and stayed there for an entire day convinced we were to be attacked any minute, and then we abruptly broke camp and marched away in another direction entirely, which turned out to be due east, rather than the southeast that Sethra had originally planned on. I don't know what led to the change; none of my business, I suppose.

I found it annoying, but everyone else seemed to take it as just part of the routine. The rains plagued us for the next day, and most of the conversation was about incompetent sorcerers who couldn't manage the simplest weather control, and speculations about whether the whole thing was the work of Fornia's sorcerers. We could all see that the weather system above us was too large and complex to be considered "simple" but that didn't stop the remarks. I'd have hated to be a sorcerer; I'd have had to kill someone.

At the end of that day's march, with the rain still coming down, all of us soaked to the skin, and the ambulances having already carried our wounded back toward the rear, we held services for the nine soldiers in our company who'd been killed. The Captain gathered us together in formation facing the presumed enemy (I don't know if they were five hundred yards from us or twenty miles at that point) and stood there flanked by tall torches, so we could see him. The bodies lay naked in front of us, wounds hidden, torsos glistening with rain and the embalming oils that would preserve them between here and Deathgate. I knew they were dead because they were the only ones present who weren't shivering.

The Captain spoke of the pride of the House of the Dragon and promised the souls of each of the fallen that they would be sent to the Paths of the Dead, where he was confident they would be received with honor. He named them, and their rank (none higher than corporal), and asked the Lords of Judgment to look kindly upon them, and then said a few words in the ancient tongue of the House of the Dragon.

I felt as out of place as I'd ever felt anywhere, and I kept waiting for my natural cynicism to rescue me, but it was off catching up on the sleep that the rest of me wanted. Loiosh, too, was silent, and there was little talk as we broke up into squads and returned to our tents. I did ask Virt, in a quiet voice, how these things were handled, and was told that the bodies were to be placed on wagons and an honor guard sent to convey them to Deathgate Falls.

"Beyond that," she said, "who knows?"

Well, I did. At least, I had a pretty good idea, but it didn't seem right to say so. I was the only one in the company who had personal experience of what lay beyond Deathgate; I was also the only one in the company who had no right to the knowledge and the only one who, if killed in action, would not be sent there.

My natural cynicism finally appeared, but by then it was time to sack out for the night, so I could arise, rested and alert, and spend another day marching through rain and mud and eating bad food.

After a couple of days, the rains realized that we weren't going to quit so they stopped, and even the overcast became higher and thinner. There were mountains before us now: the Eastern Mountains in general, and Mount Drift in particular; I remembered it from the map. There was no more rain at all, as we had reached the dry lands west of the mountains; by whim of the Gods or freak of nature, the eastern slopes of the mountains were lush and forested while the western would have been desert were it not for the mountain streams, washes, and rivers that made their way across.

Now that the rain was gone, however, it was too hot, much too hot for marching, anyway. Both of my cloaks were stowed, my pack weighed a million pounds, give or take a couple, and even the little uniform cap was an irritation; the first thing everyone did when we stopped was take it off. On the other hand, I learned then what it was for: It kept the dust out of our eyes as we marched. Apparently cooling spells, or even wind spells, were too much work for the sorcerers of the company, and so those of us who knew a little sorcery, which was fortunately most of us, took turns attempting to summon up a breeze. This broke down by the second day of marching, after which we just put up with it.

I was now consuming six or seven biscuits at a meal, to show to what depths the human animal can be reduced. And we still had no idea to where we were marching, nor for what purpose. Well, I had a vague idea, thanks to having been at the one planning session, but it is one thing to hear elaborate strategic plans; it is quite another to spend a week marching with no knowledge of what was ahead except, in the most general terms, that we'd probably fight at some point. Stopping was a relief, but now, ironically, there was little reason to stop. We were on a good road cut by someone sometime for some reason through the harsh, rocky ground, but even the ground would have been passable, so we just trudged on and tried to make it to the next water break without screaming or choking on the dust kicked up by those in the front. My side did feel better.

Eventually, late one evening, we reached the Eastern River. I had assumed we would stop there, but whoever was in charge—that is to say, Sethra Lavode—wouldn't hear of it. We were to cross at once, we heard. I studied the river in the fading light and would have scowled but I didn't want to look like Napper.

There were grey, water-smoothed stones on the far side of the river, and smooth sandy banks near us; I'm willing to listen to explanations for that if you have any. Beyond it Mount Drift was getting close, and its companions were appearing tall and impassible. Impassible didn't bother me, because I didn't think we were going to pass them; as opposed to the river, where the engineers were already at work with wooden planks, floats made of sheep bladders, and prefabricated fittings. The river was wide here, and fast, but, we were informed, not more than four feet deep. "Not more than four feet deep" had a sound I didn't like. The evening, ironically, had turned quite cool, so walking through water, for which I'd have traded my best dagger the day before, had, now, nothing to recommend it.

"Are they going to ask us to ford it?" I asked Virt, gesturing significantly at the engineers busily putting together their makeshift bridge.

"That's what I'd do," she said irritatingly. "We should have a force on the other side before we start to bring the wagons across, and the sooner the better."

"Why?" I said, just because I was annoyed.

"Well, we have to figure the enemy is nearby; we've been skirting his territory for days, and he can't let us just wander anywhere."

I mentally pulled out the map of the area. Oh, that's where we were. Okay, that made sense; once we crossed the river, we could follow it downstream right into the heart of Fornia's territory; if Sethra wanted to force him to attack us, that would be the way to do it.

The drum ripped out, and by now I had no trouble recognizing the call to form up and prepare to move. We did, grumbling. Virt and Aelburr seemed like the only two in the company who didn't mind; just my luck to be in the only squad in the company with two irritatingly cheerful footsloggers. I made a remark to that effect to Napper, who nodded glumly.

Rascha approached before we started across and said, "Taltos, you're a bit shorter than the rest; if you want to wait for a wagon you can."

"I'm fine," I said.

"Boss, I'm never going to figure you out."

"Shut up."

The Captain led the way, dismounting and leading his horse across, then we moved out, and got wet and cold and fought the current, and climbed up over the rocks on the other side and moved back about a hundred yards from the bank. Eventually fires were lit, and we put up our tent by their light, and they served the food, and we sat around the fires getting warm and dry, which translated to happy, which in turn translated to not too discontented.

At the next fire over, they were playing S'yang Stones, and I knew that Aelburr would be there, maybe following my advice and winning, but more likely playing his own game and losing. I thought about playing myself, but sitting by the fire was too pleasant. Napper was off somewhere; the rumor was he'd formed a liaison with a woman in another company. I ended up sitting next to Tibbs, who kept trying to find humorous anecdotes that I thought were funny, and failing. When he got to the one about the headless private carrying the legless corporal back to the physicker, Loiosh said, "Aw, c'mon, Boss. That was funny."

"If you say so," I said.

"If you stay in the army long, Boss, your sense of humor is going to vanish entirely."

We were joined by a young-looking Dragonlord; in the flickering of the campfire he seemed little more than a boy. Tibbs said, "Hey, Dunn. Where have you been?"

"Fishing."

"Catch anything?"

"No."

"Told you."

"I had to try."

"Yeah, you did, didn't you? This is Vlad. Vlad, Duntt."

"I've seen you."

"A nice guy, Boss; he's fed me."

"All right, Loiosh. I won't kill him, then."

Dunn and I exchanged greetings. Tibbs said, "What are you looking so glum about?"

Dunn said, "Crown says I still can't carry the colors next time we go into action."

"Congratulations," said Tibbs. "Why are you so all-fired anxious to be killed?"

Dunn didn't answer. Tibbs shook his head and remarked, "You should have been a Dzur."

"I'd challenge you to a duel for that," said Dunn, "but there aren't enough of you."

Tibbs gave a short, barking laugh.

Rascha came by about then, wished us all a good evening, and said, "You may want to sharpen your weapons tonight."

Tibbs said, "You think we'll see action tomorrow?"

"Nothing's for certain, but it looks likely."

We nodded and thanked her for the information. I went back to the tent and borrowed Aelburr's whetstone, then returned to the fire and put it to use.

Loiosh said, "What about the whole plan to bug out when the fighting starts, Boss?"

"Shut up, Loiosh."

I spent last night with Cawti, an Eastern girl who has agreed to marry me. She has a wonderful smile and a good hand with a dagger, and she knows how to listen. We lay in my bed, pleasantly exhausted, her hair all over my chest and my arm around her shoulder, and I spoke with her about the proposal from Sethra the Younger. She listened without a word until I ran down, then she said, "And?"

"And what?" I said.

"And why did you expect anything different?"

"Well, I don't suppose I did."

"Are you still angry?"

"Not so much. Like you said, I should have expected it."

"And what about her proposal?"

"What about it? Can you imagine me accepting it?"

"Certainly."

"You can?"

"I have a great imagination."

"Among other things, yes. But—"

"But, if she hadn't been so annoying, what would you have thought about it?"

"Why should I care?"

"Aliera."

"What about her?"

"She's why you should care."

I sat up just a little, found a glass of a very dry white wine that we'd kept cold by setting it in a bucket of ice. I drank some, then held the glass for Cawti. She squeezed my shoulder by way of thanks, and I said, "You think I owe her something?"

"Don't you?"

"Hmmmm. Yeah. What with one thing and another, I suppose so."

"Then you should probably tell her about the offer, so she can decide for herself."

"I hate the idea of doing a service for Sethra the Younger."

"Yes, I know. I hardly blame you, but … "

"Yes, but."

The wine went down nicely. A welcome breeze came through the window.

"I think it's going to rain," said Cawti.

"I'll speak to Aliera tomorrow," I said.

"Would you like me to come along?"

"Very much," I said.

"All right. I think I'm sleepy now."

"Sleeping comes highly recommended as a cure for that."

"You think? Next you'll tell me that eating is a good cure for hunger."

"Temporary, but it'll take care of the symptoms. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, but I'm more sleepy."

"Then we'll have breakfast tomorrow. One problem at a time."

"Good idea," she said sleepily, and nestled into my shoulder.

"I wonder what Aliera will say. She doesn't think much more of Sethra the Younger than I do."

Cawti didn't answer. If she wasn't already asleep she was close to it. I set the wineglass down next to the table, then pulled the covers up. Outside, it began to rain. I thought about shuttering the windows, but it was too much work, and the rain smelled nice.

That was yesterday. This morning Cawti and I found Aliera in the library of Castle Black. Going there today, after spending so much time thinking about, remembering, those first few times I'd been within the walls of that peculiar place, caught me up. I looked at it as if seeing it anew—as I'd first seen it years ago before war and love and war. To me Castle Black has always seemed palatial, with the grand, sweeping stairway and the three great chandeliers lighting the enormous hallway, all of them decorated by artwork one might expect to find in the Imperial Palace itself, artwork that is violent and beautiful at once, as, I suppose, are the Dragons at their best.

At their worst they are brutal and ugly.

Aliera said, "Greetings, Vlad, Cawti."

We both bowed. Cawti said, "How is Norathar?"

"Adjusting. Becoming reconciled. She'll make a good Empress."

I glanced at my betrothed, but if the subject was still painful for her, which I was certain it was, she gave no sign of it. Every once in a while I wondered how the House of the Dragon felt about its next Empress having once been a Jhereg assassin, but chances were good I'd be long dead by the time the Cycle turned, so I didn't give it that much thought, and it was one of the things Cawti and I still had trouble talking about so I don't know how she felt about it.

I said, "I have a proposal for you."

Aliera put down her book—I didn't catch the title—and tilted her head. "Yes?" she said, in a tone that indicated, "This is bound to be good."

"It comes from Sethra the Younger."

Her green eyes narrowed and appeared slightly grey. "Sethra the Younger," she repeated.

"Yes."

"What does she want?"

"Kieron's greatsword."

"Indeed? The sword of Kieron the Conqueror. She wants me to give it to her. Well, isn't that sweet."

"I'm just passing on a message."

"Uh-huh. And what is she offering for it?"

"I think you can guess, Aliera."

Aliera studied me, then slowly nodded. "Yes, I suppose I can, at that. Why don't you both sit down."

She looked at us, her grey eyes squinting. She held her wineglass, a fine piece of cut crystal, so that the chandelier made a rainbow through it that decorated the dark wood table next to her.

"What do you two think?" she said at last.

"We're delighted, of course," I said. "We'd like nothing better than to have Sethra the Younger butcher a few thousand Easterners."

She nodded. "There's more to this than that, however."

"Yes," I said. "There is."

"I'm surprised you're even bringing me the proposition."

"I wasn't going to," I said. "But Cawti talked me into it."

Aliera turned an inquiring gaze at Cawti, who said, "It's something you should know about."

She nodded. "Morrolan claims to have an idea what it is, but Sethra the Younger claimed it, and he didn't have the—well, he chose not to dispute it."

"If you get it," I said, "he still won't. Unless you give it to him."

"It may be," she said, "that, whatever it really is, a Great Weapon, as we suspect, or something else entirely, it has been trying to come to me all along."

I thought back on the Serioli, and on the Wall, and on everything that had happened, and I said, "That is a disgusting thought."

She turned her glance to me, frowning as if I'd spoken in a foreign language, but continued her thought without answering me. "If so, to fail to take it would be to ask for more trouble, and greater."

"On the other hand," I said, "I seem to remember Kieron the Conqueror promising to come after you if you gave his sword away."

"Yes," said Aliera. "And that is, of course, another advantage."

There was a certain amount of doubt in the eyes of the soldiers in front of me, either because they weren't all that happy about cutting down a single unarmed Easterner or, more likely, because Ori was not authorized to give them orders. But for whatever reason, they hesitated; Ori, on the other hand, did not. He took a step forward, and as his arm came up, I let Spellbreaker fall into my hand, and then there was something black and ugly crackling and coming toward me.

