The cataclysm

NO GODS, NO HEROES

The road was blocked just over the crest of the hill. The ambush was nicely planned. Graym, leading the horses, hadn't seen the warriors until his group was headed downhill, and there was no room to turn the cart around on the narrow, wheel-rutted path that served as a road.

Graym looked at their scarred faces, their battered, mismatched, scavenged armor, and their swords. He smiled at them. "You lot are good thinkers, I can tell. You can't protect yourselves too well these days." He gestured at the cart and its cargo. "Would you like a drink of ale?"

The armored man looked them over carefully. Graym said, "I'll do the honors, sir. That skinny, gawking teenager — that's Jarek. The man behind him, in manacles and a chain, is our prisoner, name of Darll. Behind him — those two fierce-looking ones, are Fenris and Fanris, the Wolf brothers. Myself, I'm Graym. I'm the leader — being the oldest and" — he patted his middle-aged belly, chuckling — "the heaviest." He bowed as much as his belly woud let him.

The lead man nodded. "It's them."

His companions stepped forward, spreading out. The right wing man, flanking Graym, swung his sword.

Darll pulled his hands apart and caught the sword on his chain. Sparks flew, but the chain held. Clasping his hands back together, he swung the looped chain like a club. It thunked into an armored helmet, and the wearer dropped straight to the ground soundlessly.

Jarek raised his fist, gave a battle cry. The Wolf brothers, with their own battle cry — which sounded suspiciously like yelps of panic — dived under the ale cart, both trying unsuccessfully to wedge themselves behind the same wheel.

The cart tipped, toppling the heavy barrels. The horses broke their harnesses and charged through the fight. A cascade of barrels thundered into the midst of the fray. One attacker lay still, moaning.

That left four. Darll kicked one still-rolling barrel, sent it smashing into two of the attackers, then leapt at a third, who was groping for his dropped sword. Darll kicked the sword away, lifted one of the barrel hoops over the man's head. The attacker raised his arms to defend himself, neatly catching them in the hoop. Darll slammed him in the face with his fist.

Jarek yelled, "Yaaa!" and threw a rock at the leader. The rock struck the man, knocked him into Darll's reach.

Darll whipped his chain around the man's throat, throttling him. Hearing a noise behind him, Darll let the man drop and spun around.

Two of the others were crawling to their knees. Darll kicked one and faced the other, prepared to fight.

A hoarse voice cried, "No!"

The leader was gasping and massaging his throat. "Leave them. Let Skorm Bonelover get them," he told his men.

The attackers limped away, carrying their two unconscious comrades.

It was suddenly very quiet. The Wolf brothers, still under the cart, were staring at Darll in awe. Jarek — a second rock cradled in his hand — was gazing at the fighter with open-mouthed admiration. Graym took a step toward Darll, glanced at the fleeing attackers, and stepped away again.

"Six men," Graym said. "Six trained men-at-arms, beaten by a man in chains."

"It'll make one helluva song," Darll said acidly. "I suppose I'm still your prisoner?"

After a moment's thought, Graym nodded. "Right, then. Let's reload the barrels."

Graym and Jarek tipped the cart back upright and propped a barrel behind the rear wheel. The first barrel was easy to load. Too easy. Graym handled it by himself. He stared at it in surprise, then worked to load the second.

The third barrel was on, then suddenly and inexplicably it was rolling off.

The Wolf brothers, working on top, grabbed frantically and missed. The barrel slid down the tilted cart. Darll fell back. Jarek, standing in the barrel's path, stared up at it with his mouth open.

For a fat middle-aged man, Graym could move quickly. He slammed into Jarek, and both went sprawling. The barrel crashed onto a rock and bounced off, spraying foam sideways before it came to rest, punctured end up.

Graym, unfortunately, came to rest on top of Jarek.

Darll, manacles clanging, pulled Graym to his feet. "You all right?"

"Fine, sir, fine." Graym felt his ribs and arms for breakage.

"Pity," Darll grunted. "What about you, boy?" He bent down and helped Jarek up. "If you only hurt your head, we're in luck."

Jarek wheezed and gasped.

"He'll be fine," Graym said, slapping Jarek's shoulder. Jarek collapsed again, and Graym helped him up again. "Probably do us both good. Exercise new muscles."

"Try thinking. That should exercise a new muscle for you." Darll looked down at their feet. Foam was seeping quickly into the ground. The smell of ale was overpowering.

Graym followed his glance. "Only another loss," he said cheerfully. "Crisis of transport, sir. Part of business." He and Jarek limped over to the broken barrel.

