Honoured Enemy

ELEVEN. RESPITE

The morning was cold.

Dennis Hartraft leaned against the wall of Wolfgar's stockade, cloak pulled tight around his shoulders, hood up to block out the cold wind sweeping down from the west.

He wondered if he'd ever really be warm again. The world was forever cold it seemed, seeping into his bones, and his heart. He knew it was a cold of the mind, not the body, for even though it was now winter in this valley, the cold he felt on the wind was nothing compared to the bitter freezing they had endured the last three days of their chase. Then Dennis reconsidered: not a cold of the mind, but a cold in his soul.

Perhaps it was Wolfgar who triggered it, memories better left dead…

A long-ago winter morning standing on the battlement wall, watching the first snow of winter drifting down, the wonder of it all for a child of seven, heavy flakes swirling, a bard kneeling by his side, laughing as he caught the flakes on his tongue or held out his mittens to catch one, then hold it up close to look at its intricate design until it melted away.

He remembered so clearly the sound of laughter, looking down into the courtyard below, a little girl running in circles, arms wide, shouting that she was a snowflake riding on the wind, the bard chuckling softly, telling him he knew a secret, that the little girl liked him.

Years later, again a snowfall and the little girl had grown, and they were to be married, standing arm in arm on the battlement, both of them sharing the memory of the bard, laughing, wondering if there was a way he could be found and invited to perform for their wedding.

And yet another snowfall, the flicker of fire, the screams…

He lowered his head, pushing that thought away. Never let that back in, never.

'Remind you of something?'

Dennis took a deep breath, blinking hard, his features falling back into the mask he presented to life. He turned.

Wolfgar was ever so slowly climbing the steps to the battlement, staff wobbling, the old man hanging on to it with both hands, taking one step at a time. Dennis almost reached out to help him, but knew better: old men had their pride, especially this one.

At last Wolfgar was at his side, hood drawn up over his head, frail body wrapped in heavy layers of furs. He looked up and smiled crookedly. His lips were blue and Dennis knew that wasn't from the cold, for his breath came in a raspy gurgle and his pale eyes were watery.

'You shouldn't be out in the cold like this,' Dennis offered.

'Damn you, it's a life covered in offal when I have to start taking advice from a lad who I once pushed off my lap because his swaddling clothes were leaking on me'. Wolfgar laughed and shook his head. 'I asked if standing up there reminded you of something, you seemed lost in thought.'

'Just waiting for Gregory and Tinuva to return.'

'There are some things that never change with a man – the boy still locked inside. Even when you were seven you used to stand like that, shoulders hunched, hands clasped in front of you, always watching. Reminded me of a snowy day, the two of us watching the first storm of the season, and I told you that Gwenynth liked you.'

'How your eyes sparkled even though you were a proud lad of seven and would not admit that girls were of any interest yet.'

Dennis looked away.

'I heard what happened to her, to your father and grandfather.'

Dennis felt a hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off but couldn't.

'My heart was with you, lad. I wept for you. Your old grandfather always wanted to die in a damn good fight, and your father, well, he never had a chance to rule in his own right but I heard he died sword in hand. But for you, I wept.'

He fell silent, not mentioning her death. Dennis closed his eyes…

The begging, the pleading for her not to let go, his fumbling to stop the bleeding, to somehow force her soul back into her body and that smile that lit her features as she slipped away, as if she was trying to console a little boy who didn't understand, that it would work out in the end… but it never did.

'It was nine years ago,' Dennis whispered, using every ounce of effort to keep control of his voice.

'In some matters time is meaningless. For an elf like Tinuva, nine years is but a moment. Memory of loss can linger for an eternity. I know, I used to sing about it often enough.' Wolfgar hawked and spat noisily, removing his hand from Dennis's shoulder to wipe his mouth.

Dennis looked over at him. 'Let it drop,' he snapped. 'It was a long time ago. No song, not even yours can bring them back, except in memory, and I prefer those memories buried.'

Wolfgar nodded. 'My eyes are all but gone, young Hartraft. I didn't see Jurgen with you.'

Dennis sighed. 'Dead. Killed last week.'

'Ahh.' Wolfgar spat again. 'There was a man who could shake the dice.' There was a tremor to his voice. 'Is there anyone left from the old days?'

'The war took them all.' Dennis's tone indicated clearly enough that he didn't wish to say more.

There was a long silence of several moments. The two old friends watched as the heavy flakes gently swirled.

Dennis looked back at the long house where all the men were sleeping. Wolfgar's great hall was a heavy building of logs that stretched for over thirty paces. On the other side of the courtyard were stables, some workshops, and at the far end a detached kitchen, connected by a stone corridor to the long house so that if a fire started it would not destroy the entire dwelling. It was a fortress typical of the frontier, enough to keep a small band of marauders out, but against an army like Bovai's it would fall in a matter of hours.

It was, however, the difference between life and death for Dennis and the men with him.

After being allowed in, the men had built up roaring fires to warm the long house and all had collapsed into exhausted slumber. He had even managed a few hours' rest until he was awoken by Tinuva, who suggested that a scout should be sent back to the gorge, just to make sure that their pursuers had truly given up the chase for now and were not attempting to somehow get a party across so that the bridge could be rebuilt. So shortly after midnight Tinuva and Gregory had ridden back out. Unable to sleep, Dennis decided to keep watch until their return.