And here my memory plays tricks on me again, because I know how fast such things move, and so I know I didn't really have time to make the cold, disinterested observation that I remember making, and I certainly wouldn't have had time to deliberately fall over backward while swinging Spellbreaker before me, and to listen to the crackling in the air, and notice that particular odor that accompanies thunderstorms, and be simultaneously planning what I was going to say if I were still able to say it, but that's how I remember it happening, and if my memory is to defy reason, well, I still have to go with my memory, and so there is the smell, the crackle, the roll, and even now the muscle memory of Spellbreaker's weight in my hand, and the feel of the ground beneath me, and even a small rock that bruised my shoulder as I hit, rolled, and came up, aware that my left arm was numb, and my brain was going tick tick tick as I made deductions and decisions and was able to keep my voice cool and rational as I said, "That was uncalled for, Ori. Do it again and I'll destroy you. I'm here to talk, not to kill, but if I change my mind I'll burn you where you stand even if your bodyguards slice me to ribbons in the next instant. Now stop it, and we'll talk."

I caught his eye and held it, and for a moment I didn't even notice the twenty-odd Dragonlords who might or might not be about to cut me down. I waited. Before me stretched gentle, green hills; behind rose the cliff called the Wall, with the plain flat monument to Baritt, his "tomb" standing up before it; and around me were the Eastern Mountains; they all seemed to hold their breath with me. I wondered if I were to die here. It would have been appropriate if I'd had some sort of premonition, but I don't get premonitions, at least, not reliable ones. In any case, I'd had no premonition when I had first reached the Eastern Mountains.

At their feet, I had learned when we first reached them, long miles from where I now stood, the day arrives suddenly. For once I was almost glad to be made to wake up early, because otherwise I should never have seen the red and gold tickling the peak of Mount Drift in the false dawn, with the overcast, very high and thin, looking like a product of the mountain, and the splintered light turning the camp into a giant field of mushrooms and the river into a ribbon of purple.

Forgive me; you know we hardened soldiers are all philosophers, and philosophers are all poets. Well, actually, we hardened soldiers are usually drunks and whoremongers, but philosophy's a good way to pass the time in between.

I was poetically given latrine duty that day. Rascha explained, apologetically, that there hadn't been enough "defaulters" to do the job, so lots had been drawn, and my name had come up. But I could breakfast first. I took it philosophically.

I won't spend a lot of time describing latrine duty, but I can say it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be—a lot of digging, mostly, and, in any case, everyone else was involved in digging more earthworks under the guidance of the engineers, so it wasn't much more work than what everyone else was doing, just slightly more unpleasant. I did get a laugh out of a few of my comrades by taking a piece of salted kethna, throwing it into the pit I'd just dug, and covering it over. "Just thought I'd cut out the middle part," I explained.

But I learned one thing of real value that impressed itself upon my consciousness even more than it had during the march, which is when I first began to suspect it: A Dragonlord squatting over a field toilet looks no more dignified than anyone else in that position. That is knowledge I am happy to carry with me.

We held the position on the riverbank for three days, three relatively pleasant days, in fact. It was hot, but we didn't have anything to do except relax or bathe in the river, and, best of all, no one tried to kill us. I had thought we were waiting there with the expectation of being attacked, but I learned later that, in fact, what we were doing was letting the other divisions move into position for a three-pronged attack on the heart of Fornia's realm. Fornia, of course, was busy with marches and countermarches to defend against exactly this. We heard rumors of skirmishes on our flanks, and they turned out to be true, but they were only minor, unimportant little probes of our defenses—unimportant, that is, except to whoever was killed or maimed in the actions. Since the fatalities were all in other companies, we didn't have funeral services for them.

Most of our time was spent sitting around gabbing—or, in the case of Napper and me, complaining. Most of the conversation was pretty low on the scale: sex and liquor, with drugs and food coming second. The rest of the conversation was at a considerably higher level—there was very little middle ground. Philosophizing, as I mentioned before, is a highly respected activity. At one point I said to Virt, "The trouble with you Dragonlords is that to you killing is so impersonal."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I'd expect to hear from a Jhereg."

"How so?"

"I'd thought some of your associates were in the habit of having people killed for business reasons."

"Sure," I said. "But one at a time."

"I imagine that's an important distinction to whoever gets it."

"Well, no; but it matters a great deal to everyone else in the neighborhood."

"Maybe to the House of the Dragon," she said, "the means must be broader because the ends are more sweeping."

"Excuse me?"

"We're not fighting for control of this-or-that brothel, but for this-or-that barony. While that may not be better, it is certainly bigger, so there would naturally be bigger forces involved."

"You think that accounts for it?"

"It is, at least, the most widely accepted theory, and I believe it."

"Uh … 'the most widely accepted … ' There are theories about this?"

"Oh, certainly. There are theories about every aspect of war."

"I see. And are they useful?"

"Some more so than others. But the ones that aren't useful are usually entertaining."

"I see. I hadn't thought of 'entertaining' as having much to do with war."

"No, you wouldn't have. And the idea that it might be probably disgusts you." I didn't say anything. After a moment she said, "Haven't you ever been in mortal danger and discovered after it was over that you'd been having the time of your life? Haven't you ever taken pleasure in making detailed plans, pleasure that had nothing to do with how good, or bad, or important, the end result was? Can't you imagine the pleasure in setting up a complex problem and watching the pieces line themselves up, and all the forces come together, and having things work out the way you wanted them to?"

This, of course, set me thinking of Assassinations I Have Known. I said, "Yes."

"Well?"

"Yes, but."

She nodded. "Go on." It occurred to me suddenly that she was enjoying the conversation. Then I realized that I was, too. Was this significant of something?

I let my mind run and my eyes wander; she waited patiently. I said, "Well, maybe it's just numbers. But it seems that the more lives are being lost, the more important the cause ought to be. Don't you think?"

" 'Ought' is a tricky word. So is 'important.' "

"I can't deny what you say about danger. Yes, certainly, even though I try to avoid putting myself in danger, I know what you mean about the feeling of, well … "

"Of being fully alive?" she said.

"Yes, that's it. But that's me, and maybe even the guy I'm facing, if he's another volunteer. But what about those conscripts you've mentioned?"

"They're Teckla," she said.

"True," I admitted. "Okay, back to 'ought' and 'important,' then—"

She laughed suddenly. "You'd make a good tactician. I don't know about strategist, but certainly a tactician."

"I don't think I want to know why," I said.

"All right, then. Back to 'ought' and 'important.' They're moral judgments, aren't they?"

"Is that illegal in this dominion?"

"Not at all. But, traditionally, they're considered too important to be trusted to foot soldiers."

"Ah, tradition," I said. "Well, do you believe that?"

"Of course not," she said. "At least, no one can help thinking about the why's of what we're fighting for. And it does no harm, as long as you don't think about it just when someone is trying to skewer you."

"Well then," I said. "Let's get down to specifics. Fornia is as power-hungry as—well, he's power-hungry." I'd been about to say "as Dragons always are," but caught myself. "So is Morrolan. Their lands are next to each other, and Morrolan wants to make sure Fornia isn't able to threaten him, and, of course, Fornia doesn't want his lands invaded, so they make up a pretext of insult, and a few tens of thousand of us start hacking at each other. How do we fit that into 'ought' and 'important'?"

"You're here for much the same reason, aren't you? Fornia offended you, so you're going to kill a few perfect strangers?"

"I'm one man. I'm not commanding an army to do my killing for me."

"You think Morrolan should challenge him to a duel?"

"No, I think Morrolan should kill him."

"How? Assassination?"

"Why not? Anyone can be assassinated."

"So I've heard," she said dryly. I expected her to start in on the cant about how horrid it was to assassinate an enemy compared to honorable battle, and I was all set with a tirade about the death of one versus the death of hundreds or thousands, but she didn't go there. She said, "And, if he succeeded, what would then happen? Do you imagine Fornia has no friends, no family, none who would take offense?"

"If no one knew—"

"Is that how it usually works, my dear Jhereg? When someone is killed in your House, is it not usually known who benefits from his death?"

I didn't have a good answer; she was right. In the Jhereg, you usually wanted it known who had the guy shined; that way it served as a warning to the next guy who might think about committing whatever offense had put a polish on the victim.

"All right," I said. "I concede the point. Assassination would be impractical in cases like this."

"Well, then?"

I grinned. "There's always negotiation."

"Certainly," she said. "As long as you can threaten war, you'll always be able to negotiate."

"I was kidding."

"I know. I was being serious."

"You'd make a good enforcer. I might not want to give you your own territory, but I'd certainly hire you to collect debts."

For an instant she looked annoyed, then she gave me a smile and said, "All right. Well taken."

"Who is that?" I said, gesturing with my eyes.

"Who? Oh. His name is Dortmond. I'm not sure what line he is of. He's been in the company for most of two hundred years. He certainly knows how to campaign, doesn't he?"

"Except that he has to carry it all."

"He's big enough. It all collapses, and I believe he's been known to bribe the wagoners to bring some of his excess along."

The man in question was a couple of tents down from us. He was, indeed, a very large man, of middle years, with long hair and good features for a Dragon. He had his cap pulled down over his eyes and was sitting in front of his tent on what seemed to be a canvas-and-wood chair, complete with back. His feet were on a small footstool of similar construction, and by his elbow was a table, on which sat a wine bottle; a goblet was in his hand, and he was smoking a large black pipe. I watched him for a moment. The complete soldier, all his spare energy devoted to wresting luxury from the tedium of camp life.

"You should see the inside of his tent," said Virt.

"Oh?"

"Double-sized cot with extra padding, pillows, and bug netting. He's painted the bug netting, too; it shows a mountain scene with a wolf howling."

"That is a lot to carry."

"The cot is awfully comfortable, though."

"How—never mind."

Virt didn't answer the question I'd almost asked, but silently watched him along with me. He probably expected to serve as a foot soldier all his life, perhaps someday reaching the rank of corporal. He gave the impression of perfect contentment with his lot. Virt seemed to share my thoughts; eventually she said, "There are worse lives than that of the soldier, you know."

"Evidently," I said. "But you'll never be content with it."

"Me? Oh, no. If I'm killed in battle, it'll be on the way up the Tanks."

"And what about Napper?"

"Him? You know, I think he's every bit as contented with his life as Dortmond."

"What about her?" I asked, gesturing toward a slim lady who had just walked up to Dortmond. "She looks, oh, I don't know. Peaceful. Nice. Friendly. Something like that."

"Neera e'Lanya. She is. As sweet a girl as you'd ever meet. She's the peacemaker whenever two people in the squad start getting on each other's nerves."

"And now you're going to say that, in battle, she turns into a berserker, right? Dragon rage, spitting, killing with her bare hands?"

"You got it."

"She's really like that?"

"She really is."

"Dragons are weird," I said.

After the evening meal, such as it was, I was called to the Captain's tent once more, and once more the Captain seemed a bit nervous, and once more Morrolan was there.

"Well, Vlad," he said. "Are you prepared to strike another blow for freedom?"

"Is that what we're doing?"

"No, but it sounds better than helping a wealthy and powerful aristocrat maintain his wealth and power."

"Have you been listening in on my conversations?"

"No, why?"

"Never mind. What do you want me to do?"

"Fornia," said Morrolan, "likes to send troops into battle with a full belly. It—"

"The dastard," I said.

"—would be to our advantage, then, if that proved to be impossible."

"I imagine. You're expecting them to attack?"

"It seems likely. They've brought up a number of units, and ours are still arriving. The longer they wait, the stronger we are. Mill's brigade should be arriving sometime tomorrow morning between the eighth hour and the ninth; if they're here before the action begins, we should be able to mount a nice counterattack."

I nodded and didn't express my thought about how "nice" a counterattack was likely to be. I said, "All right. Yeah, I'll interfere with their breakfast. You have something specific in mind?"

He did. I laughed, though it wouldn't be all that funny to the soldiers on the other side. I said, "Won't that just put them in a bad mood?"

"Yes. No doubt their officers will blame it on us and give them good rousing speeches. But it'll also disorganize them and delay their attack. And, of course, it won't help their morale to realize that we can get in and out of their camp any time we like."

"Well, that's what I signed on for," I said. "Where are they?"

"Downriver about half a mile."

"Right along the river?"

"Yes. For the same reason we are."

"We could make use of that, you know. We could mess with their drinking water or—"

"There are traditions involved, Vlad; we don't do that. Officially."

"Officially?"

"I mean nothing organized. But I've never heard of a unit that was upriver of the enemy who could resist a few pranks, at least."

"You must tell me about them."

"Another time."

"All right. In any case, it should be easy enough, with them right next to the river. How many of them are there?"

"More than there are of us," he said. "But then, we're dug in pretty good. Why do you need to know?"

"I have to know how much I'm after, don't I?"

"Oh. Yes." He did some calculation. "More than one wagon, probably more than two, fewer than six."

"Ah. An exact science, I see."

"Plus, of course, whatever they've already taken off the wagons."

"Right. Plus that."

"They won't have unloaded much; they won't know exactly when they'll be moving out. Of course, your target will be toward the rear."

"Okay," I said. I did some calculating, trying to figure out the best way to go about it; difficult, without complete information. "It'll be easier if I have some help. A lot easier."

The Captain spoke for the first time: "How much help?"

"Two should do it. Just extra hands to speed matters up."

"I don't want to lose valuable troops."

"Glad to hear it. I doubt they want to be lost. I know I don't."

He started to respond, glanced at Morrolan, cleared his throat, and said, "Perhaps some of your tent-mates, to keep the gossip down."

"They'd do."

"Who's your corporal?"

"Rascha."

"Very well, I'll speak with her."

"Good enough," I said. "I'll set off around midnight."

He nodded. Loiosh said, "This should be fun, Boss."

"Sure, Loiosh. Maybe you'll get a promotion out of it."

I went back to my tent and pulled my cloak out of my satchel. Virt and Napper were sitting in front of the fire, sharpening their weapons. Aelburr was inside, catching a nap. He opened one eye and said, "Not going to sleep like a sane person?"