Jarek, still wheezing, managed to say, "I'm sorry, Graym. You said 'Stop pushing when I say now,' and that was when you said 'now,' so then I thought you meant 'now.' "

"Don't you feel bad at all, boy." Graym looked at the damp rock and the damp soil below it. "This'll drive the price up when we reach Krinneor. Supply and demand."

He added, struck by it, "Makes the other kegs worth more."

He finished, convinced, "Best thing that could happen, really."

Graym shook Jarek's limp hand. "Thank you for upping profits. A bold move — not one I'd have made — but worth it in the long run."

Jarek smiled proudly. Darll snorted.

The Wolf brothers looked down from the perch on top of the cart. "Want us to roll another off?" Fenris asked eagerly.

"Say when," Fanris added.

Graym shook his head. "Let's take inventory first."

The Wolf brothers slid cautiously off the wagon. They looked (and claimed) to be several years older than Jarek, but no one would ever know their real age until one of them washed, which was hardly likely. From their narrow beetlebrowed eyes to their black boots, they looked wickedly dangerous.

A songbird whistled, and the two jumped and crouched low behind the wagon wheel.

"Don't crawl underneath," Graym pleaded. "That's how you tipped it the last time. It's all right now. The bad men are gone. And they weren't that bad, once we got their weapons away from them."

"We? WE?" Darll demanded.

"I helped," Jarek said proudly. "I threw a rock at one. You did most of it," he added honestly. "But you should have. You're supposed to be a great mercenary."

"I'm SUPPOSED to be your prisoner" Darll said bitingly.

Graym put a hand on Darll's shoulder. "Don't take it so hard, sir. You're the Bailey of Sarem's prisoner. We're just transporting you to Krinneor." He patted Darll. "Think of us as company."

"I think of you," Darll said bitterly, "the way I'd think of the underside of an owlbear's — "

"I'm going to be a mercenary like you someday," Jarek broke in.

Fenris came out from behind the wagon wheel. He looked worried. "Did you hear what that man said just before running off?"

"You mean the part about 'Let Skorm Bonelover take them'?" Fanris finished nervously. "I heard it. What does it mean? Who's Skorm Bonelover?"

Graym was checking the fallen barrel. "An idle threat. Poor man, I don't think he was happy." He examined the sprung staves.

"You may be a cooper," Darll said, "but you can't mend that."

Graym felt along the keg sides, skilled hands finding the sprung barrel stave. "Not on the road," he said reluctantly. "And it's over half full still."

The Wolf brothers edged forward hopefully. "Be a shame to let it go to waste, Fan."

"Right again, Fen."

Jarek, rubbing his head, looked meaningfully at the bung-puller stored inside the cart.

"Half a keg of Skull-Splitter Premium. Well…" Graym sighed loudly, then smiled. "Not a bad place to camp."

They waited until nightfall to light the fire, so no one would see the smoke. They hung a shield of blankets around the fire to hide the light. Both were Darll's idea. Graym saw no need for such precautions, but was willing to humor him.

The sunset was blood red, like every one had been since the Cataclysm.

Graym sipped at the bowl of Skull-Splitter and said, to no one in particular, "Life is attitude — good or bad." He waved an arm at the desolate landscape. "What do you see?"

Darll grunted. "What else? Disaster. Broken trees, clogged streams, fallen buildings, and a godsforsaken broken road rougher than a troll's — "

"That's your problem, sir." Graym thumped Darll's back. "You see disaster. I see opportunity. Look here." He traced a map in the dirt. "See this road?"

He looked up and realized that Darll — ale rolling in his mouth, eyes shut to savor the flavor — wasn't seeing anything. "Excuse me, sir, but do you see the road?"

"The road from Goodlund to Krinneor," Jarek breathed reverently.

"Right. And do you know what's ahead?"

Darll opened his eyes. "Nothing. The end of the world."

Graym downed an entire bowl of Skull-Splitter, wiped his lips on his sleeve, and smiled genially. "Maybe it is, sir, but I say" — he waved the empty dipper for emphasis — "if I'm going to see the end of the world, I should see it with a positive attitude." He gazed up at the sky. "I mean, look at the world now. No gods, no heroes." He sighed loudly and happily. "It makes a man feel fresh."

"We were heroes this afternoon," Jarek objected, "me and Darll. We whipped those bastards."

"Now, now," Graym said admonishingly. "You hardly knew them, Jarek. Don't speak ill of people just because they tried to kill you."

Darll agreed. "Other than being the usual low, sorry sort of lowlifes you find in these parts, they weren't bad at all. They were bounty hunters." He eyed Graym suspiciously.