'They're all asleep in there, snoring and breaking wind,' Wolfgar announced. 'Gods' how they are stinking up the place! A hundred men in there, a tight fit, with a dozen more wounded packed into the blacksmith's shop. What in the name of Kahooli's Loins am I to do with them all?'

'Kicking us out now, I don't think my men would go along with it.'

'That Tsurani leader, Ass-you-gag.'

'Asayaga.'

'However you say the bastard's name. How by Astalon's Blood did you ever fall in with them?'

Dennis briefly recounted their tale and Wolfgar nodded appraisingly.

'Shrewd move. When do you plan to kill him?'

'Once this is over.'

'When is that?'

'I'm not sure now,' Dennis said. 'At first I figured it'd last a day at most. Now I just don't know.'

'Can you trust him not to stab you in the back?'

'Trust a Tsurani?' Dennis asked, incredulous.

The question had never been asked so directly since all this started. He realized he had been, in general, thinking minute by minute, always keeping a watchful eye for the first false move which had yet to come, but not seriously contemplating that this arrangement could go on for weeks, even months.

'In their own way they're honourable I guess,' Dennis finally ventured. 'They don't torture prisoners, they kill the wounded cleanly as we do.'

'That's a mark on their side,' Wolfgar said quietly.

'He needs me more than I need him now.'

'How's that?'

'I know the way back, he doesn't.'

'Do you? The bridge is down. Do you know the way back?'

Dennis looked at his old friend, and then at the surrounding peaks brushed with the first light of dawn. Even as he looked at them the light blurred and softened. The overarching clouds sweeping in from the west blanketed what little blue sky was left on the eastern horizon. The flurries began to thicken.

'Like I said yesterday, a big storm's coming,' Wolfgar announced. 'With luck it will close the last of the passes. Now answer my question, Hartraft. Do you know the way?'

Dennis shook his head. He had never ventured this far north before.

'Then you know nothing more than the Tsurani. But you still haven't answered the question, boy.'

'I was a boy twenty years ago, Wolfgar,' Dennis replied sharply.

Wolfgar threw back his head and cackled like a demented old bird.

'At my age, anyone who can still remember to button his trousers after making water is a boy. Now answer me: can you trust him not to stab you and your men in the back?'

'Yes, damn it,' Dennis snapped. 'They seem to have this thing, this code in how they fight duels. When the time comes he'll shout some sort of challenge first, the others will back up, and we will fight. Once that's settled I guess the general slaughter begins.'

'Can you take him?'

'In a fair fight?'

'Like the one you described. Not in the woods, not in the night, but deliberate, out in the open, one on one with only blades.'

Dennis hesitated.

'You're not sure, are you?'

Dennis shook his head. 'I've watched him,' He said. 'He's as swift as a cat – he cut two goblins in the flash of an eye, the head of the first had yet to even hit the ground and the guts of the second were already spilling. He's the fastest I've ever seen.' Dennis hesitated.

'Even Jurgen in his prime would have had a hard time taking him.'

'That's saying something,' Wolfgar replied. 'I bet on that old bastard more than once and won – bar-room brawl, duel of honour, nothing could touch him.'

'Something finally did,' Dennis said, his gaze distant.

'What will you do?' Wolfgar pressed.

'Fight him when the time comes.'

'That will be a show,' Wolfgar snorted. 'Tell me, do you want to beat him?'

'What the hell kind of question is that?'

'Some men, when they've lost too much become fey. They don't know it, but already the gods of the dead have touched them. Their memories dwell so much with those who have crossed over that in their inner heart they wish to cross as well and therefore place themselves upon the path unknowingly. Dennis, have you become fey?'

Dennis shook his head. 'That's madness.'

Wolfgar laughed. 'The whole world is mad right now. Not fifty miles south of here the Kingdom and the Tsurani are fighting over gods know what when I half suspect if the damn royals of both sides sat down and drained a keg together it'd soon be straightened out. Fifty miles north of here moredhel hack one another up for sport, and you sit here and talk about madness. Dennis, you haven't answered me, do you want to win?'

'Of course I want to win, to live. My men – if I'm killed in the opening move it might destroy their chance. I'm pledged to get my men back. I've done half a hundred patrols since the war started and always we get back.'

'We. What about you, do you always come back? How much of you stays behind with each of these patrols of yours?'

'You speak in riddles, Wolfgar.'

'I'm a bard, that's part of the trade at times. Do you like this Ass-you?'

'Asayaga.'

'Do you like him?'

Dennis looked at Wolfgar in surprise. 'Your questions are addled.' He regretted the word even as he said it.

Wolfgar, however, chuckled. Then, coughing, he leaned over, gasping until he finally caught his breath. 'You respect the way they fight, I know that. I heard some of your men speak of it last night before they settled in – grudging praise for the Tsurani skill in battle.'

'They're good. At least they're good in a stand-up fight in the open. Catch them by surprise in the woods and you have them every time, but a stand-up infantry against infantry and you'd pay a terrible price. I think we'd have been overwhelmed retreating up here if it hadn't been for them. There weren't fifty arrows left in my entire command, my men were collapsing from the cold and exhaustion.'