"A sane person wouldn't be here."

A corner of his mouth twitched and he went back to sleep. I stepped out of the tent and sat down next to the others.

"Nice night," said Virt.

It was, actually. I hadn't noticed. I realized that I didn't notice the weather unless it was bad. Napper, however, said, "She means she doesn't have picket duty tonight."

"How 'bout you?" I said.

"No. Probably tomorrow, though."

"Tomorrow," said Virt, "we'll be somewhere else. Either up-river or downriver."

"There will still be picket duty, though. And, most likely, worse weather."

"True enough," I said, because I agreed with him. I checked the various goodies in my cloak, then checked the time and found that I had a few hours to wait, so I set about sharpening my blade.

A little later Rascha came by. She gave me a funny look, worked her mouth a couple of times like she was having trouble talking, then she said, "Aelburr! Virt!"

Virt said, "I'm right here, you know."

Aelburr poked his head out and said, "Yeah?"

"You're both assigned to Taltos here for tonight."

I felt them looking at me while I studied the top of the tent in front of me, just to see if it was straight.

"What is it?" said Virt.

"He'll explain," said Rascha with distaste, and moved along quickly.

They both gave me inquiring looks. So did Napper. The top of the tent was reasonably straight. I said, "It's nothing much. I've been asked to cook tomorrow."

Napper made a grimace. Virt said, "There's something you're not telling us."

"Yeah, well. I'll explain later."

"How much later?" said Aelburr. "Is this going to interfere with my sleep schedule?"

"Think of it as picket duty. Sort of."

The three of them exchanged glances. "All right," said Virt. "When are you going to explain?"

"Around midnight, we're going to take a walk. We'll go past our own pickets. Then I'll explain."

"Ah," said Aelburr. "An adventure." He didn't look pleased.

Virt said, "I don't know how good I'd be at sneaking around."

"You don't have to be either silent or invisible; you just have to not be heard sneaking or seen skulking."

"Excuse me?"

"Once we get to, uh, where we're going—"

"I like the sound of that."

"—you hide behind any handy objects, but in getting to them you just walk. Don't crawl, and don't try to walk silently. If there's any of that to be done, I'll do it. And you'll be going without your swords."

"How did we get so lucky?" said Virt.

I shrugged. "You have the good fortune to bunk with me. Not only do you get to listen to me snore, you also get to go and get killed with me."

Napper cleared his throat and looked at me with narrowed eyes.

"Sure," I said. "You can come, too."

He nodded.

Soon after midnight we set out, creeping along the river. At roughly the halfway point between the pickets, I stopped and sketched out the plan in a whisper; then I motioned them to follow me before they could ask questions I didn't want to answer or, more important, think about what we were doing. Having them thinking would do no one any good.

Loiosh spotted the enemy pickets and guided us past them. I don't think any of my little band figured out what Loiosh was up to; they just followed me. That was best. Once past the pickets, we had to remain hidden until Loiosh and I could identify the cook-tent. We entered the enemy camp and I had them wait while Loiosh and I searched. The supply wagons were near the mess-tent, which was both good and bad for my purposes. The cook-tent was less than thirty yards from the river, which was good.

"Well? Are they guarded?"

"Four guards, Boss. Moving rightwise around the wagons and the tent. You want to try the same trick we used last time? That was fun."

"No. Too much danger they figured it out. And I won't discuss your idea of 'fun'."

"What then?"

"We wait"

"Clever, Boss. Do you think if I had opposable thumbs I could come up with plans like that?"

"Shut up, Loiosh."

I returned to where my compatriots were hidden, and, in the flickering half-light of the enemy campfires I indicated that we would just be sitting there for a while. I couldn't see their expressions. I was just as glad.

It was neither warm nor pleasant, but they were used to waiting for action, and, for that matter, so was I. We waited a little more than two hours for the guard to change, assuring us of several hours before they were relieved again. I had their movements figured out. And there had been no one checking on them. Loiosh said, "If this had been your operation, Boss, you'd have gotten all the details before you went to work."

"If this had been my operation, Loiosh, I would have hired someone else to do it."

I signaled to my temporary squadron that they should stay there, and I moved a little closer to the guards. I drew a dart from my cloak, waited for the guard to pass by me, then threw the dart into his back. He cursed.

"What is it?" said someone.

"Something bit me."

"Bees sleep at night."

"Well, that makes me feel better."

"I'm just saying—"

"I better see the surgeon; I'm starting to feel queasy."

"You have any allergies?"

"Not that I know of. What is there that bites around here?"

He didn't get an answer, because the woman he'd been talking to was out cold by this time. At least out cold, maybe dead, because a blow to the top of the head with the hard pommel of a dagger can kill, even if you don't intend it to. Fortunes of war and all that. And then, as the man succumbed and collapsed, I stuck a dart into the woman to be certain—the poison on the dart probably wouldn't kill her, but it wouldn't make her feel any better, and, in any case, neither of them would wake up any time soon. I hoped I hadn't killed either of them; I hate killing people I haven't been paid for. Were this a Jhereg operation, it wouldn't have come up. Jhereg operations are cleaner.

So, okay, you don't need the details; I took care of the other two guards as well, and I didn't kill either of them for sure, though I may have hit one a bit too hard …

Oh, skip it. I went back to the others and motioned for them to follow me.

The rest of the job involved one decision: Was it safer and easier going to the water or from the water? One was quicker, the other safer; I opted for quicker. I was fairly certain I could vanish into the night if by chance I was seen, but I doubted my companions could. I called them close and whispered, "If there's an alarm, we go straight into the river, drop everything, and swim downstream as far and as fast as we can, okay? Remember to get rid of your boots."

They nodded. I didn't think they were very pleased with the prospect. We entered the mess-tent and took care of business there, which took only a few minutes. While we did so, I had Loiosh smell the wagons so he could tell me which ones we were interested in.

"Three of them, Boss."

"Good show."

I left the tent first and looked around in spite of Loiosh's assurance that all was clear, then I led my little band over to the wagons and pointed out the ones we wanted. There was a little more light here, and I could see them wondering how I knew. I resolved not to tell them.

We dumped kerosene over them. Now was when we had to be fast, because no one is going to pay much attention to someone half glimpsed who is moving about the camp as if he belongs there, but the smell of kerosene is strong and sets off alarms in anyone.

It only took a minute or so to drench the wagons, then I signaled that we should retreat back toward our own camp. Virt looked a question at me, presumably, How are we going to set them on fire? I smiled back at her and led the way.

We made it past the pickets without incident, at which point Virt said, "How are you going to start the fire from here?"

"Oh, I don't know." I picked a stick, drew on my link to the Orb, and started it burning. "I'll think of something," I said, and handed it to Loiosh, who flew off into the night.

They stared in wonderment for a moment; none of them, I think, had any previous clue of Loiosh's intelligence. Just for fun, I led them past our own pickets.

Once back in camp, all three of them reacted as I should have expected: laughter bordering on the hysterical, which was a little terrifying in Napper's case; and, along with the near hysteria, an unreasonable desire to continue being silent, as if the habit had been ingrained for life in the few intense hours.

Eventually they quieted down, and then Aelburr whispered, "Hope they like toast," and they all burst into giggles again, with hands clapped over mouths to keep it quiet, which, of course, made it even funnier. I found myself laughing with them, until we were informed that if we didn't quiet down at once we'd be put on report. Napper, tears streaming from his eyes, tried to whisper something that struck him as funny about that, but couldn't get it out, and the effort made him laugh even harder.

Virt, however, hysterics or not, was not anxious to be put on report, so she gestured that we should follow her. She started jogging toward the river, then veered away to stay within the boundaries of the camp. I wondered what she was up to when my question answered itself; it is hard to stay hysterical when you're out of breath from running, and hard to run when you're out of breath from laughing. In a few minutes, we weren't laughing anymore, and Virt led us back to our tent.

It actually worked; I, at least fell asleep quickly, and I think the others did as well, and there was really nothing more to the incident until breakfast the next morning, when we each took our biscuit and looked at it.

"Yes," said Napper. "They taste rather better today than they did yesterday, don't you think?"

Whatever happened in the next few hours, I decided, getting a pleasantry out of Napper counted as a moral victory.

Sounds broke in to interrupt my stare-down with Ori: the sounds of Easterners being slaughtered. Mostly screams—and screams that were different from the cries of the wounded, because these had the edge of terror. I realized then that even from here I could feel the presence of Blackwand. On the field below me, to my right, Easterners were dying and my side was winning; the souls of my kind were gone, swallowed up, vanished forever, destroyed; and my side was winning the engagement. You could say I had mixed feelings about this.

On the other hand, if I wanted to present myself as a negotiator, it did put me in a stronger position. As I considered this, another interruption came, this one in the form of someone pushing through past the honor guard and coming up next to Ori.

It was about here that everything speeded up and slowed down; that is, things began to happen faster, but it seemed as if I had more time to observe and think it all over, to weigh the options, note the dangers, and be afraid.

"Well," I said. "My Lord Fornia. I hadn't expected to find you here."

He didn't appear any better disposed toward me than he had been when last we met, which, now that I thought about it, was only about a quarter of a mile from this very spot. Coincidence, if you like. I don't, terribly. I did think, for a moment, about taking a shot at him; the reasons against were legion, including not having much chance of killing him, having less chance of escaping alive, and being certain that Morrolan wouldn't thank me even if I managed. But I did think about it.

Ori said again, "He's an assassin. Kill him."

I said, "Oh, let's not."

Fornia said, "No, he's not here to assassinate me. Whatever his threats, Morrolan would never countenance such an act."

"In war, my lord? In battle?"

"On the other hand," said Fornia, "I do not believe you are here as a negotiator. Morrolan would no more send an Easterner to negotiate with me than he would send a Jhereg to assassinate me. So what are you doing here, exactly?"

The warriors stared at me; behind them, no doubt, were more of Fornia's sorcerers. I turned my head and gestured to the battle to my right. It was worse than it had been; I could make out Morrolan, and around him, even from this distance, I saw corpses lying in heaps. Or, at any rate, bodies; I didn't have to be there to know they were dead.

I turned back to Fornia. "They're getting closer," I said. "Morrolan and his brigade. With Blackwand," I added.

He didn't seem unduly worried. I went on, "Morrolan didn't send me to kill you or to negotiate with you. He didn't send me at all. I'm here on my own."

"Indeed," said Fornia. "Do you, then, imagine you can kill me, here, now?"

Why wasn't he worried? If Blackwand was coming for me, I'd be worried. I'd be more than worried, I'd be bloody terrified. "No," I said. "Or, perhaps yes, I could, but it is not my intention to try."

His eyes strayed to the carnage below, now noticeably closer than when I'd reached them. He seemed unconcerned. "What then?" he said.

"I want to stop the slaughter."

He gave a short laugh. "You have become a soldier. Soldiers have wanted to stop the slaughter as long as the profession has existed."

That I believed. That, at any rate, had been my desire since the first time I was in battle. No, I suppose, since the second time; the first time was too confused, the second time, the morning after we had burned up the enemy's biscuits, is the battle I have the clearest memory of, and the greatest feeling of disgust, at least up until this point. It all seemed to happen slowly, with a neat succession of images burning themselves into my memory.

That time, the engineers, instead of digging the ditches and building up the earthworks, passed out shovels and guided us in doing so. The ground, I remember, was soft and easy to work with, a fact the engineers never let us forget. The air was dry—almost throat-parching dry—but cold. The sort of cold where any little bump or bruise has an additional sting to it. I hoped we wouldn't be doing any fighting, but I expected we would, and I was right.

So we dug a deep ditch and piled up dirt until it reached the height of our chests, and whether our clandestine activities in the night had anything to do with the fact that we were able to finish before they attacked, I don't know, but I'd like to think so. It makes me feel useful.

The juice-drum gave the call, "Rubbing Elbows," which meant to form the line, and we did, under Rascha's guidance. We were each given three javelins, which we stuck into the ground near us. Rascha had a spyglass, and her first word as she studied the enemy that was just too far away to see with the unaided eye was "Cavalry." Then she said, "Pass the word for pikes." Then, almost at once, "No, never mind. They're reforming."

This time Loiosh did not suggest I bug out; he probably didn't know why I'd stayed in the line last time, any more than I did, but figured there was no help for it and I was just bound and determined to remain for the fight.

Rascha continued studying their lines, occasionally making aimless gestures with her left hand; I assumed some sort of spell to help her see or to counter any clouding spells the enemy might be using.

"No cavalry," said Virt. "You won't have to fight your own kind yet."

"Good," I said, meaning it.

She said, "Smart, too. I wouldn't send horses against ditches and earthworks."

"What would you send against us?"

"Well, certainly not a spear phalanx—they don't like ditches and they hate earthworks. I'd say either mounted infantry or heavy infantry, like last time."

"Mounted infantry?"

"Ride like bastards up to the ditch, dismount, and come right over. They could get here awful fast, and the horses will shield them from javelins once they've dismounted. Why do you ask? We'll know for certain in a few minutes."

"Just killing time."

"Best to be killing something," put in Napper. His eyes were shining and he kept baring his teeth.

I shook my head. "You really like this, don't you?"

"Yes," he said. "And so do you, you just don't want to admit it."

"Mounted infantry," said Rascha.

"Good call," I said. "So, what do we do? Think the Captain will pull something clever?"

"Nothing clever to be done, really. We just have to hold this spot. Maybe Sethra will send someone in on their flanks, maybe not. Depends on how much of their forces they've committed and, well, on a lot of things we don't have any way of knowing."

I grunted.

Crown, from far down the line, called, "Make ready."

I drew my sword, transferred it to my left hand, and picked up a javelin.

"You really ought to borrow a heavier blade," Aelburr told me. I grunted again.

Virt said, "We'll be lucky to have time for two throws before they're on us."

"Yes," said Aelburr.

That meant one for me.