"Seems an unfriendly way to make a living," Graym said. He scratched his head, belched, and settled back. "Inventory," he announced.

The others suddenly looked nervous. "Will we have to sign for things?" Jarek asked. "I hate that."

Graym shook his head. "Nah, nah. This is just counting, and remembering" — he took another sip of ale — "and history. We started with nine barrels. Remember the loading? We pushed them on from all sides, and they shifted when we started rolling."

Fenris nudged his brother. "And one rolled away and smashed on Dog Street."

Fanris kicked him. "I couldn't hold it. It was hard to see, it being dark and all."

Darll's eyes opened. "You loaded in the dark? For the love of Paladine, why?"

Jarek said reasonably, "We didn't want to be seen."

Darll laughed, a short bark. "No wonder the horses ran off. They didn't even know you, did they? You stole them! AND the cart, I'll wager."

"Jem and Renny, poor flighty nags. They never liked us," Graym said sadly. "Well, that's one barrel. Eight left."

"There was the barrel on the bridge," Jarek offered, "out side of town."

"We'd picked up Darll, and he was putting up a fight — "

"That's right, blame me." Darll glared at them all. "I only wanted to leap off at the bridge."

"And hit us," Fenris said.

"And kill us," Fanris added, hurt.

"And hit and kill you," Darll agreed. "I did fairly well, for being hung over."

"You might have drowned, sir," Graym said. "That wouldn't do when you're in our charge, would it?"

"He hit me," Jarek said, rubbing his head.

"And me," Fen said.

"And me," Fan added.

Darll settled back. "Stop whining. I didn't kill you." His scowl, fierce under his salt-and-pepper beard, seemed to add an unspoken "yet."

After a short silence, Graym continued. "One of the barrels dropped into Mirk River, leaving seven. After that, we didn't lose a one — not in the Black Rain, not in the Dry Lands, not in the swamps. We can be proud of that."

Jarek squared his shoulders. The Wolf brothers grinned, exposing teeth best left hidden.

Graym went on. "And today we beat back a bettertrained force — "

"Any force would be better trained," Darll muttered.

"That's harsh, sir. We won through strategy — "

"Luck."

"Or luck, but not," Graym said sadly, "without casualties. We smashed two barrels, a major loss." He stared, brooding, into the fire.

Jarek counted on his fingers twice, then said proudly. "I know! I know! That leaves six barrels — "

"Yes. Five full barrels," Graym said. He walked unsteadily to the wagon. "And one other" He thumped it three times, pausing to let it echo. "One… empty… barrel."

The others ducked their heads, avoided his eyes. "It leaked," Darll said, shrugging.

Graym rocked the barrel back and forth and ran his hands around it. "Bone dry. No water marks, no foam flecks."

"Ghosts." Jarek looked solemn.

Graym snorted. "Ever seen a drunk ghost?"

Since none of them had seen a ghost of any sort, drunk or sober, they all shook their heads reluctantly.

"Might have been magic," Fenris said.

"True enough," Fanris said quickly.

Graym wiped the mud off the barrel end to expose a second, cleverly hidden bunghole. He felt in the comer of the wagon and pulled out a second tap. "And which one of you," he said firmly, "was the mage?"

He folded his arms. "Now, I know it's been a long, hard, dusty trip. A man gets thirsty. And you've all known me as long as you've worn dry pants. I'm not a hard man."

"You're a soft man," Darll said, but wouldn't look him in the eye.

"I'm a forgiving man."

"Hah! If you were, you'd let me go, but no — "

"It's a matter of principle, sir," Graym said firmly.

"And the money," Jarek reminded him.

"And the money, of course."

"Tenpiece," Darll said bitterly. "Took me straight from the Bailey of Sarem with a promise and a bag of tenpiece."

"Plus twenty when we get to Krinneor," Fen said.

"When we hand you up," Fan said.

"Thirtypiece." Darll shook his head. "The best fighter in Goodlund, second or third best in Istar, carted off to prison for thirtypiece."

"But enough prologuizing." Graym was swaying on his feet. "I can't stand a fella who prologuizes all the time. Let's say I'm forgiving and let it go at that. And, now, I'm going to ask who's been sneaking ale while I wasn't looking. I expect an honest answer. Who was it?"

Jarek raised one hand.

The Wolf brothers each raised a hand.

Graym looked at them in silence.

Darll raised a hand, his chains pulling the other after it.

After a long pause, Graym sighed. "Good to have it out in the open at last. Better to be honest with each other, I say."

" 'True thieves best rob false owners,' " Darll muttered.