'I dare say the Tsurani are saying the same about you right now. They know they'd all be dead back at poor old Brendan's Stockade if you hadn't wandered in. They know as well your skill in the woods: they respect it, and deep down they fear it. So we have two sides here who both respect and fear each other.' Wolfgar laughed. 'Damn, how the gods love to play jokes. I've seen marriages like this – hell my third one was damn near identical to what you now got. So now you're stuck with each other.'

Dennis nodded. 'If I can keep the peace.'

'You will. That Ass You, or whatever it is he calls himself, you could find worse allies out here. Hell, better an enemy you can trust than a friend you aren't sure of. Try and extend your agreement. But damn my soul, if you can't, take your argument somewhere else: I don't want my long house turned into a slaughter pen.' He hesitated and looked over at Dennis with a calculating smile. 'But then again, your rotting bodies piled up outside my gate might buy off the Dark Brothers when they finally show up.'

Dennis started to reply but Wolfgar held up his hand.

'I might be a renegade bard with a price on my head, but I honour old memories, Dennis Hartraft.'

Dennis said nothing for a moment then finally he looked up.

'Your story? I haven't heard a damn thing about you since the King's warrant for your head was handed to my grandfather. Hell, I was still just a stripling then.'

Wolfgar laughed. 'Twenty years. That's what I get for composing bad verse about the pustulating sores on the royal buttocks.'

'Well it never would have started if you hadn't been seen jumping out of the window of the favourite royal consort,' Dennis replied.

'Prince Rodric, now our King, is as you may have noticed, mad, or so they say. That woman was his favourite. Of all the women to stoke your lust.'

'I'd prefer to think that my troubles arose from art rather that lust.'

'I remember the day a squadron of royal troops arrived, angry as hornets, figuring our place would be where you'd choose to hide out.'

'I don't bring trouble on to friends.'

'My grandfather laughed so damn hard when he heard the story he swore he'd fight the prince himself if you came to us.'

'Like I said, I don't bring trouble on to friends.'

'So what happened then?'

'I decided it was wise to make my precious body scarce. I have an aversion to hangings, drawings and quarterings, and worst of all the litigators – if you can afford one – you have to put up with first before they get around to the punishments. Damn leeches, drain the last copper out of your coffer with their fees and you wind up dead anyhow. I couldn't work. That fornicating son of a dung-eating proprietor of a knocking-shop who calls himself a King these days had his agents everywhere. So there I was, a victim of me own fame, unable to work, and all because of a beautiful doxy, and a sore on the royal backside she had told me about.'

Dennis laughed. 'You brought it on yourself. He might have let it pass, I mean the tumbling of his consort. He threw her out of the palace the following day. Admitting the truth – that he had been cuckolded – would have been embarrassing. Oh, you'd have been dodging assassins for a while, but it would have finally blown over. But to compose that epic poem, dedicated to all the prince's failings in bed and the sores on his backside was more than anyone could stand.'

Wolfgar chuckled. 'It was a good piece of verse.'

'They still sing it,' Dennis said with a smile, 'though far from the King's Palace in Rillanon.'

'Well, after that little fiasco I figured it was time to go to a land where royal warrants couldn't find me. I tried to take ship to the southern lands but the dockyards were crawling with royal agents and snitches that would sell me for a few pieces of silver so I headed north instead. 'That is where I met my precious Roxanne, on the road not far from here.' As he said the name the old man smiled wistfully. 'Had my heart on the spot she did. She was a fortune-teller, a true wizard with the picture cards, the reading of entrails and cracked bones. She was travelling with a merry band of vagabonds and thieves, and there was always room for a minstrel in their company.'

'Said I'd be hanged if I didn't stay with her, and so I did. Ahh, there was a time in my sin sodden youth when I thought I'd never worry for the companionship of a lovely woman, but at that age, to find just one more like her was a blessing. So we jumped the fire-pit together as they say, and soon thereafter she smiles and says we need to find a place to raise our family.'

Again he laughed wistfully until a coughing fit doubled him over. The seizure passed and he wiped the spittle from his chin.

'It was Roxanne who knew of this valley. Her little band of performers had found it years before: it was one of their secret hideouts and she led me here. We settled in; our two daughters came, and life continued, free, I might add, of any royal warrants and grasping lawyers looking for their fees. Free as well of the asinine wars that kings just love to get their people slaughtered in while they hide out in their palaces.'

'Daughters?'

Wolfgar smiled. 'Two lovelies they are.'

'Where?'

Wolfgar laughed. 'With a hundred hungry wolves at my gate last night, do you think I'd show my most precious treasures? I had them hide in the woods till things were settled. They came in with the other woman and children after your men bedded down for the night and slept in the servants' quarters. When the boy on watch came in reporting your arrival I knew we couldn't hold out against a hundred heavily-armed troops and was expecting the worst. We have a couple of small stockades up in the forests in case of trouble. This place is deliberately, out in the open. Bait, almost.'

'Why didn't all of you go up in the woods and hide?'

'Would you? Too many signs that we were here. Someone had to stay behind and lead you to believe that all of us had been taken.'

Dennis nodded. 'Where are the men?' he asked. 'I didn't see a dozen here capable of bearing arms. All the rest are oldsters like yourself.'