Rascha said, "Aim for the horses." That was funny; how was I supposed to aim for anything else? We could now see the line clearly—it stretched out to more than cover us; we were flanked on both sides, then. But that, of course, was not my concern. Whoever was guiding the battle was supposed to make sure our line didn't get rolled up, and if whoever that was blew his job, it wasn't my concern.

It was, of course, my life. I remembered what my grandfather had said about trusting your officers even though you know they aren't worthy of trust. My hand was cramping from gripping the javelin tightly and I made an effort to relax it.

I wasn't used to this. Analogous situations in the Jhereg just weren't analogous.

"You know, Loiosh, I don't think I'd care to make this a career."

Whatever answer he was going to give was masked by an intrusion into my head. It took a minute for me to figure out what it was, then I realized that it was Kragar, choosing just then to get in touch with me.

"What is it, Kragar?"

"Nothing important, Vlad, but—"

"Then forget it, for the love of Verra, I'm just a little busy right now."

"Okay. Later."

I looked up again, and there were many horses riding down on us, and Rascha said, "Javelins ready!" We all prepared to throw; I prepared to ignore the order to throw until I had at least some chance of hitting something. I wondered abstractedly if this time I'd be able to follow the flight of the javelin as it left my hand. I wondered if—

"Loose javelins!" called Rascha, and the sky darkened again. I waited a moment, then threw, instantly forgot that I wanted to see where my javelin ended up, and transferred my sword once more to my right hand.

Someone screamed, and someone yelled, " 'Ware sorcery!" so I let Spellbreaker fall into my hand, and I noticed that there were an awful lot of horses writhing about on the ground. At first I thought someone had strung a trip-wire, then I realized that they were the result of the javelins, and then I wondered why I hadn't thought of stringing trip-wire myself, or, at any rate, why someone hadn't thought of it, and then some guy came bounding up out of the ditch in front of me so I stuck my sword through his neck and he went down.

There was shouting, screaming, and the clashing of blades, but it all became a sort of noiseless noise, and I remember having the illusion that I was in my own universe, with no directions except forward; anything to the sides was someone else's problem. It was odd, and it was also odd how much time I had to think, to observe, to plan, and to act. Someone else bounded up, off balance and sword flailing as if he'd been propelled by something behind him, and I remember being able to pick my target, wait for it to line up, and to hit it. Then a hand appeared, and I cut it, and then I intercepted some sort of spell with Spellbreaker without being aware of how I spotted it. Then two came over at once, and I gave one a good cut across the legs while the other struck at me. I slipped to the side while holding my rapier up at a sharp angle—I even remember calculating the angle to keep the blade from breaking—and when I'd deflected it I stuck him one in the stomach. He fell forward, so I let a dagger fall into my hand from my left sleeve, stuck it into his throat as he lay on his back, and recovered Spellbreaker from his chest, where I'd dropped it.

I wiped my brow, dragging Spellbreaker in front of my eyes; its gold links were small now; no doubt that meant something. I waited for the next man to try to get past me, but there wasn't one; the assault was over.

I stood there and looked myself over, until Loiosh said, "Relax, Boss; not a scratch."

"Okay."

Then I looked for my tent-mates. Virt was on her knees breathing heavily, but didn't seem to be bleeding. Napper had one hand on the earthworks, the other holding his sword, as he watched our retreating enemies, and I had the impression he was willing them to return. Aelburr was sitting on the ground, grinning, shaking his head, and cradling his left arm with his right. He caught me looking at him. "Son of a bitch," he said, but not angrily, more as if he were commenting on the weather. "Dislocated my fucking shoulder."

"Next time," said Virt, looking up suddenly. "Try cutting them instead of throwing them around. For one thing, that way they aren't in such a hurry to crawl back over."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said.

I looked an inquiry at Virt, but she didn't provide any details. She opened up her water flask and helped Aelburr drink some, and presently the surgeon arrived. I walked away a little, because I don't like watching surgeons, physickers, healers, or anyone else whose job it is to undo the sort of thing I'm so good at doing.

Rascha came by about then and directed those of us who didn't need treatment to pick up javelins and make sure they were unbroken, which was sufficiently mind-numbing to be relaxing after the battle.

We had not, it seemed, been in the worst part of the engagement; there were places where the carnage was much worse, and Jhereg—normal-sized ones—were circling overhead. Sometimes one would come a little too close and someone would hurl a stone or a javelin at it.

"Why is it, Loiosh, that they hate Jhereg so much but like you?"

"My winning personality, Boss?"

"Yeah, that must be it."

By the time I got back, the bodies were neatly stacked, and the seriously wounded were gone, and the walking wounded had, for the most part, been tended to. Napper had gotten over his battle-fury and was himself once more. "We should attack," he said disgustedly.

"Good thinking," said Virt. "They only outnumber us about three to two."

"Don't matter," said Napper.

"And we'd be leaving our protection, which is the only way we survived the attack."

"Don't matter."

"And they could probably bring a spear phalanx against us."

"Hmmm. Matters," said Napper.

"What," I asked, "is a spear phalanx?"

"A unit specially designed to wipe out units like us."

"Oh."

"Think of a solid wall of very big shields with ranks of spears sticking out of them, and those in back, who aren't even in danger, pushing the ones in front at you."

"I see. Well, no I don't, but I'm convinced I don't want to."

"I've been through one of those," said Virt. "I didn't much care for it. I probably wouldn't be here if we hadn't had help."

"What sort of help?"

"They don't like getting hit from the flank while they're engaged in front. The especially don't like it when it's heavy cavalry."

"Do we have heavy cavalry?"

"Probably. I'd still rather skip that fight."

"Okay," I agreed. "I won't order it."

"Thanks," she said. "Which reminds me. That business last night."

"What about it?"

"Are you—"

I was saved from having to evade another question by the juice-drum, which told us to form our line again.

"Here they come again," said Rascha.

"Bugger," I said.

Napper stood and bounded back to the earthworks, his eyes shining.

"More mounted infantry," said Rascha. "Ready javelins."

You don't need to hear about the second assault, or the third. We survived, and more died. Virt picked up a gouge on her left leg that didn't amount to much, and I got a bruise on my forehead that knocked me down and would probably have been fatal if I hadn't been rushing my opponent; she caught me perfectly, but it was the flat of the blade. Things got hazy for a bit, and I don't know what became of her, but then it was over, and, while we were awaiting the fourth assault we got word to retreat. Napper didn't like it, but I was delighted.

Rascha came by and gave me a new cap, since I'd lost mine in the last assault, and Virt, limping along next to me, said that the bandage around my forehead made me look like a real warrior. I made scatological culinary recommendations.

"Loiosh, I just want you to know, for the sake of my familiar having complete information, that my feet hurt."

"I think you're cheating, Boss. Everyone else has to either carry on without complaint or be known as a complainer. You get to complain without anyone knowing it."

"Because I had the foresight to show up with a ready-made listener to complaints."

"That's a new job for me. Do I get a raise?"

"Sure, Loiosh. Your salary just doubled."

"Heh."

We didn't start the march until fairly late in the day, so we stopped blessedly early, posted the extra pickets, and settled in to a hasty but well-organized camp. I suppose the art of setting up camp has a whole lot of theory behind it, too. Maybe that was what Crown was so good at; I don't know.

I had the second picket duty, which gave me the dubious pleasure of sleeping a little less than four hours, standing guard for four, and then sleeping another hour and a half before having to get up. We weren't attacked during the night, which I wondered at. In fact, I wondered why we never launched attacks during the night. I wondered if it was some sort of agreement among Dragons, the way the Jhereg won't have you assassinated in your own home or in front of your family.

Turned out I was wrong, it was all a matter of generalship and the art of war, about which I know nothing now and at the time knew even less. You see, I somewhere got the idea that good generalship would have a lot in common with running the organization and that there would be a great deal of similarity between battle tactics and, say, planning an assassination. I found out later that I was wrong. Oh, in very general terms, sure there are some similarities, but not in any useful way. I was speaking with Sethra Lavode about the Wall of Baritt's Tomb and the campaign leading up to it. I said, "You have this reputation, you know. I mean, as being a great general. You were Warlord I don't know how many times, and—"

"What about it?"

I had to cast about for words. It's hard to tell the most powerful sorcerer and perhaps greatest general in history that you weren't impressed with how she did her job. She might take it wrong. After mumbling a bit, I finally said, "I don't know. It's just that the whole time I was marching and waiting and sneaking around and fighting and marching again I kept waiting for you to make some brilliant maneuver, or some great stroke, or pull some trick, or something."

"How many tricks do you use in your work?"

"Huh? I'll use a trick any time I think I can get away with it."

"So will I," said Sethra Lavode.

"But you usually don't?"

"Tricks, feints, sneak attacks, night attacks, they all work better if they're on a smaller scale. A unit, maybe a company, that's about it. Once you have anything larger, the chances for miscommunication and mistake become too great. And there's always more of a chance for error on attack than defending even in the most simple operations, so if you add something tricky it gets much worse. That's one reason I prefer to defend whenever possible."

"So that's why we kept holding positions and then retreating after we'd won?"

"Those skirmishes you're talking about—"

"Skirmishes?"

"All right, Vlad. Those battles, then, that you won, you couldn't have actually won if you had remained. Fornia wouldn't have attacked if he hadn't been pretty sure he could overrun those positions eventually. We had to keep drawing him after us."

"Well, I suppose that counts as a trick, then."

"Maybe. Except, of course, that he knew very well what I was doing."

"Then why did he do what we wanted?"

"Because it was what he wanted, too. He wanted to try to get past our advance positions so he could divide our forces, which would have put me in a very uncomfortable position. It was a race, if you like. I needed to hold him off long enough for all of our forces to be in position; he needed to break through and separate us so we couldn't combine. And then, of course, the big, decisive engagement. However much planning you do, you don't really know until the armies meet and have it out. Even if your position looks perfect on paper, or even if it looks utterly untenable, you don't know until someone calls for an attack and the fight happens."

"Okay," I said. I tried to phrase my next question, then gave up just as she figured it out.

"The reason," she said, "that I have been successful is that I pay attention to details. The fewer details you miss, the greater your chances of winning."

"Well," I said. "That much is rather like assassination. Or so I've heard."

"I don't doubt it. It means keeping open lines of retreat and communications, and always knowing how you're going to feed and water the troops, and where they'll be camping, and what sort of ground they'll be crossing at every point, and the nature of your officers and where their strengths and weaknesses are, and how much dependence to place on which intelligence reports, and how far to push a particular victory, and how to salvage as much as possible from a given defeat, and so on and on and on. The details—the little things that lead to your peace, instead of the enemy's."

"Lead to peace?"

"Peace is the goal of war. Didn't you know that?"

"Uh … "

"Come, Vlad. Until there is peace, you haven't won. That is, you haven't accomplished your goals. On the other hand, it is worth remembering that, until there is peace, you also haven't lost."

"I guess I hadn't looked at it that way."

"You have never had to."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"The other reason I've been successful, I think, is that I'm very aggressive. And of course, my reputation helps. They think of me as being a great general, which makes the enemy afraid to be aggressive, which makes me a great general." She laughed a little. "But my usual approach is to give the enemy every chance to make a mistake, and then I punish him when he does, and the biggest mistake may be not to be aggressive enough, which is one mistake I never make."

"Aggressive on defense?"

"Certainly, Vlad. After all, it's always the defender who starts the war."

"Excuse me? Then it was Fornia who started the war with Morrolan?"

"Yes, indeed. That made him the defender, and that was why so much of my effort was involved in bringing him over to the attack."

I shook my head. "I don't see how it is that the defender starts the war."

"It isn't that complicated. The attacker doesn't want war. The attacker wants to conquer. If the defender would simply allow him to do so there would be no war."

"Uh … Sethra, I think there's something wrong with your logic."

"No," she said. "There isn't. It's counterintuitive, but it isn't wrong."

I thought all that over, remembering the battles and the retreats and the marches, and I said, "Assassination is easier. Or so I've heard."

She smiled and made no answer.

But that, as I said, was months later. At the time I just sat in camp along with everyone else, stood picket duty, marched, and griped. I think of that period as "the long march," although it was made clear to me that it wasn't long by anyone's standards except mine. I don't know exactly where we marched—I keep meaning to find a map and trace the route—but we usually had the Eastern River on our left, and we always had the Eastern Mountains on our right, and we kept going north; and then one day we turned around for no apparent reason and headed back south, almost exactly retracing our steps. No one except me, it seemed, found that infuriating, but I was annoyed enough to make up for the rest of them. My comments on the subject met with shrugs and puzzled looks until I stopped talking about it.

The weather for the most part stayed dry and cold. The cold wasn't too bad, because marching kept me warm, but I learned that dry wasn't all that much better than raining, because we were now passing through an area that hadn't seen any rain in some time, and so whenever we were on a road, which was most of the time, the troops in front kicked up dust that we had to eat all day—even worse than before. Dust so thick you walked with your cap down and tried to keep your mouth closed, but you couldn't because your nose was plugged up. A few of my comrades had handkerchiefs over their mouths and noses; I tried that, but breathing became difficult so I stopped. Periodically someone would conjure up a cross breeze just to give us some relief, and even I took my turn at it, but we couldn't keep it going all day without a major weather-working, which was expressly forbidden by the Captain—something about interfering with "stated objectives of the Brigade."

Excitement, what there was of it, came in the form of raids from the enemy, usually directed at the supply trains that came along several miles behind us. We would hear about them because we'd suddenly be ordered to halt, we'd have to take battle positions, and then we'd wait, and then we'd be ordered back in line and we'd set off marching again.

Then, one day, we made a sharp turn, put our backs to the river, and headed toward the mountains. There began to be a feeling of urgency, or maybe purpose is a better word, but I'm not sure where it came from. It grew colder as we climbed still higher, and the Eastern Mountains loomed ever larger. One peak in particular seemed to be our destination; a very tall, reddish-looking mountain with, it appeared, nothing whatsoever growing on its side. One evening, before the light failed, we stopped a few miles away from it, and I saw just how steep it was; it seemed to rise straight up from the ground, its top lost in the overcast.