"I've always thought that a fine saying, sir," Graym said. "Witty, yet simple. But I don't see it applying here."

Darll shook his head.

"Still and all," Graym continued, "we've done well. Three months on the road, and we've four barrels left." He shook a finger at the others. "No sneaking drinks from here. We'll need it all at the end of the road in Krinneor."

Jarek said eagerly, "Tell us about Krinneor, Graym."

"What? Again?"

"Please!"

Jarek wasn't alone. Fen and Fan begged to hear the story, and even Darll settled, resignedly, to listen.

Graym picked up a bowl and took a deep swig of SkullSplitter. "I've told you this night after night, day after day — in the Black Rains, when the dust clouds came through, and in the afterquakes, and when we'd spent a long day dragging this wagon over flood-boils, potholes, and heaved-up rock on the road. And now you say you're not tired of it." He looked at them fondly. "I'm not either.

"Back in Sarem, I was nobody. Every town needs a cooper, but they don't care about him. They buy his barrels and leave. And I'd watch them, and I'd know they were off — to fill the barrels, travel up roads, and sell their stock."

Jarek leaned forward. "The city, tell us about the city!"

"I'm coming to that." Graym loved this part. "Every time a stranger came down the road, I'd ask him where he'd been. And he'd talk about Tarsis by the sea, or the temples of Xak Tsaroth, and one even showed me a machine from Mount Nevermind, where the gnomes live. The machine didn't work, of course, but it was a lovely little thing, all gears and sprockets and wires.

"But one and all, dusty from the road and tired from travel, told me about Krinneor, and the more I heard, the more I wanted to see it." Graym's eyes shone. "Golden towers! Marble doors! And excellent drains." He looked at them all earnestly. "I hear that's very important for a city."

They nodded. Graym went on. "After the Claychasm — "

"Cataclysm," Darll snapped.

"Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting. After that night, when the ground shook and the western sky was all fire, people were frightened. They quit buying barrels, saying that trade was too risky. That's when I realized that no one was coming down the road from Krinneor, and no one was going there."

He tapped the bowl of Skull-Splitter, which he had emptied again. "And that's when I realized there was no more good Sarem ale going from Sarem to Krinneor. The poor beggars there would be as dry as a sand pit in no time.

"So I made these." He thumped the broken barrel, refilled the bowl from it. "Extra thick staves, doublecaulked, double-banded. Bungs four fingers deep. Heads of the last vallenwoods in stock this far west. Harder than any man has seen. I spent everything I had making them, then borrowed from you all to finish them. And when the bailey heard we were going, he asked me to take you, sir, to the Bailey of Krinneor for safekeeping." He nodded respectfully to Darll.

"For prison, you fat fool," Darll said. "I can't believe I let a man like that capture me, especially after I beat the town soldiery. A scrawny, bald-headed, weak-armed man with no more strength in him than in a dead dwarf's left — "

"You wouldn't have if you hadn't been drunk," Jarek pointed out. He looked at Darll admiringly. "Single-handed, and you beat them all. If you hadn't been drunk — "

Graym interrupted. "And I hope it serves to remind you, sir, that ale is not only a blessing, but can also be a curse, and not to be taken lightly." He downed the bowl of SkullSplitter. "Back to my story. I took you, sir, and the tenpiece from the bailey — "

"Then we got the ale," Jarek said. "And the horses," Fen and Fan said together. "Without paying for them," Darll finished. "And I gathered victuals and water and spare clothes and knapsacks, and off we set" — Graym pointed to the east — "down the long, dangerous road! Facing hardship! Facing hunger and thirst…" He broke off. "Not as much thirst as I thought, apparently, but some thirst. Facing the unknown! Facing a ruined world! And for what?" He looked around at the watching faces. "I ask you, for what?"

Jarek blinked. "For Krinneor."

"True enough. For the golden spires, the marble towers, the excellent drains, and the fortunes that made them. Think of it!" Graym waved an arm unsteadily. "A city with all the gold you can dream of, and nothing to drink. And us with a cart full." He glanced to one side. "A cart HALF full of the best ale left in the world!"

"Our fortunes are made. We can ask what we want for it, and they'll pay twice what we ask. One barrel of Sarem ale will be worth the world to them, and five barrels leaves us one apiece."

Darll looked up, startled. "You're counting me?"

"You did your share on the road, sir," Graym said. "Each of us gets profits from one barrel of ale. And, if we're all clever — " he looked at Jarek and amended hastily, " — or at least if we stick together, we get exclusive Sarem trade rights to Krinneor. We'll have all the food we want, and houses."

