Keep on the Borderlands

2

Late afternoon sun glimmered pale through thin, high clouds, and a chill breeze gusted fitfully. At the base of the Keep road, four horses stood close together with their heads down and tails to the wind. One rider sat his mount in the middle of the east road, keeping watch all around them. Two men—a graying man clad in a priest’s robes and a black-haired youth in novice yellow—stayed in comparative shelter with the horses, a little apart from the others. The novice spoke now and again. The priest occasionally nodded his head or signed for silence. The elder man was composed, his face serene. The youth tugged at his garments or shoved hair from his face, his fingers never still. He started as a strong gust moaned through the rocks.

A short distance away, the remaining two members of the small company drank from their water bottles and shared a wafer of crisp travel bread. One was a medium-sized, dark-skinned man who wore foreign-seeming armor of woven, hardened leather, reinforced in places with metal, the whole painted in dark red and black. His companion, a slender woman, topped him by half a head. She wore dark, serviceable leathers and a plain cuirass under a thick, black cloak. Both were extremely watchful, in their own ways. The man used little but his eyes, now and again easing partway around on one heel, his movements sparing and graceful. The woman paced, her head moving sharply as she gazed around, a long, pale braid whipping across her shoulders. She brushed crumbs from her cloak with impatient fingers.

“We will go soon, I think,” the man said. His common speech was soft, slightly accented, his voice low and resonant. His cheekbones were high, his eyes golden-brown and tipped up at the corners. He looked young and vigorous from a distance, and only at close range could one make out fine lines around his eyes and a few gray hairs in the neat beard. “The horses do not require much more rest, since we did not push them hard today. Not even the packhorse of the priests, laden as it is. Even your horse—” He ducked his head politely as the woman rounded on him. “Your pardon, Eddis.”

The woman’s mouth quirked. Her eyes were deep blue, and as she looked at him, some of the fire went from them. She was still visibly nervy.

“All right, M’Baddah. Apology accepted, my friend. I know. You’re doing your best to get me over that stupid horse of mine. Feather! What fool would name a foul brute like that?”

“His previous owner, who wished to find a buyer for the brute, as you call him? A buyer like his current owner, who chose for pretty and for price, rather than testing him thoroughly first, as I suggested at the time. The horse is an attractive fellow, and when he wishes, he does indeed move smoothly as a feather.”

“Hah.”

That was just like M’Baddah, Eddis thought. Trying to talk her out of a foul mood. It upset the clients, he reminded her. It took her attention and her energy from things that mattered—such as keeping the clients safe. Hah, she told herself. Not one client so much as scratched in my care! And as for my moods—well, my clients know what they’re getting. By now, they should know. I’ve got a reputation, after all. A corner of her mind was uncomfortably aware he was probably right, but she was too cold and stiff and—yes—nervy, to be soothed just now.

“Sure. Until it decides to balk at something like a leaf or a rabbit, and I’m flat on my back in the middle of the road!”

“My Eddis, please. This just now was not a leaf, was it?”

“I—all right, it wasn’t.”

It had raised the hair on her neck: A pale slash of road suddenly darkened and sticky with blood, and a dead pony in the ditch, just around a bend in the road, where it would startle anyone, never mind an idiot horse.

“I, myself, was caught by surprise,” M’Baddah admitted. “So much blood, still fresh—an ugly riddle.”

“Hardly that, M’Baddah. I’ve always thought that stretch of road looked like a good spot for an ambush.”

“I agree. Likely the caravan that has stayed half a day ahead of us since the pass. I would say from the signs that those who laid the trap lost the battle.”

“No broken, burned-out wagons, anyway. Whoever they are, they might have shoveled some loose dirt over the mess they left.” She shivered as a gust of wind billowed her cloak. “I thought our novice there was going to faint.” She sighed angrily. “Wretched horse. I could’ve broken my neck!”

“It takes time to bury such a mess, my Eddis. You know that. Perhaps those folk had no choice but to flee the area at once. I think we will learn what happened at the Keep.”

“No doubt,” the woman said dryly. “In other words, we should get moving, right?”

M’Baddah shrugged, a wide and graceful gesture of his hands. She glanced over at the priests. The novice stood with his head bent as the elder held out a cloth-wrapped bundle and murmured a prayer over it or to it—she couldn’t tell which. Each day at this hour, he’d broken the thing out for prayers, and it took time. Just now, she was cold and cross and ready to reach the gates up there and be done with riding for the time being.