The funny thing was, I didn't recognize it until the next day, when, after only a two-hour march we reached its foot, and Loiosh dived into my cloak with a psychic squeal, and then I looked around and said, "I'll be damned."

"Then don't get killed," said Virt. "But what is it this time?"

"I know where we are."

"That's good. Where are we?"

"That piece of rock," I said, "is Baritt's Tomb."

She nodded and looked around the area: a few hills here and there, and off to the southwest a flat plain covered with rocks and low grass, then a tall hill beyond. I could suddenly imagine warriors on each of those hills, and others charging across the plain.

"Good ground for fighting," she said.

Just a few short minutes before, the approaching battle had been terrifying. Now it was also loud. I felt this awful sense of urgency, that I should be doing something now, but I just stood there, and so did Fornia. It did accomplish one thing—which was to give myself time to think. What was Fornia accomplishing by doing nothing? Why was he letting me, an enemy, just stand there like that?

Was he delaying, too? If so, why? The only thing he could want was for the battle to close in on him, and what would that get him? I would have given whole worlds to know what he had in mind. I wished—

I did a quick check. Yes, indeed, there was a teleport block in place. But. Maybe.

Time. I needed time. I needed time to find out why Fornia needed time. Well, okay, so maybe he'd be willing to give it to me.

"What are you going to do when they get here?" I ventured.

"You'll see," he told me.

"Do you expect me to just wait here?"

"Do as you wish."

"Kragar!"

"What?"

"Kragar, I need Daymar. Now."

"Daymar?"

"Now."

"Uh … how do I?"

"I'll give you my location, you pass it on to Daymar, and warn him there's a teleport block up."

"How can he get past a teleport block?"

"Damned if I know But he said—"

"Yeah, he might at hat. I take it this is urgent."

"You might put it that way, yes."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Hurry."

Yeah, Daymar. He might be able to help me. I didn't terribly enjoy calling on him; I hadn't much enjoyed what he'd done last time we'd met. That had been … what? Two weeks ago? Less? Impossible. In that time I'd fought in three engagements, marched halfway around the world through rain, mud, and dust, and come to here, to this place: the Wall of Baritt's Tomb.

There had been nothing, at first, to indicate that stopping there was any different from any of our other temporary halts, except for the obvious one that we had halted early in the day. But there was no need to put up defenses, and no indications we'd been given a position we would be holding against an attack. I found out later that this was because the original plan had been for us to be pan of a major attack against one side of Fornia's army, but that this had changed when Sethra, at the last minute, had learned how Fornia had deployed his forces.

"Deployed." That's a military word. I learned it from Sethra. I'll have to make sure to use it on Kragar sometime, just to see his reaction.

Virt and Aelburr scraped out a fire-pit while Napper and I pitched the tent. "No wood around here," said Aelburr.

"So we freeze?" I said.

They ignored me. Virt said, "The wagons should be across in a couple of hours."

I looked at Napper. "Coal," he explained.

I felt stupid and didn't say anything.

We went through the rituals of setting up camp, but I kept looking up at that mountain, the flat slab extending up until it became lost in the overcast. Occasionally the giant Jhereg would swoop down and Loiosh would dive into my cloak. The Wall had been dedicated to Baritt's memory, and as long as it stood it would bring him to mind whenever it was seen or even mentioned. I thought back to meeting him. Would someone by now have mentioned the Wall? Would he care? It seemed a shame, not to mention ironic, for him not to know that there was a monument to his memory.

On the other hand, I hadn't much liked him.

Three hours later we had a fire going and water heating. Aelburr made something called Soldier's Stew, which involved crumbling a lot of biscuits into boiling water along with the rest of our rations, and molasses, and it should have been disgusting, but he added some basil, mushrooms, toeroot, and nutmeg that he'd picked up somewhere, and the thing was all right; we sang his praises the rest of the day.

We did picket duty early in the evening, and so were able to get a good night's sleep, and the picket assignments indicated no enemy nearby. The next day some of the company drew out a squareball field, wrapped a bunch of rope around a rock to use as the ball, and played a good rousing game while the rest of us stood around and yelled encouragement and obscenities. The injuries weren't nearly as bad as a full-scale battle would have been but were bad enough to get us yelled at by Crown and cursed by the company physicker. I did, however, resolve never to get into a fair fight with Dortmond. That was okay, I had no intention of ever having a fair fight with anyone. There was more S'yang Stones that night, and someone pulled out a reed-pipe and a bunch of them sang bad songs off key, and Aelburr made more Soldier's Stew.

At one point, I found Rascha, Virt, Dunn, and Aelburr standing looking out over the flat field nestled between the hills.

"That's where they'll be," Rascha was saying. "They'll spread out between those hills, Dorian's and Smoker's command, both of them, and try to hold us off from there."

"If we fight here," said Aelburr.

"Well, yes," said Rascha. "But the sergeant hasn't given any indication that we're going anywhere."

"I think it'll be here," said Virt. "What I don't understand is why we haven't taken positions on those hills ourselves."

"You're the expert," said Rascha. "What do you think?"

"I think the only thing that could keep the Captain's grubby paws off those hills is orders from above."

"Good thinking," said Rascha.

"You've heard that?" put in Dunn. "We've had specific orders about them?"

"Only a rumor, but that's what I've heard."

"But why?"

Rascha looked at Virt and gave a bow. Virt said, "To entice an attack. Same reason we haven't built up any defenses. Sethra wants them to attack us, and she's making it as attractive as possible."

I said, "Will they fall for it?"

"It isn't a matter of falling for it," said Virt. "They'll know how we're laid out. If we're offering battle on favorable terms, they'll take it."

"But then they wouldn't be favorable terms for us."

"It isn't that simple," said Virt.

"Then don't try to explain it to me," I said. I wandered away. It was too pleasant a day to think about fighting. There was a breeze whipping south along the mountain that brought cool air, but it wasn't yet cold, and it was dry, and not even terribly dusty. I came upon Dortmond, who was sitting back in his chair, feet stretched out, smoking a pipe. He opened one eye and said, "Well, it's the Easterner who fights like a Dragon. Wine?"

"Sure."

He pulled a beautifully carved wooden goblet from a canvas bag at his feet, filled it from a bottle next to his hand, and passed it to me. I tasted it. It wasn't wine, it was brandy; even better as far as I was concerned.

"To the soldier's life," he said.

I didn't care to drink to that, but I did care to drink, so I raised my glass and swallowed.

"How did you get this stuff?"

"The victualer is a friend of mine, and a few of the provisioners owe me some favors, and there's always a little spare room in some of the supply wagons."

I drank the brandy. Loiosh, who had been flying about collecting scraps of food, found me and landed on my shoulder. Dortmond eyed him. I said, "Do you believe he's good luck, too?"

"Sure. Why not? We've had good luck during the whole campaign, haven't we?"

"Have we?"

"Well, are you alive?"

"Haven't checked lately."

He refrained from the obvious wisecracks and poured me more brandy, still calling it "wine." He said, "I think the campaign has been pretty lucky, all in all." He reached into the canvas bag once more, removed a loaf of bread and a large chunk of cheese. He broke off some of each and passed them over to me. It was a smokey meiren cheese, very sharp and good. The bread was stale but not moldy, and much, much better than biscuit. He broke off some more cheese, held it up, and Loiosh flew over and took it from him in one claw, holding it almost delicately while feeding himself. I watched him eat: nibble, chew, swallow, wipe mouth on wing. He was rather more civilized than I.

"Luck," said Dortmond.

"I feel sick, Loiosh."

"Good cheese, Boss."

I said, "So tell me, what are you going to do after the campaign is over?"

"Me?" said Dortmond. "I'm going to go fight another one."

"Why, for heaven's sake?"

"Because," he said, "I like it."

"You're not looking for promotion?"

"No. I like it where I am."

"And if you get knocked on the head in one of these battles?"

He closed one eye, tilted his head, and said, "You're a cheerful son of a bitch, aren't you?"

"Just curious."

He shrugged. "All right. Well, you have to die sometime."

"Yeah, I've heard that before. It doesn't strike me as a good reason to rush into it."

"Have some more cheese."

I did. A little later a woman I didn't know came over and joined us. He gave her some cheese and brandy; I took the hint and made myself scarce. Back by our own tent I met Napper, who scowled, I suppose just on principle, and said, "Are we going on any more of your expeditions?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

"I don't know. Maybe. Hey, Napper."

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever wonder what it's all about?"

"What, the war? Why, do you know?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"What, then?"

"Fornia stole something Morrolan wanted."

"Oh. Seems reasonable. We should go steal it back."

"I doubt it will be that simple."

"You're probably right." I thought, but didn't say, Besides, that would end the war, and you'd hate that. Then I thought, Yeah, it would end the war. Maybe I should do that.

"Sure, Boss. It'll be easy."

"Well, but it might be possible."

"How?"

"If we get to a decisive battle, Fornia will be there, and if Fornia is there, the sword will be there."

"Sure, just walk up and take it."

"I don't know, Loiosh. Maybe—"

"Maybe you'll get yourself killed, Boss."

"Everyone's got to die sometime."

"Heh."

"And it'll probably be safer than standing to battle."

I had him on that one; he shut up.

We were joined by Dunn, Tibbs, Virt, Aelburr, and Rascha, and the bunch of us sat around and I listened as they told stories, most of them funny and not terribly complimentary toward officers, about various campaigns they'd been on. Rascha announced light picket duty again, which I went off and did, then I went to bed once more.

It was one of the most pleasant days I've ever had.

The next morning we watched as a cavalry troop rode in and set up camp near ours, and, shortly thereafter, we saw the movement of more of our infantry. I recognized Aliera riding a light-colored, spotted horse alongside the infantry column; I wondered if she knew how much those who marched beside her hated the dust she was kicking up. They made camp to the west of us.

Things changed with the new arrivals. Nothing drastic, yet it was unmistakable. There was a bit more snap to everyone's motion, and a little more saluting here and there, as if to look good in front of the conscripts. There was no fraternizing between corps, either.

Late in the afternoon, word spread through the camp that Sethra Lavode had arrived; Aelburr claimed to have seen her. Shortly after the evening "meal" a young-looking Dragonlord I didn't recognize arrived at our tent and said I was to follow him. Virt shot me a look. I shrugged, collected Loiosh from one of his scavenging expeditions, and followed.

We went through the camp and into the camp of the conscripts. I tried to spot the differences between their camp and ours, but there just wasn't all that much; except, of course, that these were mostly Teckla rather than Dragons and there were certainly a great many more of them. But they had the same sort of campstools we were using, and the bits of conversation I caught seemed about the same, the expressions on their faces were no different from those in our camp. Make of that what you will.

At the far edge was a large pavilion tent, and it was to there my nameless escort directed me. I clapped and heard Sethra's voice telling me to enter. I did and was directed to a chair between Morrolan and Aliera—not a terribly comfortable position, by the way—with Sethra and the Necromancer sitting across from me. I had obviously interrupted some sort of discussion: Aliera had a look as if she were about to froth and spit; Sethra's brow was furrowed; and Morrolan kept making glances at his cousin as if she were an unidentified creature that had appeared in his soup. The Necromancer seemed only barely present; I wondered where her thoughts were while suspecting I was glad not to know.

"Well, Vlad," said Morrolan after I was sitting and drinking bad wine. "How are you enjoying the life of a soldier?"

I shrugged. "Loiosh likes it more than I do."

"I've heard," said Morrolan, "that he has been adopted by your company as mascot."

"Yeah. He's insufferably smug about it."

"Hey now, Boss. That's not fair."

"Truth isn't, Loiosh."

Sethra said, "You've done some good work, I am told."

"Sure," I said. "For what it's worth."

"I think it was worth something," said Morrolan.

"Maybe," I said. "I don't know. I don't have enough of an idea of how our little company fits in with everything else that's been happening."

"You saved some lives in your company," said Morrolan.

"Okay," I said. "But none of those battles were decisive."

"The next one will be," said Sethra.

I digested that. "You're ready, then?"

"I hope so," said Sethra. "But, more important, Fornia is. He has to make a stand somewhere, and this location has symbolic importance. He won't be able to pass it up."

"Symbolic importance," I repeated.

Sethra gave me a half smile. "Don't start," she said. "It also has a great deal of strategic importance; as far as he can tell, we're backed up against the mountain, and—"

"As far as he can tell?"

"We have lines of retreat, Vlad. Northward. Let me worry about that part of it."

"Sorry."

"In any case, this will be a good place for him to win a battle. He'll fight here. He has to. From here, I can push straight into the heart of his realm. Besides, if he can hold us for a few days, he has another division coming up."

"He does?"

"He sent his third division all the way around the other side of Chengri to cut me off from my base of supplies."

"That doesn't sound good."

"Well, if we're stuck here for three or four days it won't be good. You'll start getting hungry. But I don't plan on being stuck that long; I plan on pushing through him while I have the advantage of numbers. He knows that. He'll fight here."

"I believe you," I said. "What exactly do you want of me?"

"What we want," said Morrolan, "or, rather, what I want, is exactly what you said you wouldn't do, way back when this all started. I want you to get that sword from Fornia."

"Funny about that," I said. "I'd just been thinking the same thing."

"I still don't like it," said Aliera, evidently continuing a discussion I'd missed the beginning of. "If we're going to do that, why not go all the way? Hire a thief and just be done with it."

"For one thing," said Sethra, "we don't know any thieves."

"Vlad can put us in touch with one."

"And for another," said Morrolan, "that wouldn't accomplish what I want. I don't just want the sword. I have a perfectly good sword." Here he touched the hilt of Blackwand. "I want it taken from him."

"You want him humiliated," said Aliera.

"Call it defeated," said Morrolan. "And defeated at every level. Both militarily and by losing the very item that caused the war."