"And a sword?" Jarek asked eagerly. "I've always wanted a sword. My mother wouldn't let me have anything sharp."

Graym smiled at him. "And a sword. And maybe a quick parole for friend Darll, and a tavern for me to run — "

"And a woman for me," Fenris said firmly.

"And me," Fanris echoed.

Graym scratched his head, looked dubious.

"Right," Darll said. "I'm sure that somewhere in Krinneor there's a pair of dirty, nearsighted women with no self-respect left."

The Wolf brothers brightened considerably.

By late night, the blanket screens were down and they'd piled wood on to make a man-high flame. The Wolf brothers were singing a duet about a bald woman who'd broken the heart of a barber, and Darll was weeping.

"You 'member," he said, his arm around Graym, "'member when the bounty hunters attacked, and I saved us?"

"You did well, sir," said Graym.

Darll snuffled. "I was going to run off, but then I remembered you had the keys to the manacles."

Graym patted his pocket. "Still do, sir."

Darll, tears running down both cheeks, wiped his nose. "You know that when you free me, I'm going to kill you."

Graym patted Darll's shoulder. "Anybody would, sir"

Darll nodded, wept, belched, tried to say something more, and fell asleep sitting up.

Graym lay down, rolled over on his back, and stared at the stars. They were faint in the dusty air, but to Graym they shone a little clearer every night. "I used to be afraid of them," he said comfortably to himself. "They used to be gods. Now they're just stars."

When the sun came up the next morning, it rose with what Graym heard as an ear-splitting crack.

He opened one eye as little as possible, then struggled to his feet. "Isn't life an amazing thing?" he said shakily to himself. "If you'd told me yesterday that every hair on my head could hurt, I wouldn't have believed you."

Fenris stared out at the dusty field nearby and quavered, "What's that terrible noise?"

Graym looked where Fenris was pointing and found the source. "Butterflies."

Fenris nodded — a mistake. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell over with a thud. Fanris, beside him, whimpered at the sound of the impact.

Graym, moving as silently as possible, crept over to Darll, shook him by the shoulder. Darll's manacles rattled.

Darll flinched and opened two remarkably red eyes. "If I live," he murmured fuzzily, "I'm going to kill you."

Graym sighed and rubbed his own head. "I thought you already had, sir."

By midmorning, they were back on the road and near the first rank of western hills. Graym, pulling the cart along with Darll, was almost glad they had lost so many barrels. The wagon lurched to a stop at every rock in the road… and there were many rocks.

At least the companions were feeling better. SkullSplitter's effect, though true to its name, wore off quickly. Jarek was humming to himself, trying to remember the Wolf brothers' song of the night before. Darll, after swearing at him in strained tones for some time, was now correcting him on the melody and humming along.

Fenris, perched on the cart, yelled, "Trouble ahead!"

Fanris gazed, quivered. "Are they dangerous?"

Darll grated his teeth. "Kender! I hate the nasty little things. Kill 'em all. Keep 'em away. They'll rob you blind and giggle the whole time."

Graym looked up from watching the rutted road. Before he knew what was happening, he was surrounded by kender: eager, energetic, and pawing through their belongings. The kender had a sizable bundle of their own, pulled on a travois, but the bundle changed shape ominously.

"Ho! Ha!" Darll swung two-handed at them, trying to make good on his threat to kill them all. They skipped and ducked, ignoring the length of chain that whistled murderously over their heads.

"Here now, little fellers," Graym said, holding his pack above his head. "Stay down! Good morning!" He smiled at them and skipped back and forth to keep his pack out of reach, and he seemed like a giant kender himself.

One of the kender, taller than the others and dressed in a brown robe with the hood clipped off, smiled back. "Good morning. Where are we?"

"You're in Goodlund, halfway to Sarem if you started from just west of Kendermore." Graym snatched a forked stick from the hands of the tall kender — who didn't seem to mind — and hung his pack from it, lifted it over his head.

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, around." The tall kender took a forked stick from one of the others, who didn't seem to mind either. "East, mostly." He spun the stick, making a loud whistle. "Do you know, the gods told me that the world's greatest disaster would happen in a land to the west? Only it didn't."

"What are you talking about?" Graym looked openly astonished. 'The Catcollision?"

"Cataclysm!" Darll snarled.

"Cataclysm, thank you, sir. I keep forgetting." Graym turned back to the kender. "All that happened in the east, you know."

"I know," the kender said, and sighed. "The gods lied to me. They did it to save our lives — we were going west to see the run — but still, a lie's a lie." He fingered the torn collar of his cleric's robe. "So we don't believe in the gods anymore."