“I’m ready. How much longer is he gonna take?” she growled.

“He is paying us extra to make stops for his rites,” M’Baddah reminded her quietly.

The priest lowered the bundle, checked its wrappings, and handed it to the novice to restore to the box on the packhorse’s back. The youth brought all three mounts back with him.

“There. An hour or less, and we deliver the clients safely, and all is well. I sell Feather for you, or we trade him—”

“Blessed right we do,” she replied shortly. “In case you forget, M’Baddah, the brute has thrown me the last two mornings in a row.”

The foreigner smiled. His eyes glinted. “Then, I shall kill and cook him for you, as payment for his crimes. And, how does my Eddis like her roast horse—hot through only, or dark and dry?”

Eddis turned to stare at him, her jaw slack. He raised an eyebrow and waited.

Her lips twisted. She finally laughed, and the tension went from her body and her eyes. “All right, M’Baddah, you win! They’re ready. Let’s get these two safely inside the Keep.”

He patted her shoulder and moved onto the road to signal the guard in.

“Anything, M’Whan?” he asked as the rider drew close.

“No, Father.”

He also wore red and black painted armor and carried a shortbow at the ready. M’Baddah’s son, M’Whan, was a paler, younger copy of his father, at least physically. He had only joined them two journeys before, and to Eddis he still seemed shy or unsure whether he belonged with them. For a while, she hadn’t been sure of that either, but it was a small enough favor to grant M’Baddah. The older man had traveled with her from the first and had proven himself invaluable. M’Whan was still quiet, but he was an accurate archer, a skilled swordsman, a good hunter, and nearly as keen-eyed a tracker as his father.

The priest and his novice were waiting quietly where the Keep road branched. Eddis and M’Baddah mounted and got the company on the move once again. At her gesture, M’Whan took the lead, and she and the older guard dropped back behind the clients. The swordswoman chuckled quietly.

“Thank you, M’Baddah.”

He smiled and sketched a bow.

“You know,” she added thoughtfully, “when I first hired you, I knew I was getting a good tracker and fighter—and, I hoped, an all-right cook. I didn’t realize how useful you’d be at breaking bad moods. Mine especially.”

He raised one eyebrow—a trick Eddis found mildly annoying since she couldn’t do it. “Bad—? Oh, I see. This temper, you mean. But, you could easily learn to do a shift-mood yourself, if you chose, my Eddis. You breathe deeply, from the gut, and with each breath, the four words—”

“No,” she said firmly. “Thank you, but I am not ready for your religion, M’Baddah—or whatever it is. Not yours, not theirs, not anyone’s.”

They were quiet for some moments. Eddis laid a hand on his forearm. “Sorry, my friend. Everything I’ve said to you today has been rude or angry or both. I’m grateful you’ve stayed with me.”

“It pleases me to stay with you.” M’Baddah loosened his grip on the reins as the road began to climb.

M’Whan slowed the pace to a walk, partly for the comfort of the clients, but mostly so he could keep a sharp eye out as the rock walls closed in and the road began to twist its way up the steep cliff. A few turns on, there wasn’t much chance of an ambush because the Keep guards could see just about everything, though Eddis made sure her guards stayed alert all the way to the gates. Including herself. I haven’t gained my reputation as a good caravan guard by taking fool’s chances, she reminded herself.

The way was narrow here, just wide enough for a cart and a rider, and there were massive boulders and rock piles everywhere. She shoved her boots deeper into the stirrups and drew back on the reins as the wretched Feather began easing to the right—and the drop-off. The road was at its steepest here, and she didn’t like it much at the best of times.

“We are nearly out of this,” M’Baddah reminded her. “This switchback and the next, and then it is nothing. And I will switch sides with you now, if you like.”

She nodded and drew a relieved breath when he and his placid mare settled in next to her again. Heights weren’t the problem, but the horse…

She ducked and threw up an arm to shield her head as a hail of small stones clattered down the slope, bouncing off the road, her head, and her forearm. Startled, Feather plunged sideways and tried to rear, but M’Baddah hauled him down before turning his own mount and urging it a few paces downhill where he could look for the source of the slide. M’Whan’s startled, wordless cry brought him back around and stopped him cold.