"If you defeat him," I said, just to be argumentative, "won't he have to give it up?"

"Military defeat," said Sethra, "is not an all-or-nothing proposition. I believe we can hand his army a major defeat. That doesn't mean he'll be powerless, and it doesn't mean he can be compelled to surrender all of his forces. To do that would require a far greater campaign than this one, more costly in every way, riskier, and with the danger of Imperial intervention."

"We've been talking it over for some time," said Morrolan. "And we cannot leave him in possession of the artifact, so we must take it. Once we've taken it, we cannot leave him unbloodied, or he'll try to take it back. So we have to get it from him and, at the same time, bloody his nose."

"And you want me to do the getting."

"If you'd like."

"I'd like. How do you suggest I go about it? I suspect sneaking into his tent at night is going to be trickier than the other stuff I've been doing, and, really, I'm not a thief by profession or training."

"No," said Morrolan. "And that wouldn't do what we want anyway. We need it removed from him during the battle."

"Excuse me? Why?"

"Because I don't know any way to get it after the battle. He isn't going to leave himself vulnerable; he'll retreat, probably return home, and at that point we would have to hire a thief to get it."

"That may not be a bad idea," I said.

"I don't employ thieves," said Morrolan.

"Didn't you just ask me to steal something?"

"To remove it from him in the middle of a battle, yes. We do not countenance assassination either, but making targets of senior officers while in combat is not only proper but recommended."

"Too nice a distinction for me, Morrolan. I'm just a hardworking Jhereg. But what about before the battle?"

"If you do that, there won't be a battle, Vlad. He'll pull back, re-form, and launch his own campaign to get it back from me, maybe years from now."

I shook my head. "How am I supposed to go after the thing while we're fighting? How will I even find him, much less the whole question of getting to him."

Sethra spoke up. "For one thing, we're going to position your company in such a way that you'll be as close as possible to his command center."

I wondered how Virt would feel if she knew how her general was deciding on the order of battle. I resolved not to tell her.

I said, "I still don't see how I'm supposed to get out of a pitched battle, all the way to their command post, find Fornia, and extract the weapon from him."

Aliera said, "I don't either. I think the whole idea is idiotic."

"As for getting the weapon from him," said Morrolan. "As I said a moment ago, making targets of senior officers is an accepted tactic."

"Oh. So now you want me to kill him?"

"If necessary."

I shook my head. "If I'd wanted to kill him, Morrolan, I would simply have done so. Days ago. It isn't clear to me—"

"You won't be alone," he put in.

"I won't?"

"If you require assistance, we can supply you with as many subordinates as you wish."

"That," I said, "may make a difference."

"Boss, are you nuts?"

"Some people think so, Loiosh."

"Add me to the list. You can't—"

"Maybe I can, Loiosh." Aloud I said, "How much time do I have to think it over?"

"I don't know," said Sethra. "Fornia is bringing up troops all the time. Of course, so are we, and faster. Right now, delay works in our favor, so I would expect them to begin the attack soon."

"What does 'soon' mean?"

"Probably tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, that's soon."

"Tell me your decision through Captain Cropper," said Morrolan. "Just give him the message to give to me, don't reach me psychically; I want this going through proper channels."

"Why, for the love of the Gods?"

"Because that's how it's done."

"All right," I said. I stood up. "Have a good council."

"Do you need a guide back?" said Morrolan.

"No, thanks."

I left the tent. It had become dark and cold; I should have brought a cloak. Loiosh guided me back, and I was glad to find the fire; it felt like home.

"Well," said Virt. "Did you see her?"

"Sethra? Yes."

"And?"

"There will most likely be a battle tomorrow. A big one."

"Did you get another mission?" said Napper.

"An interesting question," I said. "I'm not certain."

"Well, if you need anyone—"

"Noted. Thanks."

Virt said, "Battle tomorrow, hm?"

"So it seems."

"We don't have any bulwarks built up."

"Yes."

"So either we're spearheading an attack or we're bait."

"Or both," I said. "I suspect both."

Virt shook her head. Aelburr sat there stirring the fire and not talking.

Virt said, "So, what's she like?"

"I don't know," I said. "I've never met any other vampires to compare her to. Excuse me, I'm going to take a walk."

"Don't go too far," said Virt. "We're in imminent, and up for picket duty in half an hour."

"Half an hour," I repeated. "I'll be there."

I stayed within the pickets and walked around the perimeter of the camp. I tried to focus on the decision I had to make, but the fact is I've never been good at just thinking about things, so I didn't get anywhere except around in a circle; my thoughts kept drifting over my recent experiences: fights, and marches, and sitting around fires. I didn't come to any conclusions about those, either, and then half an hour was up and I returned to our tent, where I collected Aelburr, Napper, and my heavy cloak, and we went off to picket duty, where we were not allowed to speak, which pleased me.

Picket duty passed without incident, and I passed the time without reaching any conclusions. Then I went to bed and got a few hours of sleep. The next day we were woken up appallingly early, even for the army, and ordered to move our camp a hundred yards closer to the Wall and a little north to the top of a small hill. Virt said, "The other option, of course, was that there was no point in having us erect defenses for a position we weren't expected to hold."

She seemed much cheered by the idea until Aelburr said, "Then why aren't we putting up defenses here?"

"Maybe we'll move again," she said, straining her eyes to the north, where we could make out plenty of activity but couldn't identify it yet.

Virt pointed to the hollow to our left and said, "Two spear phalanxes."

"Which means?"

"It means we aren't defending a flank. That's good, if you value a long life."

"Then I'm glad."

"On the other hand, if we're attacking, we may be sent against their flank."

So we finally got breakfast. I chewed a couple of biscuits, washed them down with water, and followed the company colors until I found the Captain, staring at the enemy through a telescope and talking to Crown. He looked at me when I approached and said, "Yes?"

"Morrolan asked me a question last night. He said I was to give you the answer to relay back to him."

He stared down at me and scowled, evidently not entirely pleased with being a messenger for a Jhereg. "Very well," he said. "What is it?"

"Tell him I said yes."

The Captain opened his mouth, closed it, nodded abruptly, turned to Crown, and said, "See to it the Lord Morrolan gets the message."

"Yes, sir," said Crown. He saluted and set off to find a messenger. The Captain returned his attention to the enemy. Just because I felt like it, I saluted before returning to my squadron.

I kept thinking that I could put it all together if I were smarter. Whatever Fornia was up to should have been subject to deduction, but I couldn't figure it out. Of course, I was aware that figuring it out might not turn out to be useful; just because you know what someone is doing doesn't necessarily mean you can stop him. That was Sethra's attitude; her approach to this battle was straightforward, and fundamentally without deception, and it seemed to be working—at least to judge by the fact that a press of Morrolan's troops, including himself and Aliera, were pushing their way toward Fornia's command position.

On the other hand, the Eastern mercenaries, though retreating, had not yet broken. Nothing was yet decided, except that a large number of people had died here, and more were going to.

As I studied Fornia's face, I saw him concentrate briefly, and an instant later a mass of cavalry appeared in a long row over the lip of the hill behind us, about a hundred yards distant.

I watched, suddenly and temporarily oblivious to my own situation. The column rode down the hill, in no apparent hurry. I tried to estimate their numbers, but I'm not very good at that. At least several hundred, though, maybe a thousand, and as they drew closer I saw they carried spears.

As they came closer they spread out into a single line, and I couldn't help but admire the way they went about it; neat and precise, they formed up to charge into Morrolan's forces. I risked a glance at Morrolan, and saw him, now a bit back from the fighting, talking to someone and pointing at them.

"Watch closely," said Fornia. "Now it gets interesting."

I kept watching, and saw, behind the cavalry, a mass of infantry reach the top of the hill and begin marching down.

In military terms, Fornia had "committed his reserves." In my terms, things were going to get even uglier. I'd have done something if there had been anything to do. I admit I even gave another thought to trying to take Fornia down, but his personal guard had failed to be distracted by the battle; they were still watching me.

The decisive moment was approaching; not the best time for me to be indecisive.

Fornia said, "Are you prepared to hear my terms, then?"

"No," I said. "I don't have the authority to accept them."

He chuckled. "That doesn't make you the ideal negotiator, then."

"The negotiator will be arriving shortly, if you'd lower your teleport blocks—"

He laughed. "Don't count on that, Jhereg."

"It isn't a trick," I said.

"Oh, I believe that. It's much too crude to be a trick. But I have no intention of opening myself up to accidents. If your negotiator wants to show up, he can do it the hard way."

I was trying to formulate a response when Daymar appeared, either blasting through the teleport block or coming in around it; I don't know enough about either sorcery or psychics to tell you how he did it. But there he was, floating, cross-legged, about six inches off the ground.

"All right," I told Fornia. "The hard way, then."

There was an instant where I wasn't certain if they were going to strike us both down, but they were well trained, and they waited for the order. The order didn't come.

I suddenly felt Daymar's presence in my mind. It was shocking, and not entirely pleasant. For one thing, I'm not used to people I hardly know being able to communicate with me psychically; for another, well, imagine being gently picked up by a relative stranger who you can tell could crush your body with one hand if he wanted to. Sure, I said gently, but he's still a stranger, and he could still crush you. As I said, I did not terribly care for the sensation.

"What do you want?" he asked in a sort of psychic whisper—as if he were being very careful not to burn my brain out.

I said, "That fellow, him. That's Fornia."

"Well?"

"I want to know what he's up to."

"Certainly," he said, as if I'd asked him to pass me the tray of sweetmeats. Just how good was he, I wondered. I mean, his mind was strong, and he'd clearly trained it, but was he good enough to pull the information I wanted out of Fornia's mind? Well, he'd pulled information out of Kragar's mind.

Thinking of Kragar makes me, in retrospect, realize just how far away from my own world I was. He had picked exactly the wrong moment to get in touch with me, and then I never heard back from him until I thought of it, days later, when we were positioned to make a charge or await one in front of the Wall. I had suddenly thought of it, then, and gotten in touch with him.

"Kragar? It's me."

"Howdy, Vlad. How's the army life?"

"You should know."

"I tried to warn you."

"For the most part I hate it," I told him, "but then people try to kill me and I really hate it."

"It wasn't the trying to kill me part I didn't like, it was all the rest of it."

"I can sympathize with that. What was it you wanted?"

"A guy wants to open up a new game in our territory."

"A guy? What guy?"

"Don't know him. Jhereg, seems small time. He's willing to give us our usual cut, and he's willing to provide his own protection, but I didn't know if that would be too many games for the area."

"That was a while ago; what did you do?"

"I told him to go ahead."

"And?"

"Seems all right so far."

"Okay. Good. Anything else?"

"No, everything's quiet."

"Wish I could say the same."

"Oh?"

"Building up to a big battle here."

"I assume you're staying out of the battles."

"Not exactly."

"What? You're fighting? In the line?"

"I haven't always been able to avoid it."

"Do something conspicuous and you might make corporal."

"Let Loiosh make the wisecracks, Kragar. He's better at them."

"Sure, Vlad. Anything else?"

"No, I'll talk to you later."

I stared out at the place where the enemy gathered. It suddenly occurred to me that if Kragar had done something conspicuous no one would have noticed. That might explain some things that I'd never ask him about. As good an explanation as any.

I found Napper was watching me. I guess I don't always hide it well when I'm communicating with someone psychically.

"If your lips didn't move, Boss, it would—"

"Shut up, Loiosh."

"Well?" said Napper. "We got something to do?"

I shook my head and went back to watching the enemy gather across the field. There were now banners on most of the other hills, including the ones Virt had said we should have taken when we got here.

Someone came walking down the line passing out biscuits and cheese. I had several of the biscuits, ate the cheese, and drank some water. I turned back to Napper to ask him why he was so damned eager to get killed when there came the rattle of the juice-drum again, another call I didn't recognize. I knew, however, that I wasn't going to like it, because Napper broke into a grin.

"What's that one?" I said.

" 'Time to Be Alive,' " he said. "It means to form up for a charge."

" 'Time to Be Alive,' " I repeated. Is that someone's idea of irony?"

He didn't answer.

Rascha came along and placed us where she wanted us—elbow to elbow, hardly room to move. I realized that this was the first time I would be taking part in a charge; everything I'd done up to that point involved standing there and keeping the enemy from overrunning us; from our success, I was not encouraged about being on the other side. Napper was on my left, Aelburr on my right.

The Captain came out in front of our line, riding a dark-colored horse that seemed much too small for him; his feet didn't reach the ground, but it seemed like they could if he just stretched a little. The effect was vaguely comical. He spoke in a loud voice that carried easily, though he didn't seem to be shouting.

"We will," he announced, "be attacking light infantry, very much like ourselves. They have no bulwarks nor ditches, and they number significantly fewer than ourselves; however, we will as you see, be attacking uphill. We will go at a brisk march, charging the last hundred yards. We will take the hill and hold it until relieved." No one commented on the fact that yesterday we could have taken the hill by walking up it and planting our colors.

He continued, "I will expect you to maintain formation until we meet their lime. We will have additional support from the sorcerers corps, especially defensive. If we keep our lines dressed and strike quickly, I do not anticipate any difficulty. That is all. Attend to your squad leaders."

He rode off to the far end of the line, drawing his sword as he did so. It seemed like a functional sword; maybe he'd use it. I hadn't recalled seeing him in any of the action hitherto. But I might not have noticed.

Crown took a position in the middle, just ahead of us. He, too, was holding his sword. I realized my pulse had quickened. I said to Virt, "Do they have javelins?"

"Probably," she said. "Almost certainly." Then, "Do javelins worry you?"

"Not at all," I said. "I'm looking forward to trying to catch one in my teeth."

"That's what we need: fighting spirit."

I assumed she was being ironic, but I couldn't tell for certain. Crown gave a signal, and the colors moved out. The rest of us followed.