'The men?' and Wolfgar shook his head. 'Roxanne's people are wanderers. If they're in trouble, a warrant on their heads, they'll come here for a year or two to hide out, then they move on. One year we might have less than thirty living here, another year it might be a hundred. Most of the performers found ample riches working the army in the west. Those lads brighten up a great deal at the sight of a pretty woman dancing to the songs of a talented bard. The jugglers and acrobats get a copper or two also.'

'And a couple of purses vanish from the crowd, as well, I warrant,' suggested Dennis.

Wolfgar shrugged. 'Even when most of the performers are gone for months, we have a score of men around – too much work to be done by just women and children.' His expression darkened. 'A couple of months back, twenty of the men and most of their women went out of here to trade. Furs for salt, tools, a few trinkets and baubles for the children.'

'And they never came back,' Dennis replied.

Wolfgar nodded.

'They most likely ran into the same trouble we did,' Dennis said.

'Don't know what's up, but a lot of Dark Brothers are moving through the region just over that bridge.'

'Figured it was something like that,' Wolfgar grumbled. 'Never much cared for Roxanne's people. Pack of thieving scoundrels, but fair enough if you married into the clan. I guess with all them gone, I'm the leader here now.' He looked back at the long house. 'We've got around twenty children here to look after now. As for the women who lost their men, they've mourned. Practical people though, and with a hundred men to choose from with your party, they'll get over it soon enough.'

'What about the Dark Brotherhood?' Dennis asked.

'Them bastards? Remember this is the between-lands. Until the war started your border marches only came up to the Broad River. The moredhel rarely ventured beyond the next range twenty miles to the north of here.'

'You had an understanding with them, is that it?'

'They never knew about this place.' He paused, glaring at Dennis. 'At least until yesterday. We stayed out of each other's way. I guess all that's changed.'

'You hear rumours and gossip. This isn't the only human community north of the King's law. I've heard stories of… well, some are pretty far-fetched. Lost cities and ancient gods. Mostly scams to sell lost treasure maps to the gullible, I suspect. But there are those rumours that seem to have a gleam of truth in them. The Dark Brothers don't get close to the other side of those mountains, for a reason. Something keeps them away. I'm just as content not knowing what it is, rather than climbing over those icy crags to find out.'

'But until yesterday no Dark Brother ever stumbled across that entrance to the valley. How much trouble that's going to bring, I don't know. I guess it depends on how badly they want to dig you out of here. You could be safe for the winter, or maybe only for a few hours. I just don't know.'

A gust of wind caused the snow to swirl back into their faces so that they turned, facing back towards the long house.

Men were beginning to stir, a few were out in the courtyard relieving themselves, a coil of smoke puffed up from the kitchen house carrying with it the scent of roasting meat.

'How long are you staying?' Wolfgar grumbled.

'Depends – on what the Dark Brotherhood is doing, the weather. I don't know.'

'This storm keeps up you'll be here a while. Damn, a hundred mouths to feed, I wasn't planning on it.'

'We can take care of ourselves. I'll get hunting parties out before this storm really hits. I saw a lot of game signs; the valley seems rich.'

'Best damn place in the world right now. At least it was till yesterday.'

Dennis saw Sergeant Barry coming out of the long house, a dozen men following him, bows slung over their shoulder, and with them, several local boys to act as guides. With a nod to Dennis they ventured out and started up the slope to the treeline, spreading out as they advanced until they were lost to view in the snow.

As he watched them leave he experienced another flash of memory: days like this, heading out with his father to hunt, the fresh snow helping them to track. His father was not the type to go out with a fanfare and a score of beaters to stir up the game for him, he much preferred the solitude and the opportunity to teach his son the ways of the woods on his own. If the weather was fair they'd go for as long as a fortnight, taking enough game to eat well, but no more, many times just tracking an elk for the pleasure of it, then leaving him alone.

He swung his gaze back to the trail. The light snow had lifted for a moment and a quarter of a mile off he caught a glimpse of Gregory and Tinuva, riding slowly, coming back in.

'Good. They gave up the chase back at the canyon,' Dennis said.

Wolfgar nodded, hawked, and spat again over the stockade wall. 'That elf. Tinuva's his name isn't it?'

'Yes. Why?'

'Just I've heard a few rumours, that's all.'

'Such as?'

Wolfgar smiled knowingly. 'Remember the old saying, "never gossip about elves, for their ears are long and they hear all"?'

Dennis nodded.

'It doesn't bode well, that's all.'

'Tell me.'

'Do you trust him?'

'Yes,' said Dennis.

'Then he'll tell you if it's important for you to know.'

Dennis seemed unsatisfied by the answer.

'You're surrounded by death, Hartraft. But then again, your family usually was.'

The old man hawked and spat again. Pulling his fur cape tight, he turned and slowly hobbled down the steps, leaving Dennis alone with his thoughts.

Leaning back in his seat, Asayaga groaned and slapped his stomach.

He had never been one to pay particular notice to food the way some did, especially the effete lords who would spend hours debating the merits of a particular year's vintage, or pay hundreds of gems, even thousands, for a slave that could create a unique sauce.

Food was for the stopping of hunger, and the giving of strength so that one could continue to live.

This meal, however, would stay forever in his memory, for it was, without a doubt, the most satisfying and varied he had encountered since arriving in this gods-forsaken world.