Two large men had come from between piles of stone and stood mid-road a few paces ahead of him, effectively cutting off their progress. One held a crossbow, the other a heavy, two-handed battle-axe. The young guard froze as the crossbow veered his way. The priest and novice eased left, against the cliff face, dragging the packhorse with them.

From somewhere above Eddis, a third man called down, “That’s right, all of ye! Stay nice and still—and quiet!—and no one’ll die! No tricks, any of you, or y’all die!”

M’Baddah held out a warning hand as Eddis glanced his way and felt for her sword.

“You! Skinny lad in the rear, I see that! Hand away from the blade, mow.”

Eddis scowled, hand still hovering, but M’Baddah said, “He is almost straight above you, my Eddis, and he has a stone in his hands—a large one.”

She spread one hand across her leg, signaling “Stay ready.” The brute high above her rumbled a threat, and Eddis spread her hands as wide as she dared without letting go the reins. The horse was acting up, tight as she held him.

“You settle that horse down there, boy!” the man overhead snapped. “No tricks, I said!”

“Come steady him yourself!” Eddis snarled and looked up. Three man-lengths above her, a bear of a man in rusty armor straddled a slab of rock, easily hefting a boulder that would crush her, if he dropped it. His eyes went wide.

“You’re no lad!”

“Bright man,” Eddis replied steadily. “Except you’ve picked the wrong place to rob people.”

“Would be,” the man with the crossbow said, “if we planned on taking our time.” He stepped forward, eyes shifting to the priest. “We won’t. You—priest. Just hand over that box and your pouch, and we’ll be gone.”

The priest eyed him coldly.

“Or we’ll kill you all and take it anyway.”

The bandit gasped in pain, one of M’Whan’s hidden daggers deep in his forearm. The crossbow twanged loudly. Eddis tightened her grip on the reins and threw herself flat on Feather’s neck as the quarrel sang through the air unnervingly close.

M’Baddah caught his breath sharply, came up behind Eddis, and slapped her horse on the rump, sending it jerking forward. The crossbowman’s weapon fell from suddenly limp hands, as he staggered back, M’Whan’s second dagger buried to the hilt in his throat.

Eddis spurred up the road, drawing her sword. She and M’Baddah veered around the huddle of priests. Feather leaped again, nearly unseating Eddis as the boulder shattered on the road just behind them. M’Whan had already turned partway around in the saddle, a word steadying his well-trained horse as he drew his bow down on the man high on the ledge. M’Baddah and Eddis rode straight for the axeman, who stared blankly at his fallen companion.

She sliced at his head as she rode past, and he winced back from her—into M’Baddah’s wickedly sharp, curved sword.

It took her a moment to get Feather under control and turned. The crossbow wielder lay still, and M’Baddah was dismounting rather stiffly to retrieve his sword from the dying axeman. Up on the rocks, the brute clutched his shoulder, where one of M’Whan’s yellow-fletched arrows wobbled between his fingers, a dagger’s worth of the shaft in his arm. He turned and staggered out of sight.

Eddis rode down to where the clients still huddled against the cliff “It’s all right, you’re safe and so is your bundle. Let’s go, now.”

The novice clutched his saddlebow and closed his eyes. He looked sick. The priest merely nodded and tugged at the youth’s reins to get all three animals moving. She let them pass, caught up to M’Baddah and his son. M’Whan was off his horse staring at his father.

“Father, you’re wounded!” When he reached out, M’Baddah pushed his hands aside.

“It is nothing much, my son. Leave it. You can tend it for me once we reach the Keep walls and the inn.”

It was Eddis’ turn to stare. A trickle of blood ran down M’Baddah’s leg. He held a short, pale quarrel in one hand, but the tip and a finger’s worth of shaft were dark with his blood. “You broke the man’s aim. What might have been painful is merely a scrape.” Before M’Whan could protest further, the older man mounted. “Let us get these priests safely inside the gates.”

“These men—” M’Whan began. He sounded dazed, and his face was white.

Eddis shook her head. “Leave the bodies. Your father is right. The priests are our concern now.” And your father, she thought.

The younger man pulled himself together, nodded, remounted, and dropped back to take rearguard behind the priest, his novice, and the packhorse.