"War," Sethra Lavode once explained to me, "consists of missed opportunities alternating with narrow escapes, and it usually ends when someone, somewhere, fails to commit a timely error." If I'd had that discussion with her before the Wall of Baritt's Tomb, it might have done me some good. Or, I don't know, maybe some harm; in any case, I wouldn't have been as surprised by what happened.

We went forward, straight into an unmoving mass of warriors. They stood shoulder to shoulder about halfway up the hill. The hill, by the way, had a long and gentle slope, deceptively gentle. It looked like it might be possible to run up it without being winded well before you reached the enemy position. This turned out not to be the case. I was already breathing heavily before we broke into a run, and so were Virt and Aelburr. We kept getting closer, and I kept wondering how I was supposed to fight in this condition. And at the same time I was both dreading and longing for the signal to charge.

And then they launched their javelins at us.

When we had thrown, it had seemed as if we had launched a single, vast, sheet of metal at the enemy. Now I was on the other side, and it seemed just like that. Then, I had wondered how the enemy kept coming at us; I still wondered. Now, after it is all over, I still wonder.

But I kept moving.

Then Crown waved his sword, and the colors surged forward, and I heard Rascha's voice, somewhere to my left: "Charge!" I couldn't go any faster up the hill, but everyone around me was able to, so I did too, and the effort distracted me from noticing what effect, if any, the javelins had had on our forces. Then they launched a second barrage, and this time I noticed: Virt stumbled and went down, and I remember thinking that I wished it were possible to stop and help her, and I still don't know why it wasn't, but I kept running. There was a horrid yelling, and I realized that I was making some of the noise myself.

There was a third barrage of javelins, which did some damage, to judge by the screams around me, and then a fourth, during which one went screaming past my ear and made Loiosh yelp psychically, and then we met the enemy.

The noise is what I remember most about that first instant, a screeching, groaning thunder that filled my skull and became something greater than noise, that went beyond the pain from my ears. It encompassed the battle like a shroud, and everything that happened was twisted and dulled by the din—out of which it was impossible to isolate what was causing any of it; it was just one unending roar. And through it, I kept trying to go forward, and I couldn't.

Now look, I think I'm more than a match for just about any of the swordsmen you care to name. For one thing, I'm good with a blade, but more important than that, I fight in a way they aren't used to: We Easterners have our own ways of fighting that I can use to take advantage of the fact that I'm smaller and quicker than they are. This mostly involves staying out of the way of those big monster blades they use, not giving them a good target, and never putting myself into a position of setting my strength directly against theirs.

Okay, now that I've said that, you probably already see the problem. I was not out there fighting against another swordsman with the object of killing him or taking him out of combat; I was out there trying to get myself past a certain point along with several hundred others, and at no point did I really have the chance to settle in and actually fight someone. I ducked a lot, and scampered back and forth, and I'd occasionally make a halfhearted jab in the direction of one of the defenders, but there was just no way for my fighting advantages to be of help, whereas all of my disadvantages were multiplied.

It's nothing short of a miracle that I wasn't killed inside the first twenty seconds after we met their line. The very first instant someone brought a big old sword cutting down at my head, and I still don't know how I got out of the way. He certainly would have killed me if he had followed up on that first strike, but I guess he got distracted after that. For whatever reason, I picked myself up (no, I don't remember falling or dropping to the ground or whatever I did) and charged again, and someone came within a whisper of disemboweling me. I don't remember gasping for breath while this was going on, but I must have been. I just remember thinking in a strangely detached way, That's two; the third will probably kill me.

Then Loiosh said into my mind, "To the left, Boss!" which accomplished two things. The first, and most immediate, was that it caused me to look to my left, where someone was drawing a bead on me with a sword swirling over his head. The second thing was that, somehow, it transformed me from a soldier into what I was. Or, to put it another way, it reminded me that I had more weapons than my sword—although that isn't accurate either, because I didn't exactly remember, because I never made a decision, but the next thing I knew I had put three shuriken into his chest, which slowed him down a bit, and while he was trying to decide how badly he was hurt, someone—I think it was Aelburr, though I'm not sure, cut his legs out from under him.

I went back to looking ahead of me, and when I attracted someone's attention I threw a knife at her, missing, but I guess making her decide to look elsewhere for entertainment.

How long did our assault last? Well, I saw in the log book where it was recorded at four minutes. To me it seemed longer and shorter. Longer because at the time it seemed to go on and on; I kept thinking that something had to break, but nothing did. Shorter because I can't account for most of it. I usually have good memories of fights because my mind is always working, keeping track of the movements that training has made instinctive and making notes for future reference, but in these battles it had been different, and in this one in particular I can only account for about a minute of the fight, and then we were retreating back to our own lines with Rascha shouting to maintain our line. I remember seeing our colors and telling myself, Okay, we didn't take them, but we weren't broken. I didn't know that the color bearer had gone down, and his replacement, too, but I suppose that didn't much matter; what did matter was that we retreated in order and looked threatening enough doing so that whoever was in charge of the company that had just repelled us decided not to counterattack.

Which is part of what I meant earlier when I spoke of mistakes. I am fairly sure they could have broken us if they had charged immediately. They had elevation working for them, and we were at least a little demoralized, but, probably because we looked like we were retreating in order, or maybe because we'd killed some officer, or maybe just because the enemy commander lacked backbone, they didn't attack.

It was only when we had retreated all the way back to the bottom of the hill and an additional hundred yards besides that I became aware that there was fighting going on around us. We had, it seems, been only one part of a major battle, which I should have known but had never thought of until, motionless and recovering my breath, I noticed dust clouds from several of the hills around us, and the movement of troops, and opposing banners awful close together.

I didn't watch, however, because I couldn't see much and didn't want to anyway. I overheard various remarks about who was winning where, but they didn't agree with each other so I concluded that no one knew.

Presently Virt came up next to me, and it was only then that I remembered she'd gone down. Aelburr said, "Good work, slackard."

"Good move on their part," she said. "If they hadn't knocked me down we'd have won."

"Yeah," he said. "You'd have taken the position by yourself."

"Damn right."

"What happened?" I said.

"The bastards missed my knee, that's what. Thigh wound, about as clean as you could ask. I'd have kept going up the hill but I felt like taking a nap."

"You and Napper," he said, which was when I realized that I hadn't seen Napper since the fight, but then I noticed him almost at once, lying on his back just past Aelburr; as near as I could tell he was sound asleep.

I tried to decide how I felt about that, but gave up and threw myself onto the ground next to him.

"Behold the grim aftermath of battle," remarked Virt.

Loiosh tells me I caught a nap myself after that, and I can't prove him wrong. In any case, the juice-drum brought me to my feet with "Rubbing Elbows," the call to form a defensive line. I looked around the battlefield, aware that I'd been resting my eyes for a little while, and saw that the scene had changed; our colors now occupied a hill we hadn't been on before, and I could just barely make out fighting a long way to the right. They were, I supposed, attacking our flank. (Well, no, they weren't, as it happened; it was some sort of complicated diversionary move to cover an envelopment on the other side that never happened, but I didn't find that out until much later.)

I asked Loiosh, who had been strangely silent since we charged, if he was all right.

"Boss, we don't belong here."

"I know. What's your point?"

"We should cut out."

"Can't do it."

"Why not?"

"For one thing, I've agreed to a job."

"Do you see any way to do it?"

"Not at the moment, but—" I said aloud, "Where do you suppose their command center is, Virt?"

She pointed to a hill about four hundred yards south of us. "I'd be there," she said. "It commands a good view, and it's hard to tell for sure, but I think it's pretty steep. It would be easy to defend, easy to retreat from, easy to advance from. I'd certainly have my sorcerers there, and probably my command post. Why?"

"Just curious," I said.

Napper gave me a look. "You got something?"

I shook my head and didn't answer.

Aelburr sat down with his head in his hands, his long knees drawn up. Farther down the line, Tibbs was in the same position. Virt, though still standing, had a look that matched their poses. Napper wasn't glowering; he was just staring at the ground in front of him.

I said, "We got beat, didn't we?"

Virt nodded. "We got beat," she said.

Napper glanced at me. "Maybe they'll come at us now," he said hopefully.

I agreed with him, but didn't feel hopeful, so I didn't say anything.

Presently Rascha came along the line. Virt said, "We're expecting guests?" She nodded. Virt said, "How bad did we hurt ourselves going up the hill?"

"Could have been worse," said Rascha.

"Which means?"

"Fourteen killed or missing, twenty-six wounded. It could have been worse," she repeated, and moved along the line.

"Sure," murmured Virt. "It could have been—"

"Why don't we have javelins?" said Aelburr, looking up suddenly.

Virt used the sort of language soldiers have traditionally used in such circumstances. I was impressed.

For someone who had never touched a javelin two weeks before, I certainly had become attached to them. I suppose charging through a storm of them and actually feeling what it was like on the other side had a lot to do with that. What was worse, however, was the feeling that, if things had broken down badly enough for our javelins to go missing, what else was liable to go wrong?

The answer was, something big went wrong, but fortunately it was in the enemy's camp: They failed to attack us. Another example of what Sethra was talking about, I suppose. I did ask about that, too, but Sethra didn't know why they failed to attack that day. As far as I was concerned, I watched them, tense and more than a little scared, for several hours. Around us the battle continued, but it was a day of missed chances and maneuvering, or so I've heard, and what I saw was a great deal of marching and almost continuous skirmishes, but no real battles except for our charge up that hill.

Lucky us.

A couple of hours later we were issued javelins, and a little after that we were issued more biscuits and cheese, and this time we each got a strip of salted kethna to chew on. By then we were entertaining hopes that they wouldn't attack and fears that we'd be ordered to go after them again. But we weren't.

Late in the afternoon, Rascha came by again. They're shifting," she said.

"Leaving the hill?" said Virt.

"Now we can take it," said Aelburr.

"I assume they're being replaced. We'll find out tomorrow who we'll be facing."

"Tomorrow," said Aelburr.

"Tomorrow," I said. "I like that word. That's a good word. Tomorrow."

"But we have to stay alert for night attacks," she said. "Extra picket duty all around, and like that."

Napper moaned suddenly. "What is it?" said Virt.

He stared disgustedly at his javelins. "We have to set camp again."

"Life is rough," said Aelburr.

"Might as well get to it," said Virt.

We struggled to our feet.

"Tomorrow is going to be ugly," said Aelburr.

"I hope so," said Napper. "We going to take whatever that hill is called tomorrow?"

"Dorian's Hill," said Rascha. "And yes, I think we are." She moved off down the line. Loiosh and I kept our cynicism to ourselves.

The day after our visit with Aliera I sent a message to Sethra the Younger in care of Lord Morrolan.

"She'll be pleased," I told Cawti.

"There have been no promises," she said.

"Yes. But you know Aliera will agree. Eventually."

Cawti nodded.

That was the day before yesterday. Yesterday I finished telling my story, as far as I felt like going, and came home in time to prepare dinner for Cawti. I was planning to treat her to a three-fish three-pepper stew with leeks and white wine, because no woman who has tasted it can resist me. Oh, okay, maybe I'm stretching a point. But it is good. So I did my shopping (I enjoy shopping for food, and if I ever achieve real wealth, I think I'll continue to do so), returned home, started preparing the oysters (yes, yes, I know oysters aren't fish), and was interrupted by Loiosh telling me that someone was clapping at the door. I started to yell "Come in," when Loiosh said, "It isn't Cawti."

I opened the door and found myself staring up at Sethra the Younger. My mouth fell open. She looked down at me. I swallowed and said, "Would you care to come in and sit down? I'm afraid it falls short of your standards for a domicile."

"Save it," she said, stepping in. "I'm not here to criticize your decorations." She paused, looked around, then said, "Although I must admit I find your home surprisingly tasteful."

Tasteful? I have furniture that one could sit on, and floors that are clean, and walls that hold the place up. I have one shelf of knick knacks with sentimental value. Home is where I go when I sleep; the only room I've put much thought into is the kitchen. But okay. Maybe she meant she expected to find it a kethna's nest with peeling walls, bloodstains, and rusted weapons lying about, I don't know.

But I said, "Okay, why are you here?"

"Can't you guess?"

"No. If it was about the trade you want to arrange with Aliera, I'd have expected you to send for me."

"And would you have come if I had?"

"No," I said.

"I hadn't thought so." She unbuckled her sword belt, and I noticed its size at once. She carefully set it on a table, and then sat down. I gritted my teeth and brought out some wine. She said, "Perhaps we should send for Aliera and get this done."

"Actually," I said, "I had plans for the evening."

I could see her forming the words "Break them" and then changing her mind. After a moment she said, "Are they breakable?"

"Perhaps. If you can convince me—" There was another clap at the door.

"Loiosh?"

"Yes."

"My plans for the evening," I said. I went over to the door and admitted Cawti.

She took in the scene at once; I saw her notice the sheathed sword on the table. I said, "It wasn't my plan. She wants to finish things tonight."

"Why not?" said Cawti.

"Why not indeed?" said Sethra the Younger.

I could have made some answers, but I decided the question was rhetorical. "All right," I said. "Then someone should reach Aliera. Who wants to do the honors?"

"Why don't you?" said Sethra the Younger.

"All right," I said, and composed my mind for the contact.

I reached Aliera more quickly than I'd have expected to. I guess I was getting to know her. I had mixed feelings about this.

"What is it?" she said without greeting, preamble, pleasantry, or anything else I hadn't expected.

"Sethra the Younger is here."

"There? Where is there?"

"My flat."

"What does she want?"

"To conclude the transaction."

"I haven't agreed to the transaction yet."

I said aloud, "She hasn't agreed to the transaction yet."

"Then let's talk about it," said Sethra.

"Then she suggests you talk about it."

"I—very well. Can you give me a picture?"

I did so to the best of my ability. It got me enough into her head that I could tell what she thought about the best of my ability.

"Very well," she said eventually. "I'll be there directly."

"Well?" snapped Sethra the Younger.