The previous night all of them had been more concerned with sleep than anything else, but come dawn hunting parties had gone out in every direction. Hartraft had insisted that they provide their own food as much as possible so as not to burden their hosts and by mid-afternoon the Kingdom soldiers had yet again proven their skills in the forest: all of the hunting parties came back in heavily burdened, exclaiming about the unspoiled lands they had stalked through.

Asayaga's men, as well, had contributed to the pot, spreading out along the streams, bringing in dozens of fish caught in makeshift nets, speared or simply grabbed and tossed out of the water, while others had laid traps for marmots and snagged half a dozen of them. Those who had not skills with either fishing or hunting had laboured throughout the day to bring in extra wood to heat the long house, worked in the kitchen butchering the meat, or helped tend to their wounded comrades resting quietly in the warm blacksmith's shop.

By midday Wolfgar's prediction of a rising storm had come to pass, and the last of the hunting and fishing parties had staggered in covered with snow. By late in the afternoon a blizzard was howling outside the long house and the mere thought of it made Asayaga shudder with dread. If they had been caught out in the storm all of them would be dead. Instead he was safe inside, a roaring blaze crackled in the two great fireplaces that warmed the feasting hall and all was well with the world.

As darkness settled, the first courses had emerged from the cook-house to be placed upon the great table. The hall was cramped with more than a hundred men jammed around the table, squeezed in together side by side, Wolfgar insisting that the two groups mix in.

By mutual agreement any who came into the hall had to set aside all weapons, even daggers, and at first the men had looked warily at each other, feeling naked without a trusted blade at their side or hidden in a boot top. It was one thing to march side by side with a dreaded enemy in close pursuit, or to lie side by side in exhausted sleep, but another once strength had returned, and with it a realization of just who might be sitting to your left or right – an enemy that might have killed an old comrade or kin.

Then the first platters had come out, heaped with steaming slabs of meat – venison, elk, wild boar – warm grease splattering on to the table, accompanied by bowls heaped with fried livers, tongues, roasted brains mixed with bread crumbs and delicious kidney pies followed by baked fish.

The marmots came last, stuffed and roasted in the manner the Tsurani adored, and though most of the Kingdom troops turned up their noses at this fare the Tsurani cried out with joy, and friendly squabbles broke out over who had the honour of consuming the hearts and livers.

More platters were spread out upon the table, laden with dried fruits, roasted potatoes, half a dozen different kinds of bread and even boiled eggs which the men greedily devoured.

At first Wolfgar had been tight-fisted with his drink but as the room heated up with the scent of cooked meat and warm bodies he finally relented and called for extra kegs of beer to be brought in and tapped. Foaming goblets, drinking horns, and leather flagons were quickly filled and passed around to eager hands, the men laughing and cheering, downing the frothy brew and leaning back to belch with comfortable delight.

As appropriate for such an occasion Dennis and Asayaga sat at one end of the long table, with Wolfgar between them, the scrunched-up old bard watching the proceedings with a jaundiced eye, mumbling about the expense, the noise, and the alien smell of the Tsurani. But after several beers he began to relax as well, and even accepted a platter of boar's ribs which one of the young women who had mysteriously appeared shortly after dawn personally brought to his side.

'Thank you, daughter,' he whispered, reaching up to stroke her cheek as she put the plate before him.

Asayaga had noticed her within minutes after awaking in the morning. She was short for her race, nearly at his own eye-level, but that was the only aspect that might make him think she was a woman of his homeland. Her hair was blonde, the palest of blondes so that her long twin braids seemed like cascades of spun gold thread. Such hair was not unknown in his homeland, but far to the north of Coltari province, and rarely seen in his home city. Her figure was full, the tightness of her calf-length leather dress sufficient to show off every detail. Her eyes were a shimmering blue and her skin a soft delicate pink.

'Daughter?' Dennis asked, putting down his flagon of beer and staring straight at her.

Wolfgar laughed, a warm and lascivious grin wrinkling his pitted and leathery face. 'Ahh, not my grand-daughter, or great-granddaughter, though I'll wager there's more than one of them around.' He reached out affectionately and pulled her to his side and the young woman planted a warm kiss on the top of his balding head. 'Her mother, may she rest in the Blessed Lands, she was a rare lass. Two of them she bore for me. Alyssa here, who will break any man's heart with a glance is the oldest.'

Asayaga immediately rose, his gaze locked on hers and bowed formally. 'I am honoured to meet the daughter of our generous host,' he said. 'My sword will always be at your service.'

Dennis, watching Asayaga's show, rose and stepped between the Tsurani captain and Alyssa. 'Your father was always an honoured guest in my family's keep. A daughter of his shall always have my protection.'

'Protection?' Wolfgar laughed. 'I think the two of you need protection from her.'

Alyssa blushed but there was a light in her eyes as she stepped back slightly and looked from one captain to the other. 'My father shames me,' she said, and her voice was soft and whispery. 'I thank you, Dennis Hartraft, for the kindness of your protection and you too, Asayaga of the Tsurani. I must retire to see to the serving of the food.'

'All is well tended to,' Wolfgar laughed, 'come sit by my side, it's safe here,' and he slapped the side of his wide chair and slid over.

Alyssa demurely sat down on the side closer to Dennis.