Fortunately, the last of the steep part was nearly behind them. The next loop of road seemed to jut over open air before turning back along the cliff face, and from that point on, the way was fairly easy. M’Baddah, despite his wound, set a quick pace, and now Eddis could see the thick, featureless south wall and the first glimpse of turrets. After another turn, more of the walls, and finally she could make out movement up there: guards and others, perhaps.

After that final climb, the road snaked east along the black stone ledge, hugging the walls before making the final plunge to the main gate. Now she could see men in polished helms gazing over the walls, and the glinting points of their tall pikes. The drawbridge spanning the dry gully was down and the portcullis up, but the heavy gates were closed. She was aware of men watching from the high, square towers, ready to launch an attack if need be. From here, she couldn’t see the ballistae and catapults.

It was always daunting, riding up to this gate. M’Baddah, aware how she felt, laid a hand on her shoulder. He looked pale, and his lips were set in a tight line, but as she worriedly touched his shoulder, he managed a smile.

“We are safe. They know us, my Eddis.”

“I know. It’s just that…”

She let that go and took the lead, pulling the cap from her very recognizable hair as she dismounted at the gate. It was quiet, suddenly, leaving her all too aware of the narrow slits and round openings in the walls.

One gate opened as she stepped forward, enough to let out two men armed with pikes. One came a pace closer, smiling as he recognized her. She managed a smile in reply.

“Eddis of Caffer, and my men,” she said. “You know M’Baddah and his son, M’Whan. We’ve brought the priest Xyneg and his novice to meet with your curate. But first—we were attacked just now, on the Keep road.”

At a gesture from the near guard, the one just behind him turned and strode back into shadow. He returned a moment later with a tall officer, who listened as she quickly explained.

“Get four bowmen out here at once, mounted,” he told the guard. “I’ll go with them. Eddis,” he added, “we’ll talk of this later. Go freely inside, settle your clients and your horses and goods, get yourselves lodging and a meal. You’re known here.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “Known” meant they were trusted—not kept in the barracks and watched until they were deemed safe, which was almost as good as known. “We three will be at the inn. The clients are to be guests of the curate and are expected.”

The officer nodded as he and his fellows mounted and rode out.

Eddis felt suddenly very tired indeed. The pikeman smiled at her. “As the captain says, ma’am—”

“That’s Eddis. Ma’am is my mother.”

“Eddis.” The smile became a grin. “You’re known here, Eddis. Captain’ll find you when he needs you. I’ll get someone to escort the priests to the chapel.”

Eddis shook her head. “Thank you, but it’s a contract. We’ll manage.” She made certain to shove her cloak behind her shoulders as the gate opened. Let the guard see I’m armed but that the weapons are properly stowed, she thought.

An hour later, washed and clad in fresh cloth breeches and tunic from her saddlebags, pale, damp hair trailing down her back, Eddis sat cross-legged on a narrow cot in one of the inn’s few private rooms, counting out stacks of coins on three squares of soft brown suede. Six extra silver to share out this time. Nice of that priest to add it. Still, we did deliver them safe, even after the surprise practically at the gates. Two extra silver went to M’Baddah as her lieutenant; one for his son, as apprentice. Still better coin than a two-season youth could expect in most companies. All in all, very good money, this trip. She folded the sides of the leather around the coins and set the packets on the low chest that held her personal things. Aside from the chest and the bed, there was no other furniture—wasn’t room for anything else, except the small wooden tub they’d brought in for her bath and taken away once she was done.

M’Baddah and M’Whan stayed close by, in the large common room. Eddis stretched hard and leaned forward to squeeze water from her hair onto the stone floor. Now and again she stayed in the common room herself, but the chance of a bath and clean hair had been too much to resist.

“Getting soft in your old age, Eddis,” she mumbled. “A room all to yourself with a bar for the door, and a real window.” True, the window wasn’t much more than a narrow slit—deliberately made too narrow for anyone to climb through, though only a madman would try something that lawless inside the Keep—unlike some places she’d stayed.

She dismissed that, gazed around the tiny room with real pleasure. Everything about it was plain, strictly functional, but neat and very clean It was much nicer than what she’d had as a girl—a corner of the main room, near the hearth, and a damp straw mattress to share with three sisters.