"Good enough," Graym said, brightening. "Smashed the world, didn't they? We're well rid of that lot."

"But they did save our lives," Fenris pointed out.

"From horrible deaths," Fanris added, "like being smashed."

"Or squished, Fan."

The tall kender shrugged. "You miss a lot, worrying about things like that. Say, what's that smell?" His nose wrinkled.

"Dirt, mostly," Jarek said.

The Wolf brothers scowled. "It's a perfectly natural smell," Graym said. "Strong, but natural." He smiled down at the kender. "My name's Graym."

The kender smiled back. "Tarli Half-kender. Half man, half kender."

Graym looked startled, then shrugged. "Well, I'm liberal-minded."

He offered his hand, taking care to keep his pack and pockets out of reach. But at a shout from Jarek, Graym whipped his head around.

"Here now! Off the cart. Mind the barrels." His knapsack fell from the stick.

Tarli caught the pack nimbly, flipped it over once in his deft fingers, and passed it to Graym, who was surprised that a kender would return anything. "Thank you," he said to Tarli, but his mind was on the kender falling and climbing all over the cart. The barrels, three times their size, wobbled dangerously. "Don't they know they could be killed?"

Tarli looked puzzled. "I don't think it would make much difference. Like I said, you can't worry about things like that, like Skorm Bonelover, coming from the east."

"Who?" The name sounded vaguely familiar to Graym's still-fuddled mind.

"Skorm," Tarli said helpfully, "the Fearmaker, the Crusher of Joy."

"Oh, THAT Skorm. You know him, do you?"

"Only by reputation. Everyone's talking about him." Tarli looked to the east. "Well, we'd better keep going if we want to meet up with him." He put two fingers into his mouth and whistled.

The crowd of kender scrambled off the cart and scampered down the road again, pulling the travois behind them. To Graym's watchful eyes, their pockets seemed fuller, and their bundle of supplies seemed larger, but there was nothing he could do about it.

"Cunning little things." Graym watched the kender running happily away. "Good attitudes, the lot of them. You can't keep them down."

"I'll try," Darll grated, "if you'll let me go." He held out his manacled hands.

"Ah!" Graym reached into his pack. "Can't do that, sir, but I could give your arms a rest while we're dragging the cart. You promise not to run off, sir?

He vaguely remembered Darll's saying something last night that should make Graym nervous, but dragging the cart was hard work, and Darll deserved a reward.

Darll looked sly. "Word of honor." He braced his feet for a quick start and smiled at Graym.

The Wolf brothers ducked under the cart. Even Jarek looked suspicious.

"Right, then." Graym fumbled in the pack, then reached into his left pocket…

Then checked his right breeches pocket, his hood, and his jacket…

Then stared at the departing kender. He looked back at Darll's impatient face. "Life," he said thoughtfully, "can be funny, sir…"

When Darll understood, he shook both fists at the kender and swore until he was panting like a runner.

Darll and Graym started off again. They grabbed the crosspiece of the wagon tongue, braced their feet in the dirt, and pulled. The wagon rolled forward quickly. Graym dropped the crosspiece.

"That was too easy. Jarek?"

Jarek hopped into the cart and counted loudly. "One, two, three, four — "

After a pause, Graym said, "And?"

"That's all," Jarek said.

Graym stared, disbelieving, at the distant dust cloud of the departing kender. "They walked off with a BARREL?"

"Cunning little things," Fenris said.

"Industrious, too," Fanris said.

Jarek finished the inventory. Finally he hopped down and announced, "They got the barrel of Throat's Ease lager, our spare clothes — "

Graym laughed. "Picture one of those little fellows trying to wear my canvas breeches 1"

"And most of the food."

Graym fell silent.

"So we make it to Krinneor in one night or go hungry," Darll said.

"We can do it," Graym said confidently. Landmarks weren't hard to read, but he had often discussed the road — wistfully — with merchants buying barrels and casks. "There's this hill, and one little town, and a valley, then, and a downhill run from there to Krinneor."

"And prison for me. and a forced march to get there," Darll said gruffly. "I'd be running away free, and you'd be — " He looked at Graym sharply. "I'd be gone if it weren't for those nasty, little, pointy-eared thieves."

Graym said gruffly, "You ought not to criticize others, sir. Not to drag up the past, but you've done worse."

Darll glared at him. "That wasn't a fair trial. The bailey wanted blood, and he got it."

"Of course, he wanted blood. You hurt his dignity. You had only a sword, and you half-killed ten soldiers armed with spears, maces, and swords."

Darll objected. "When I half-kill ten men, I leave only five left alive. I beat them badly, but that wasn't the charge against me, anyway, unless you count resisting arrest."