'Roxanne, join us!' Wolfgar cried, looking back over his shoulder.

Asayaga was startled to see the second daughter standing behind her father's feasting chair. When she had appeared was a mystery, and even now she was barely visible, standing in the dark shadows. This one had the same hair as Alyssa but was taller and she had a lean, muscular look to her bare arms, and high-cheekboned face.

Like her sister she wore a simple leather dress of calf length, the only feminine vanity to it a pale blue scarf tied around the waist as a belt, revealing just the slightest of curves beneath.

She didn't move at her father's call but simply folded her arms. 'I prefer to remain standing,' she replied, her voice deep and clear.

'I told her you think the men are dead,' Wolfgar said, looking over at Dennis. He lowered his voice. 'The one she had a preference for was one of them.'

'He meant nothing to me,' she replied, 'other than his friendship.'

Wolfgar threw a dark look over his shoulder at his daughter, then raised his voice. 'Pimply-faced, with the brain of a drunken hare. Typical of her mother's kin, and like a hare always fumbling after her. I was half-contemplating killing him myself.'

'As if you're an example of model behaviour,' Roxanne replied coolly, and Wolfgar laughed at her response.

'Roxanne, named after her mother,' Wolfgar said, nodding back. 'She took the name because her mother died giving her life.'

Again Asayaga stood, bowed and offered his formal greeting as did Dennis. Roxanne accepted both without comment.

Sitting back down, Asayaga found his gaze lingering on Alyssa who was leaning over and whispering something into her father's ear. He laughed uproariously and slapped her on the thigh.

Mindful again of his duty, Asayaga tore his attention away from her charms and carefully gazed around the room, chiding himself for his momentary lapse before the barbarian and his daughter. Too many years in the field, he thought. Too many months since last he had known a woman.

He studied the condition of his men. Almost all them were still concentrating on gorging themselves, hands reaching for food and drink. The noise was slowly rising, conversations starting, punctuated by ripples of laughter. In places he saw where Kingdom troops and his own were even trying to talk to one another. He caught a glimpse of two soldiers moving their hands about in pantomime and from their gestures he guessed they were talking about women. One of them laughed as the other, grinning, made a universal gesture.

He caught Tasemu's eye. The Strike Leader was at the far end of the table, flagon in hand, leaning back, watching carefully.

Interestingly, the Kingdom sergeant – whose name he had learned was Barry, sat beside Tasemu, flagon in hand as well, the two of them almost like mirror-images of each other. Both were doing their jobs, silently watching. Barry nudged Tasemu and nodded to where several Tsurani seemed to be in a heated argument. In fact they were debating the merits of who was the best wrestler in the army.

Tasemu merely grunted and smiled, the gesture enough to reassure Barry.

To one side Asayaga saw Sugama who was eating quietly, delicately, carefully taking each piece of fish with only his thumb and forefinger in the proper noble manner, while talking quietly with a few of Asayaga's men. Asayaga felt a moment's disquiet. In only a few days could this minor son of a rival house have gained a following? He studied the faces of the four men who were with him and realized that all were younger sons and brothers, men whose destiny was to linger as soldiers in a minor house until they were granted leave to wed and start families, living on a small parcel of land granted them by the Lord of the Tondora. It was just this sort of man who might be lured to betray his oath for promises of a higher station through adoption into a new house.

Then when Sugama turned to take an offered flagon of ale from one of the local boys, two of Asayaga's men exchanged a smirk and a silently-mouthed word, and Asayaga realized they were mocking Sugama behind his back, enduring his company for the sake of entertainment. Asayaga let out a silent sigh and allowed the tension to flow from his body. Even here, as remote as any Tsurani had ever been from the Empire, he worried over the Great Game and the loyalty of men of his own household.

A Kingdom soldier pushed a platter of roasted boar over Sugama's way, and one of Sugama's companions pushed it back, his comment lost in the general uproar, but Asayaga could read lips well enough to know that one of the worst of insults had been spoken softly, words that the Kingdom soldier did not understand and therefore let pass.

Asayaga marked the man and made a note to have Tasemu speak with him later; he might be loyal, but he was also stupid to provoke needlessly a man who might save his life in the days to come.

A roar of laughter erupted and Asayaga saw where two soldiers, one from each side were standing, full flagons in hand. Someone slapped the table hard and the two started to drain their flagons, gulping down the contents, the Kingdom soldier winning handily.

Again laughter and a few coins were traded, a Tsurani having shrewdly bet against his own comrade and thus gaining a rare and precious piece of silver that was worth more than an entire suit of armour. When the loser realized what his comrade had done a heated argument ensued to the delight of the Kingdom soldiers around them.

A platter containing a half-consumed marmot was pushed down to Asayaga and in spite of feeling bloated he reached into the body, pulled out a leg-bone and sucked the meat off.

'Hey, Ass-you. Just how the hell can you eat that?'

Asayaga looked over at Wolfgar and started to bristle. Then he caught Alyssa's bemused stare. Without comment he pushed the platter to Wolfgar. 'Try it.'

Wolfgar belched loudly and shook his head. 'I'd sooner eat horse dung that was still warm. And tell me, why do you Tsurani smell funny? By the gods, I think you were a bunch of temple harlots.'