All the rest of her siblings—the ones who’d survived childhood—still lived in that village. Most of them, especially her older sisters, had thought her an odd child for actually enjoying the bow lessons all the village children had to take. Even the villages near the heart of the realm weren’t always safe from human predators or other, worse things, but many boys and most of the girls found ways to avoid the demanding work. Not Eddis. She had shown a talent for the bow, and later for the spear, and eventually had been allowed to join the village hunters—mostly older men like her uncles.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get yet another uncle who’d been a soldier to teach her basic sword moves. She’d managed, and she’d mastered them, which was all that counted.

At the time, she hadn’t been certain what she would do with such skills. A grown village woman wasn’t expected to use weapons. By the time Eddis had reached her seventeenth summer, she knew that whatever else she wanted out of life, being a villager wasn’t any part of it.

Her family hadn’t understood. “They probably still don’t,” she sighed faintly. At times, she missed them very much. “But not that way of life.”

Her oldest sister had wed at sixteen, was a mother at seventeen, and had never been beyond the most distant of Caffer’s hay fields. It hadn’t been easy for Eddis, breaking with the only way she’d ever seen or known, moving from Caffer to the nearest market town, finding enough work here and there to keep herself fed, currying horses in exchange for a corner of the stable where she could sleep, hoarding her money a copper at a time so she could haggle for that first used sword.

“Forget all that,” she told herself. “It’s done, and it wasn’t easy, and sometimes it was frightening, and some bad things happened, but it’s over. You won, and you got what you wanted, Eddis—your own company of guards, the chance to travel and be paid for it, to see new lands and meet new people. Sometimes, you get to fight. And you still enjoy all of it.”

She got to her feet, shoved the men’s pay packets in her belt, stuffed all but three coins of hers in her purse, and snugged the ties down. The loose money went into the pocket sewn inside her tunic. That should cover food and drink.

She shook still-damp hair back over her shoulders where it lay cool between her shoulder blades. M’Baddah and his son must be at the tavern by now. No matter. Her stomach was reminding her it had been too long since that bit of travel bread at the base of the cliff.

The tavern door was at an angle across the courtyard from the inn, just a few long strides away. Now she could smell fresh-baked bread and hear laughter. The small courtyard was cool, the air definitely damp, and the sun nowhere in sight, though it was barely two hours from midday. She crossed the area quickly, slipped through the open doorway, and paused there, letting her eyes adjust to the interior gloom.

The deep walls and strong shutters kept the place warm this time of year. The interior was one large room with plenty of long trestles and benches. There were smaller tables here and there that could accommodate six, if people sat close.

M’Baddah had taken one of the tables against the far wall, and as she started across the room, he got to his feet and pulled out a four-legged stool for her. He and M’Whan had shed their lightweight armor and now wore loose, sleeveless red tunics over black shirts and loose black pants. Both had thick pottery mugs before them. M’Baddah’s small knife was stuck in a dark loaf of bread. Eddis drew her stool in close to the table and handed over the folds of leather.

“A small bonus, thanks to that little disagreement on the road,” she said, her voice low, and her movements unobtrusive. The Keep had the most law-abiding citizenry she’d seen anywhere, and the taverner was known to keep a close eye on his customers, as did the guards who came here. Still… no point in tempting anyone. The men slid the packets out of sight. M’Baddah came partway to his feet again, but M’Whan pressed him back down.

“You said you would rest, Father. A cup of pressed fruit and a small ale for you, isn’t it, Eddis?”

She nodded, and he went off to the counter. M’Baddah cut a thick slice of bread and handed it to her, his face expressionless.

“Your leg is all right?” she asked.

He nodded. He didn’t like being fussed over, she knew, and she kept her voice neutral.

“It is fine, and I am fine. M’Whan thinks it his fault.”

Eddis shook her head. “We were in a bad spot, and he disabled and killed the one man with a distance weapon, and it’s his fault? M’Baddah—!”

“You know his problem, my Eddis. He thinks however much he trains, and however skilled he becomes, he will let me down. I cannot persuade him this is not so.”

He went abruptly quiet as M’Whan returned with two wooden cups. She tore off a bit of the dark brown, pungent bread, then washed it down with a swallow of fruit juice before topping off the cup with some ale.

“Apricots—oh, that’s nice.”

There was silence around the small table for some time, as they finished the bread. Eddis poured the last of the ale into the apricot juice and drained the cup.

“I think I’ll last until nightfall, now.”