"True enough, sir," Graym said agreeably. "You scarpered the town treasury and then nicked a hay wagon."

"Nice way to put it. A real sophisticate, you are."

"Assault, theft, intoxication, breaking and entering, reckless endangerment, incitement to stampede, vandalism, arson." He paused. "That's the lot, isn't it, sir?"

"Still and all," Darll said stubbornly, "it WAS a first offense."

"First offense?" Graym gaped. "From you, sir?"

"Well, for this sort of crime."

Graym shook his head. "You tell your side of it well, sir, but I have a contract."

"It's the money, then."

"No, sir." Graym shook his head violently. "I gave a promise. Even if I persuaded the others to agree to forfeit the twentypiece we have coming, I'd still be unable — outstanding warrant and all — to go back to Sarem and return the ten — " He felt in his pocket…

He sighed, didn't bother feeling in his other pockets.

Darll, watching his face, smiled. "Cunning little things."

"Thrifty, too," Graym muttered.

By midday, they had reached the top of the first large hill — low and rocky, with a fault crack running across it. Jarek, scouting ahead for the easiest route for the cart on the broken road, returned, announcing, "People coming." Fen said fearfully, "What if they're robbers?" Fan added, "Or maybe they're the bounty hunters." The Wolf brothers edged toward the back of the cart. Graym grabbed their shirts, pulled them back. He then wiped his hands on his own shirt. "Wait till we've seen them, at least."

He edged to the top of the hill and peered over the top. A group of humans was walking toward them — townsfolk, seemingly, coming from the small knot of cottages standing on the road.

Graym retreated below the crest of the hill, reported what he'd seen. "We can't run, and there's no place to hide. Best we go forward and be friendly. Folks like that."

Jarek looked dubious. "They might rob us."

"Not of much."

"Or we might rob them. Are they rich?"

"I didn't grow up with 'em," Graym retorted. "How should I know?"

Jarek dug in the dirt with his boot. "Well, if they are, and we robbed them, then we'd be better off, right?"

Graym considered. "Now that's an idea. We rob from the rich. And then…"

"And then what?" Jarek asked.

"Can't rob from the poor," Fenris said.

"No future in it," Fanris agreed.

Jarek objected, "There's more poor people than rich people. Easier to find."

"Ah, but they don't have as much, do they?"

"Now that's telling him what, Fen."

"Thank you, Fan."

Darll said firmly, "You're not robbing these people."

Graym wasn't too keen on robbing, but he thought Darll was being a bit bossy, for a prisoner, even if he was a mercenary. "And why not, sir?"

Darll shook his head wearily. "Because they have us surrounded."

While they had been talking, the townspeople had encircled the hill and closed ranks. They approached silently. There were thirty or forty of them, dressed in ragged, ill-fitting clothes. Several wore robes.

Graym looked around at the circle of men and women. "Good to sec so many of you here to greet us." He waved an arm. "I'd offer a drink, but we're running short."

A robed and hooded figure came forward. The robe was too long, clearly borrowed, and had been dyed a neutral color. "I am Rhael," said the person. "I am the elder."

The voice was strong and dear, strangely high. Graym said dubiously, "Are you sure? You sound kinda young for an elder."

"Quite sure." The woman pulled back her hood and shook her hair free of it.

Darll snorted. "Who are you all?"

"I am Rhael. These are my people. We come from the village of Graveside."

Darll asked, "A law-abiding village?"

She nodded.

"Good." He raised his manacled hands. "Arrest these fools and free me."

"Arrest them? Why?"

"Because they're crooks."

"What have they done?"

"What haven't they? Theft, resisting arrest, drunk and disorderly plenty of times, drunk but not disorderly at least once, sober and disorderly a few times — "

Rhael seemed impressed. "What are they like as fighters?"

Terrible," Darll said truthfully. "Awful to watch. You can't imagine."

"Brutal?"

"That man — " Darll pointed to Graym — "drove off a band of bounty hunters, with only me in chains to help him."

"That one…" He pointed to Jarek. "He nearly killed a man with one blow." More or less true, counting a thrown rock as a blow.

"And those two…?"

Darll glanced at the Wolf brothers, who waited eagerly to hear what he could say about them.

"Well, just look at them," Darll said.

The folk of Graveside looked them up and down. The Wolf brothers did look dangerous, both as criminals and as a health risk.

Darll held out his arms, waiting for his release.

Rhael walked straight up to Graym. "Would you be willing to lead an army?"

Darll choked. Graym's mouth sagged open.

