The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

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      Calis called out, ‘We’ll pay in gold.’ He reached into his tunic, pulled out a small purse, and turned it over, emptying a dozen pieces of gold onto the ground.

      As if signaled, a score of men appeared, all holding weapons. Erik studied them, making a comparison to the townspeople he had grown up with. These were farmers, but they also held their weapons in a sure-handed fashion. These men had to fight to keep what was theirs, and Erik was glad that Calis was the sort of leader who paid for what he needed rather than taking it.

      The leader, an older man with a limp who carried a large sword strapped across his back, knelt and picked up the gold pieces. ‘You’ll bond peace?’ he asked Calis.

      ‘Done!’ said Calis, throwing the reins of his horse to Foster. He held out his arm and the village leader gripped his wrist, as Calis gripped in return. They shook twice and let go.

      Abruptly the trees emptied of men, followed a short time after by women and children. Before Erik’s eyes he saw a market take form in the small square of the village.

      Roo said,‘I don’t know where they kept all this,’ as he motioned to pots of honey, jars of wine, and baskets of fruit that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

      ‘Get raided often enough and I expect you learn how to hide things in a hurry, fella-me-Iad,’ observed Biggo. ‘Plenty of basements with hidden traps, and false walls in those buildings, I’m thinking.’

      Sho Pi, who motioned for the others to follow to where camp was being set up, said. ‘They have the look of fighting men, those farmers.’

      Erik agreed. ‘I think we’re in a beautiful but very harsh land.’

      They picketed their horses where instructed by Corporal Foster, then began the routine of making camp.

      They rested while Calis waited. What he was waiting for wasn’t clear to Erik and the others, and Calis wasn’t taking them into his confidence. The villagers were guarded in dealing with the mercenaries; approachable, but not warm. There was no inn, but one of the local merchants had erected a pavilion and served average-quality wine and ale. Foster warned against any public drunkenness, promising a flogging to any man who couldn’t pull his weight the next morning because of a thick head.

      Each day brought more drills and new practices. For three days they worked on holding their shields above their heads while moving heavy objects about. Foster and de Loungville stood on top of a hillock nearby throwing rocks into the air so they would fall straight down on the drilling men, reminding them to keep their shields up.

      After a week had passed, one of the guards set at the north end of the town cried out, ‘Riders!’

      Foster barked out orders for the men to get ready, and practice swords were discarded, replaced by steel. Those men selected as bowmen hurried to a position overlooking the town, under Foster’s command, while de Loungville and Calis moved the rest of the company to defensive positions at the north end of the village.

      Calis moved to where Erik and his companions waited, and said, ‘They’re coming fast.’

      Erik squinted and saw a half-dozen men racing down the road that led into the village. As they drew near, they reined in, probably having seen a glint of metal or the movement of men.

      Biggo said, ‘They’re not so quick to come rushing in now that they know we’re here.’

      Erik nodded. Roo said, ‘Look over there.’

      Erik turned to where Roo pointed, back into the village, and was astonished to see it was once again deserted. ‘They do know how to make themselves scarce, don’t they?’

      The riders began to trot toward the village, and when they were close enough to be seen clearly, Calis shouted, ‘Praji!’

      The leader waved and spurred his horse into a canter, while his companions followed. As they neared, Erik saw that the six men were mercenaries, or at least dressed as such, and that the man in the van was easily the ugliest person he had ever seen. A face like seamed leather was dominated by an improbably large nose and a huge brow. His long hair, mostly grey, was tied back. He rode poorly; his hands were far too busy, and it was irritating his horse.

      Getting down, the man walked toward the defensive position. ‘Calis?’

      Calis walked forward and the two men embraced, with heavy back-slapping on both sides. The man pushed Calis away and said, ‘You don’t look a damn day older; curse you long-lived bastards – steal all the pretty women, then come back and steal their daughters.’

      Calis said, ‘I expected to see you at the rendezvous.’

      ‘There isn’t going to be one,’ the man called Praji said; ‘at least not where you’d expect it to be. Khaipur has fallen.’

      ‘So I heard.’

      ‘That’s why you’re here and not marching up the banks of the Serpent River,’ said Praji.

      Foster motioned for Erik and five other men to take the horses. As they gathered the animals, they studied the other five riders. Hard men all, they had a beaten, tired look. Praji said, ‘We got our tails singed, for sure. I barely got out with a score of our men; we got as close to the siege as we could, but the greenskins had outriders and they came down on us hard. I didn’t even have time to claim we were looking for work. No truces. You’re either with them or you’re attacked.’ He hiked a thumb at his companions. ‘After we got loose, we split up. Half the lads went with Vaja to the Jeshandi. Figured you’d be coming up that way, but in case you put in at Maharta I was heading that way. Figured you’d send word through our agents where you were if I was wrong. Give me something to drink; my throat’s coated with half the dirt between here and Khaipur.’

      Calis said, ‘Let’s get a drink and you can tell me more.’

      He took the man over to the pavilion, and as they moved, villagers began to appear as if from the air. Erik and the other men detailed to the horses took the riders over to the remounts, and Erik inspected them all. They had been ridden hard; they were heavily lathered and breathing deep. He unsaddled the horse he led, and told the other men to start walking the animals. They needed an hour’s cooling at least, he judged, before they could be allowed to eat or drink, lest they become colicky.

      After the horses were cooled, Erik staked them out and rubbed them down, checking to make sure none was injured or coming up lame. When he was satisfied the horses were all right, he returned to his own tent.

      With the arrival of the riders, order in camp was lax, and he found his five bunkmates lying on their bedrolls. He knew that it could be seconds before the order to fall to was issued, so he luxuriated in the first moment he felt the bedroll under him.

      Natombi said, ‘Legionaries always grab whatever rest they can, minute to minute.’

      ‘Who?’ asked Luis.

      ‘You call them Dog Soldiers,’ said the Keshian. ‘In ancient times they were kept away from the cities, penned up like dogs, to be unleashed upon the Empire’s enemies.’ Like Jadow, Natombi shaved his head, and his dark skin made the whites of his eyes and his teeth appear in stark contrast when he spoke. The nearly black irises made Erik think of deep secrets.

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