“I asked the taverner for you,” M’Baddah said. “The same stew as last time: venison in a thick broth, and plenty of tubers and carrots. And the taverner’s wife still makes one pot with and one without the onions.”

“Good.” Onions made her ill, which had been another good reason to leave her home village. She leaned forward on her elbows. “Now. Have you heard anything yet about customers leaving here?”

M’Whan shook his head. “I asked in the stables, Eddis. They said some hide merchants came in earlier, but they won’t leave until everything they brought sells—two carts of goods and another of weapons and metals.”

“Weapons? Interesting. Most tanners stick to their hides. Still, they’ll be fighting snow over the passes if they delay too long,” Eddis said. “Not our concern. What escort?”

“I did not learn that yet,” M’Baddah put in. “But I hear there is an ore-monger who wants a guard for himself and his purse in the next day or so.”

“Too soon for me,” Eddis replied.

Too soon for M’Baddah, she thought. Whatever special potions he carried, he’d still taken a quarrel in the thigh, and she wasn’t about to head out with her lieutenant wounded. If all else failed, she’d claim exhaustion herself to keep them here until he was all right. She glanced around the room. There weren’t many people around at this hour; a few men sharing a jug of wine at a nearby trestle might be either off-duty guards or armsmen. No one she recognized.

“My Eddis,” M’Baddah said, “I agree there is no hurry for us. You look tired, and this season has been good to us. We can afford to wait for a client or even return north without one. Also,” he added with a sly smile, “I will need time to sell that horse of yours.”

She smiled back. “I know. Still, if we can find a client, a few days from now, I’d rather not—”

“I understand,” he said. “You have been poor and hungry, and you choose not to be these things again.” He shrugged. “It will not be a problem, my Eddis. You have a good reputation.”

“We have,” she corrected him.

“We, then. What?” he asked as M’Whan’s gaze went beyond them, toward the door. Eddis turned to look.

Two tall, ruddy men stood just inside the open doorway, and one of them was laughing cheerfully and loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.

Eddis groaned. “Oh, gods, it’s Jerdren. I should have known.”

“But I thought you liked Jerdren?” M’Whan asked rather anxiously.

“I do. Sort of. Sometimes. But he’s… impetuous. Trouble. Remember the fight he started last time we met up with him?”

“I remember.” The youth cast up his eyes. “Because we slept in the stable that night after getting kicked out of the inn.”

“Well, that’s Jerdren for you,” Eddis said resignedly. “You just never know what he’ll do, but you do know it’ll be loud and probably involve fists. That’s fine for some village where the worst that happens is the people around him get shoved into the stable for the night. The Keep—they’ll shove you into the dungeon and leave you there.”

M’Whan shook his head. “He knows that too, doesn’t he?”

“I think so. Gods, I hope so. Still, why would that stop—”

A cheerful, carrying voice filled the room, silencing her and briefly quieting most of the chatter around them.

“By my father’s white beard, it’s never Eddis, is it?” Jerdren strode over to clap her on the shoulder. “I haven’t seen you since…” He considered this and shrugged it aside.

“Since the ale house in Lower Vale,” Eddis said, mildly enough. “The one where you and those two village louts got in a fight over the barmaid and got all of us tossed out.”

“Why—so it was.” He seemed surprised by this, then grinned again. “But I didn’t get you tossed out, Eddis! Hey, no, you punched that red-faced brother of hers in the—”

“I didn’t punch him until he grabbed my—never mind.” Eddis scowled up at him. “Damn all, Jers, why is it that every other time we run into each other, you’ve either been in a fight or are about to pick one? Not just Lower Vale, but Hillside, Rivers-Edge and Bally?”

She slapped the table, lowered her voice as M’Baddah touched the back of her near hand. “Sorry, M’Baddah. All the same, you’re a curse, Jerdren, that’s what you are. And frankly, if you plan on starting a fight here, or even if you don’t plan one…” She drew a deep breath and let it out in a hard gust. “Well, you’d better find someplace else to sit, or I swear I’ll—”

“Ouch,” Blorys put in wryly and offered her a shy grin.

Eddis glanced at him and fought a sudden smile. Poor man, shackled to a crazy brother like Jers.

“Fights?” Jerdren’s sandy red eyebrows went up. “Why would I start a fight in the Keep? There are rules, right? Only a fool would do that, right?”