"She'll be here."

She nodded.

We sat in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes; Cawti sat next to me and held my arm. Aliera clapped outside the door; I let her in.

Sethra the Younger stood up. They gave each other slight bows over mutual glares.

Sethra said, "You know the bargain I propose."

Aliera said, "You should never have received the weapon in the first place."

"Received it?" she said, and I remembered, then, that final encounter at Baritt's Tomb. It hadn't stayed with me because I hadn't known her then. She said, "I didn't receive it, Lady Aliera. I took it. I used it. I—"

"I remember. I was there."

"Yes, you were, weren't you?" She turned to me. "And so, I believe, were you."

"You could say that," I told her.

She nodded. "But, Lady Aliera, I believe the weapon should be yours. What is your opinion?"

"My opinion is that you want the sword of Kieron the Conqueror. My opinion is also that I'm no haggler."

"Well, then?"

"Then if you want it, come take it."

"I could do that," said Sethra the Younger, touching the hilt of the blade next to her.

"Not in my house, you don't," I said, but they weren't listening to me.

I concentrated hard and, very quickly, reached Morrolan.

"What is it, Vlad?"

"A favor."

"Oh?"

"Grab Blackwand and get your ass over here. Now."

He didn't ask why, or what was going on, or anything else. Whatever else you say about Dragons, they understand when it is time for action.

The same, of course, can be said for Aliera and Sethra the Younger. They had drawn their swords and were circling each other in the parlor.

I hoped they wouldn't destroy too much furniture.

The instant after Daymar appeared was another moment when I felt like I was about to be snuffed out, but I wasn't. A little piece of my mind that likes to comment on what the rest of me is doing suggested that I was getting tired of almost getting cut to ribbons every few seconds, and then answered itself by pointing out that it was, at least, better than actually getting cut to ribbons.

"You think he can do it, Loiosh?"

"Probably. But you need to give him enough time, Boss."

"Any idea how much time is enough?"

"Not even a wild guess, Boss."

To Fornia I said, "This is Daymar, my associate. And, just to be clear about things: You're right. I'm not a negotiator. On the other hand, I was not sent here to kill you, and I have no intention of trying to. I only hope you'll be as reserved with regard to me."

He laughed a little. "Why should I be?"

"Curiosity. To find out what I'm doing here."

"I've never been all that curious. Any other reasons why I shouldn't do as Ori says?"

"Because you don't kill prisoners, and I surrender."

"Boss!"

"Any other ideas?"

He nodded. "That will do." He addressed his personal guard, then: "Search him carefully, and I especially want that gold chain in his hand. Bind him well and send him to the rear for quest—"

Someone whispered in his ear. He listened carefully, then put his telescope to his eye and studied the field somewhere over my left shoulder.

"Not quite yet," he said as three of his bodyguards moved toward me to carry out his orders, leaving me saying to myself, "Now what, smart guy?"

I guessed, from where Fornia was looking, that the subject of the message he'd just received was Dorian's Hill, where I had recently left the rest of my company in the middle of a battle, which I was certain was no more fun than it had been yesterday, when, after an entire day of fighting, I'd gotten myself good and properly nailed.

We had woken up yesterday morning to discover Dorian's Hill was deserted. Empty. Unoccupied. This provided the subject for that morning's breakfast conversation. There was constant chatter all around me, and I kept hearing the word "trap" find its way from the buzz and hum.

"What do you think, Boss?"

"The hill we spent yesterday trying to take is suddenly empty, and yet they think it might be a trap? What suspicious minds."

"I meant, do you think you'll be ordered to occupy it anyway?"

"Oh."

I studied the hill in the morning light: green, harmless, a few shrubs on the top, only long grasses and a few sharp grey stones on the way up. The only sign of yesterday's action had been that the grasses were a bit tromped down. The hill was just sitting there. If it were human it would have been twiddling its thumbs, staring at the sky, and whistling. "Probably," I told Loiosh.

At least they didn't keep us waiting. We were given breakfast, and within a few minutes after eating we were formed up, and the Captain rode out in front of us. He turned and faced the line, and said, "We will occupy the hill and immediately begin preparing to defend it. To that end, the engineers will accompany us. We can expect to be required to defend it at once."

"No shit," said Napper under his breath.

The Captain was done talking; Crown stepped out and led us up the hill. It was much easier this time. The walk wasn't even tiring.

"It's going to be a fight once we get there."

"I imagine so," said Napper.

"No, I mean they'll have something special waiting. Sorcery, or some traps they put up there. Something."

"Don't matter," said Napper. It was hard to argue with him, so we just walked for a while.

"It's just us," said Virt as we neared the top.

"Excuse me?"

"We're by ourselves up here. Just the company."

"And the engineers," said Aelburr.

"And the engineers."

"Oh," I said. "Not enough, huh?"

"Not enough," said Virt."

Aelburr said, "Trap within a trap?"

"Maybe," said Virt. "Which makes us bait."

"Grand," I said.

"Don't matter," said Napper.

In a way, it was irritating to just stroll up the hill that had caused us such agony the day before, but I didn't say anything about it because I knew what Napper would say, and if he said it again I was going to have to kill him.

We reached the top, and before we had even caught our breath Crown called out, "Form a perimeter, begin constructing earthworks. Engineers to the fore."

They passed out shovels and instructions, and we dug ditches and piled dirt for about half an hour, during which time javelins were distributed. We stopped working when the fog rolled in. Thick fog, blanketing the entire hill; it came up with only seconds of warning.

"I wonder if it's magical," said Virt as we scrambled for our weapons. That was irony, by the way.

Crown's voice cut through everything: "It's safe to breathe," he said, scaring me all over again, because it hadn't occurred to me it might not be.

"Form your line and stand ready!"

A whole lot of swords were drawn from a whole lot of scabbards.

"Where's our line?" I said.

"Right here, I suppose," said Virt.

I recognized a voice that cursed from my left. "What is it, Napper?"

"Tripped in the bloody ditch."

"Hurt?"

"No."

"Can't bring up a wind," said someone. "They've got it blocked."

I let Spellbreaker fall into my hand and searched for something to use it on, failed to find anything, and wrapped it around my wrist again.

That was the moment when I realized that I was surrounded by an elite corps and was grateful for it. They had to have been as terrified as I was; a single, isolated company, having walked into what we all knew was a trap, and now we were blind; yet there was no sign of fear from anyone around me. They just waited, coolly, swords in hand.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to be the first to panic.

The silence itself was terrifying, until I realized that, without anyone's having said a word, everyone was listening intently. An obvious thing to do, which I would have thought of myself if I hadn't been scared half out of my wits. I mentally cursed. Being frightened wasn't new to me, but letting it interfere with my efficiency was new, and very bad. What would Loiosh say?

Loiosh …

"Loiosh, can you—"

"On my way, Boss."

He left my shoulder soundlessly. I can usually hear the flap of his wings, but he is capable of flying silently when he needs to. I'm like that, too, now that I think of it. The air was still and there was no sound but that of a few random birds squawking overhead; why is it mountain birds always have horrid voices? Presently Loiosh reported. I said, "Corporal!"

"Quiet," said someone.

"Bug off," I suggested. "Corporal!"

"What is it?" she whispered in my ear.

"Relax," I said in a normal voice. "They aren't within earshot on this side."

"How—?"

"There are about fifty of them on the west side of the hill, coming up quietly. Right now they're between sixty and seventy yards below the ditch. More of them are at the bottom of the hill on the southeast side, waiting."

"How—?"

"Loiosh," I said.

"I see."

She clapped me on the back and moved off. If Loiosh had been popular before, I reflected, now he'd be a hero. And impossible to live with.

Presently the hero returned to my shoulder.

"Good work," I told him.

"Thanks, Boss. Just proves you don't need opposable thumbs to be a hero."

I had nothing to add to this observation, so I added my voice to the silence, wondering if Rascha was going to make any use of the information. I'd about decided she wasn't when I heard the command, "Loose javelins!" from somewhere behind me.

The javelins flew without noise. It was eerie. Then, very faintly, we heard a brief scream from far away, quickly cut off; at least one of the javelins had struck home.

"Loose javelins!" came again. This time I recognized Crown's voice.

Someone else screamed—maybe there were two. It was strange and terrible, unable to see five feet in front of me, Virt and Aelburr indistinct shapes at my side, trying to guess what was happening from the sounds.

I never did find out exactly, but you can probably guess as well as I can. Nothing more happened for about ten very, very long minutes, where most of my activity involved reminding myself not to grip my sword so tightly my hand cramped. For excitement, I'd switch the sword to my left hand, wipe my right hand on my jerkin, and switch it back.

And then, finally, a breeze came up, and, in an instant, the fog blew away like so much smoke and it was daylight again, and there was no enemy in sight closer than the foot of the hill, and I felt like a fool for having been so frightened. I imagine they called off the attack when our javelins fell into them, assuming our sorcerers had penetrated the fog. But whatever, Rascha came by and ordered us back to digging ditches and piling dirt, which work lasted maybe two minutes before the enemy began moving up the hill in force.

"Here we go," said Virt needlessly.

Aelburr began whistling, then broke off abruptly. The look on Napper's face was familiar by now.

For the record, I didn't have any sympathetic thoughts about an enemy's going through what we'd gone through the day before; I was just pleased to be on the other end. We released javelins five times as they made their way up, and I could see we did some damage. By the time they reached us, I think they were having doubts about the whole idea, so when Sethra sent a company that, I learned later, was called Tuvin's Volunteers up the hill to attack them from behind, they broke before they even got there. I never bloodied my sword during that battle; the whole affair was slick, sweet, and easy, and it would have been perfect if it had decided anything, but the enemy broke back down the hill, skirted around Tuvin's people, and made it back to their own lines, where we watched another company come up to reinforce them.

Tuvin's company was pulled back to threaten the same maneuver rather than joining us to reinforce our position, so we watched and waited. Those who had been injured by our javelins crawled off the field as best they could or were captured by Tuvin's company. A few of them, of course, wouldn't be moving again ever, and they remained where they were.

They gave us about twenty minutes before they began moving up the hill again, a whole lot of them even with the units they dispatched to hold off Tuvin.

We threw more javelins, and they came, and we held them off. This time my sword got bloody, but I had learned: A few of my surprises got bloody, too, and when it was over, and they went scampering down the hill, we were still intact, breathing hard, but with the feeling that it could have been worse. Nap-per suggested it would be next time, and Virt didn't disagree, only it wasn't, as far as I was concerned, because the third attack that day came from the southeast, and I was facing the southwest, so all I did was stand there, listening to the yelling, the screaming, and the crashing sounds from seventy yards to my left, and waited to be sent in if needed, but presently it was over. We took a few casualties, but they took more, and then we got a breather.

The top of the hill had plenty of room to set up camp, which we did, while keeping an eye on the enemy below. When it was done I took a stroll around the hill. I looked to the north, where I could see the camp of our reserves, stretching all the way from the stream to the Wall. Between us and the Wall, to the northeast, was a smaller hill—"Beggar's Hill," I learned—which was occupied by two companies whose names I never learned. We held the north, and from there we were brought barrels of water and biscuits and salted kethna, and more javelins. The best part of receiving the supplies was that it drove home the fact that we weren't cut off, and where supplies could come, troops could, too, if they were needed. Where it was easy to feel isolated, this was no small reassurance. Good for morale, as Virt would put it.

To the west was the stream, a little spinoff from the Eastern River. It ran straight south until it emptied into Khaavren's Sea, some three hundred miles away. To the southwest were a couple of smaller hills, occupied by the enemy, and from there they were mustering to attack us again.

Earlier there had been fighting to the west, all over the fields between our hill and the ones they occupied, but now everything was quiet. Three hundred miles is too far away to smell the sea, so I'm certain the very faint tang was more in my mind than in my nose, but the wind was coming from the south. I don't know.

"Watching them muster?" said Virt.

"Yes. More of them, this time."

"We getting reinforced?"

"Don't know."

We watched some more.

"A lot more of them this time," I remarked.

"Well," she said, "if I were the enemy commander, and our assault had failed three times, and I wanted to make a fourth, I don't think I'd attack with fewer men. But that's just me."

"Shut up, Loiosh."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Never mind. Private joke."

Aelburr came up next to us. "Our side again," he said. "Napper felt left out last time."

"Wouldn't want that," said Virt.

The enemy began moving up. The juice-drum explained that it would be best if we formed a defensive line. I chose not to argue with the juice-drum.

They came slowly up the gentle part of the slope. Very slowly. I strained my eyes until my vision began to blur, then said, "Loiosh, are they carrying something odd?"

"I've been watching, Boss. They're all carrying a stick or some' thing, but I don't know exactly what it is. I'll go check."

But he didn't have to, because Virt's eyes were better than mine. "What by Deathgate are those things?"

"That's what I've been wondering," I said.

"You know, it makes me a bit nervous to see an enemy approaching carrying things I don't recognize. It makes me—wait. I recognize them now. Rascha!"

The corporal came over. "What is it?"

She gestured down the hill. "Javelin shooters."

"Bloody damn," said the corporal. Then called, "Sergeant!"

A moment later I heard Crown's voice say, "Drummer! Beat 'Kiss the Ground.'"

"That sounds entertaining, Boss," said Loiosh as the drum started up with a call I hadn't heard before.

I turned to ask Virt what it meant, but Virt, and everyone else, was busy lying down on the ground. I made a quick deduction and joined them. When the drum stopped, I said, "Javelin shooters? I don't like the sound of that."

"No. You won't like the effect, either."

"What—?"

"Here they come!" yelled Rascha, and a mass of javelins flew over our heads, save for a few that landed, point first, in the ground near us. Down the line someone began cursing, very creatively, in a low, even, conversational tone of voice. One of the javelins had fallen about two feet from my right hand, and was sticking out of the ground; it was much smaller than the ones we were throwing, and had feathers near the back, and, at the very end, the wood had a small notch.