The conversation around them drifted off, though Asayaga's men did not understand the words, they knew enough of Wolfgar after one day to sense that their leader was being baited.

'It's because we don't smell,' Asayaga replied.

'How is that? You speak in riddles.'

'Because we bathe the way all civilized men do. You're smelling someone who is clean, which is more than I can say for you. I think the butt end of a she bear in heat smells better in comparison to you.'

He said the words calmly, but there was the slightest flicker of a smile at the corners of lips.

Wolfgar stared at him intently and then threw back his head and roared with laughter. 'By the gods you and I shall have a game of insults some night. You strike me as a civilized man who knows something beyond half a dozen of the crudest words which any idiot can let dribble out of his face.'

'An honour,' Asayaga replied. 'But the name is Asayaga, not Ass-you.' The flicker of a smile had disappeared and he spoke the words with intensity.

Wolfgar nodded and said nothing. Finally he leant over and reached into the marmot to pull out a piece of meat. His gesture elicited a scattering of applause from the men who had been watching the interchange.

'Daughters!' Wolfgar cried, changing the subject and waving expansively to the men gathered around the table. 'Take your choice of one of these. Better breeding-stock than what was stabled here before. One of them might be man enough to put up with your evil tempers and barbed tongues.'

Alyssa laughed coyly and lowered her eyes, raising them again for a second to gaze at Asayaga. Dennis, noticing the exchange of glances, muttered into his cup and then gazed straight ahead.

'Virginity is preferable,' Roxanne replied coolly, hands resting on her slender hips.

Wolfgar, laughing, picked up a flagon and handed it back to her and she took it, drained what was left and then tossed it aside. Then the flicker of a smile creased her face, and Wolfgar reached up and patted her on the cheek.

'You always did have more of my blood in you than your mother's.'

'Look out for her, Hartraft,' Wolfgar announced. 'She can drop a stag on the run at fifty paces with her bow, or with her bare hands claw out the eyes of a man who tries to touch her!'

Asayaga looked at Roxanne intently, but her gaze was not on him; rather it was fixed appraisingly on Dennis, who did not seem to notice her, his attention fixed suddenly on the far corner of the room. Dennis nodded to Asayaga and made a subtle hand gesture. Asayaga looked around and saw that Sugama and his companions were in a small knot around one of the tapped kegs of beer. As they spoke one of them kept looking back over his shoulder at several Kingdom soldiers who were eyeing them with equal distrust. Words were being exchanged by both groups: it was obvious that both sides were half-drunk, and insulting each other in their own tongues. Then one of the Kingdom soldiers stood up, fists clenched, and men to either side began to back up.

What happened next caught Asayaga completely by surprise.

From the corner of his eye he saw Roxanne reach down behind her father's chair and then stand back up a few seconds later with a crossbow. She shouldered the weapon, aimed it and squeezed the trigger.

The bolt hissed across the room, brushing past the Kingdom soldier and buried itself in the side of the keg not a hand's span away from Sugama.

The hall fell instantly silent, everyone looking from the quivering bolt and then to Roxanne.

'In my father's hall,' she said coldly, 'there is no brawling. Take it outside: I hate cleaning spilled blood off the table I must eat from.'

The silence reigned for several long seconds. Alwin Barry, still sitting by Tasemu's side, stood up, raised his flagon to Roxanne and then drained it. Putting the flagon back down he began to laugh, a soft chuckle at first, shaking his head as the laughter built. Tasemu, following Alwin's gesture, stood and did likewise, the two laughing together until finally they were slapping each other on the back, pointing at Roxanne and then to the thoroughly discomfited knot of men around the keg. Within seconds the entire hall was roaring.

Roxanne looked around the room and then with a gesture of disdain, placed the front of the crossbow on the floor, recocked it, loaded another bolt in and slipped the weapon back under the seat.

This gesture caused a redoubling of laughter and finally, looking a bit irritated, she stalked out of the hall.

'Ahh, that's my blood!' Wolfgar roared. 'That's the type of women I can sire. By all the gods, I can still do it, I can, if only I could find a wench blind enough to let me!'

His comment caused a hearty round of toasts and cheers, Asayaga translating the boast to one of the soldiers sitting by his side so that it shot around the room, the laughter increasing as it spread to the other Tsurani. The few women in the room were also laughing, shaking their heads and holding their hands up in mock horror.

Wolfgar stood up, and with a groan somehow managed to step up on to the feasting table, knocking over a platter of meat. Raising his feasting cup, he drained it to the dregs, tossed it aside and slowly walked down the length of the table, acknowledging the upraised flagons and goblets and the lusty cheers of the men. A number of the Kingdom troops started into an obscene ditty about a blacksmith who had five daughters, and the fate that befell each of their midnight visitors who were dragged out to face the hot tongs and anvil. The Tsurani were singing as well. Somehow they had understood the nature of Wolfgar's boasting, and Asayaga was intrigued that the song they started to sing in counterpoint had almost the identical plot.

Finally Wolfgar held out his hands for the men to be silent and the room fell quiet. As he stood the years seemed to fall from his shoulders. Dennis watched with approval, knowing that before them stood one of the Kingdom's finest singers of sagas, even if he was a reprobate, liar, and thief.