Blorys cast his eyes up. Jerdren shrugged and smiled cheerfully.

“So, that’s settled. Eddis, you look gorgeous as always, and I’m tame today, I promise you, so is there room enough here for Blor and me to join you? We haven’t talked in a while, you know.”

Eddis edged over toward M’Baddah. Jerdren grabbed two empty stools, while his brother went for a jug of wine and cups. “How long’ve you been here?”

“An hour or so,” she said. “You?”

“Got in around midday.”

Eddis sighed heavily. “I should’ve known that was you. Had a little trouble on the way, did you?” she said sourly. “And left a nasty mess behind?”

“Huh?” He stared blankly. “Oh. Were the bodies still there?”

“One dead horse count? Also, lots of blood?”

“Not my fault,” Jerdren said dryly. “You cut ’em to keep from getting cut by ’em, and they bleed. Fact of life.”

He took a cup of wine from Blorys, drank deeply, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, and gave her a cheerful grin. “Just trying to leave a clear road for you, Eddis.”

“Yah,” she scoffed. “Hello, Blorys. How’s the road?”

Blorys smiled. “Same as always. This last caravan was pleasant enough. One before that, seems we fought someone or something off every single day. One before that, up on the Holderin foothills, river flooded and took half our camp downstream.”

“Old business,” Jerdren said, impatiently. “Same as always, same as last year, and same as the next, probably.” He seemed to come to some decision, drank quickly, and set the cup aside. “Listen, Eddis,” he said crisply. “You’re just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Me? Why?”

“Why not?”

She held up a hand for silence and began turning down digits. “Back up north, just before that fight over the barmaid, there was something about hidden gold. About half a year before that, something about cleaning bandits out of a village. Then there was Inner Dell and the—oh, never mind!” Eyes narrowed, she leaned on her elbows and glared at him. “I know that look, Jerdren. It means you’ve come up with something complicated, possibly dangerous, and probably unlawful. Well, not me, not anywhere, but definitely not here in the Keep!”

“But—!”

“Jerdren, they’ll lock you up here and toss the key over the walls if you steal from a shop. One of your schemes would probably get us all tossed over the walls!”

Blorys gave Eddis a tired look. “Sorry. I knew he was up to something, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“Told you I would, soon as we found someone—well, like Eddis. Didn’t I? Just wanted to tell it once, that’s all.” He turned back to Eddis and smiled.

She edged back on her stool and eyed him sidelong. “Save the charm, Jerdren. You aren’t luring me into one of your schemes.”

“Scheme? But Eddis, this is official business!”

“Sure. Look, just tell me, I’ll say no, and we can go our separate ways.”

“She’s got a good point, Brother,” Blorys said pointedly. “Tell us, all right?”

The older man grinned widely. “Okay. We got in a while back, and I settled with the clients, then went to unsaddle while Blor got us cots. So, I’m coming out and ran right into Mebros. Remember, Blor? Used to be on the gates, short man, pale beard. Watch captain these days—so, anyway, I told him about our little fight out there on the road.”

“I thought,” Blorys broke in, “that we were leaving that until after we’d had a chance to clean up.”

“Well, he was there, and I know him. Anyway, Lhodis and his people weren’t going to keep quiet about the fight, were they? And Mebros wasn’t surprised. Seems there’s a band of robbers holed up somewhere close by. Of course,” Jerdren shrugged, “there’s always been a few men here and there, but since midsummer, they’ve attacked when and wherever they feel like it. Ten days ago, they took a gem merchant’s wife hostage, took all his money, then forced him to come here to collect the stones as her ransom.”

M’Baddah stirred. “What did they do?”

“The Keep men? What could they do, not knowing where the woman was? The merchant lost his money and his gems both, but at least he got his woman back.” Jerdren shook his head. “They know the guard here can’t chase ’em down, whatever dirty tricks they pull. These days, there are barely enough soldiers here to man the walls. The castellan runs what patrols he can, but—”

Eddis leaned forward. “You’re telling me they’re just going to get away with it?” she demanded. “Because if they do, then what’s next?”

Jerdren’s eyes were very bright. “Well, you know, that was my thought exactly, Eddis. It seems the castellan is going to put out the word for volunteers—heroes, Mebros says—to find that bandit camp and destroy it!”