Softly at first, but with firm control, the old man began a very old song:

Fare thee well, my sweet Kingdom lassie,

Fare thee well, and I bid you goodbye,

For I'm off with the dawning to cold northern mountains,

Off to the north, where for the King shall I die.

Dennis sat back and looked over at Asayaga, who seemed intrigued by the old song of a soldier knowing he was sent to face the Dark Brothers in a campaign doomed from the start. Dennis closed his eyes and remembered when he had first heard the song as a boy. He had sat by his father's side, silently listening to Wolfgar, while tears had flowed unchecked down his cheeks. The song was about duty, honour, and sacrifice, and Dennis wondered at Wolfgar's choice. For if any Kingdom men were doomed to the fate of the hero of that song, it was the men in this room.

Asayaga saw Dennis's expression, and realized the song had some meaning for him. He listened to the story in the song, ignoring its odd rhythm and strange tonal qualities. The story was heroic, about a man who put honour above common sense. Asayaga was torn, because on one hand, it was a very Tsurani attitude, yet on the other, no Tsurani would even raise the question of failure and debate it, even within himself. To die for honour was a great thing.

'I've spent too much time on this world,' he muttered to himself, as Wolfgar finished to a deeply appreciative round of applause.

Asayaga saw that some of his own men had translated for the others, and more than one soldier on both sides sat with eyes rimmed with moisture.

Yes, thought the Tsurani Force Commander, it is a powerful tale. He left the room, ignoring the bitter cold outside, and went to the slit trench he had ordered dug earlier in the day. The men had used the common area in the centre of the stockade when first arising, and he had put a stop to that as soon as he realized there were no latrine facilities inside the stockade. No soldier with any field experience would let his men foul their own camp. Disease came too quickly on the heels of filth, a point that seemed to be lost on the barbarians.

He reached the trench and started to relieve himself, a sense of relief flooding through him.

'They're happy in there.'

Startled, Asayaga saw that Dennis was by his side, relieving himself as well. Finished, the two stood silent for a moment, the blizzard driving the snow around them. The lanterns hanging on the outside of the long house swayed in the wind, casting dim shadows, barely visible as a heavy gust of snow swept across the narrow courtyard.

'We're going to be stuck here for a while,' Dennis said. 'The only way out now is through the high passes and they'll be blocked by morning.'

'It keeps the Dark Brothers out, though, even as it keeps us in.'

'Yes. The chase is over.'

'For now at least. I doubt if they will give up. We've injured them. If it was reversed, Hartraft, if they were trapped in here…' His voice trailed off.

'No. If it was me and my men trapped in here and you were on the far side of the mountains, what would you do?'

'Wait you out.'

'I see.'

Again they were silent for a moment.

'You are a hard man. A hard opponent, Hartraft. Were you this way before the war?'

'That's not your concern. What we face now is my concern.'

'Our pledge to fight, is that it?'

'Like I said, the chase is over. We agreed to a truce until we escaped, and for the moment we have.'

Asayaga turned and stepped closer until they were only inches apart. He looked up into Dennis's eyes. 'What do you want? Come dawn should we roust our men out from in there, line up, draw weapons and commence slaughtering one another?'

Even as he said the words both could hear the laughter and the start of another song from within the long house.

'We both know what is in there is not real,' Dennis replied, waving vaguely towards Wolfgar's long house. 'We're outside our world for the moment, but sooner or later reality will come crashing back in. Less than a hundred miles from here, this night, Kingdom troops and Tsurani troops are sitting in their camps, waiting out the weather, and when the blizzard passes, they will be out hunting each other, and the war will go on. Are we any different, are we excused?'

'We could kill each other tomorrow down to the last man and it won't change what happens back there. I am as honour-bound as you, Hartraft, but killing you tonight will not change the war. It is as if we are both dead and gone from it. Tell me, is it honour, a sense of duty or vengeance which drives you now?'

Dennis did not reply.

'Is it dawn then? If so, I'd better go in and tell my men to stop drinking and prepare. You'd better do the same.'

He snapped out the words, struggling to control his anger and stepped back. Then he bowed formally, and started to turn away.

'Wait.'

'For what?'

'Just wait a moment,' Dennis said, his voice heavy, distant. 'There must come a day, we both know that. Once back into our lines, yours or mine, we have to face that.'

'So why not now?'

'Don't press me, Tsurani: the ice we tread on is thin.'

'Go on then, say what you want.'

'We'll still need each other once the passes clear. The Dark Brothers will be waiting, perhaps even bringing up reinforcements. We stand a better chance of surviving if we work together.'

'Is that the real reason?'

'Like I said, the ice is thin: don't press me.'

Asayaga finally nodded.

'A truce, then, till we return to our lines,' Dennis said haltingly. 'We command our own men, and keep the peace between them. If any break that peace, you and I agree to sit in judgement together.'

'With Wolfgar.'

'Why?'

'I suspect he might be the most impartial of all.'

'You're right,' Dennis replied slowly. 'He will judge as well. We share all rations, lodgings and work.'

'Of course.'

Asayaga looked back at the long house. 'And the daughter – Alyssa, what of her?'

'I don't know what you are talking about!' Dennis snapped.

'Fine then.'

Dennis hesitated then extended his hand. Asayaga took it.

Neither noticed the intent presence that lingered in the doorway of the stable and had heard every word.