"We need brave men like you," Rhael said. "We're facing a scourge."

One of the elders quavered, "A terrible scourge!"

"I didn't think it would be a nice scourge," Darll muttered.

"His name," Rhael lowered her voice, "is Skorm Bonelover."

"Not his given name, I take it, Miss?" Graym said.

"He is also called the Sorrow of Huma, the Dark Lady's Liege Man, the Teeth of Death, the Grave of Hope — "

"I've always wanted a nickname," Fen said wistfully.

"We've had some," Fan reminded him.

"Not ones we've always wanted, Fan."

"True enough, Fen." He sighed.

Darll said, suddenly interested, "Don't you people have any fighters, or a bailey or something?"

They all looked sorrowful. "Gone, gone," one said.

"Killed?" Graym said sympathetically.

Rhael shook her head. "The Protector came to me one morning and warned me about the coming of Skorm. A stranger had come in the night and told him, said that he had already fled before Skorm's army. The Protector said the only sensible thing to do was flee, leaving all our things behind, so that Skorm would stay and plunder instead of pursuing us."

Graym frowned. "This Protector wasn't much of an optimist."

"He was terrified," Rhael said. "He said that Skorm would drink the blood of one victim, only to spit it in the face of another. He said Skorm once bit through the arm of a warrior and stood chewing on it in front of him. He said — "

"Never mind," Graym said hastily. His stomach had been wobbly all day. "Where is this scourge?" He looked around fearfully. "Not with you, I take it."

"He and his troops are camped in the bone yard — "

"Picturesque," Graym murmured, approving.

"In the Valley of Death, beyond Graveside. There are more than a hundred of them now. Every dawn," Rhael said with a voice like death, "we see more warriors standing by Skorm's tents. Every day his troops increase."

Graym turned to his companions. "And you all told me no one was hiring. It was nothing but a necessary market downturn, and you call it a Catechism."

"Cataclysm," Darll hissed.

"Right you are, sir." Graym turned to Rhael. "And, now, young elder… I can't get used to that, by the way. Why are you an elder, Miss?"

"Elders aren't chosen because they are old," a man next to her, quite old himself, explained. "We are chosen because each of us represents one of the elder virtues."

"And what," Graym asked, feeling his ears turning red, "is Miss Rhael's virtue?"

"Elder Rhael embodies fearlessness."

"No wonder she's so young," Darll said dryly. "Fearlessness never reaches old age. What about you?" He pointed with both chained hands at the elder who had spoken. "Who are you?"

The old man stepped back from Darll. "I am Werlow," he said. "I embody caution."

"Good for you," said Darll. "And what did you do about Skorm?"

"I convinced the rest of the people to evacuate," Werlow said. "We elders have stayed, to pray for the coming of heroes."

"We're here," Jarek said happily. "We're heroes, aren't we?" He looked to Graym for support.

Graym cleared his throat. "I don't like to boast. We're desperate men… and bold warriors, but we've left our robbing ways behind us. We have trade goods" — he didn't want to say 'ale,' though the barrels made it obvious — "that we're taking all the way to Krinneor, where our fortunes will be made and our lives will be good, in the richest city in the world." His voice went husky. "The golden towers, the marble doors, the excellent drains."

The elders exchanged glances. They were silent.

Finally Rhael said, "The road to Krinneor winds around the Valley of Tombs. There is no way there, except through Skorm's army."

The Wolf brothers made most unwarlike whimpering sounds. Darll edged over and kicked them each, hard.

Graym frowned. "Don't they ever move out of the cemetery, Miss? Parade, or bivouac, or do any of those nice martial things that make armies so popular with politicians?"

Rhael shook her head. "They have no need to," she said sadly. "They just grow strong and plan to attack us."

"How much, to fight them?" Darll asked suddenly.

The elders looked at each other.

"Nothing," a reed-slender old woman said. "We heard of your fight with the bounty hunters. That is why we sought you. If you refuse to fight, we'll inform every hunter we can find, and you'll be taken or killed."

"That seems harsh, Ma'am," Graym said. "Fight or die? For nothing?"

"And what elder virtue are you?" Darll asked.

The old woman smiled thinly. Thrift."

Graym made up his mind, turned, and addressed his companions. "These pick-me-up armies are all bluff. Farm boys and fishermen, not one real soldier in twenty."

Jarek was counting on his fingers. "How many real soldiers does that make against each of us?"

"One," Fenris said flatly.

"Maybe even two," Farms added.

Graym waved his hand. "What's that to us? Nothing at all. They're just trainees. We're road-tested. Months of hardship, baking sun, blinding rain — "

"Great ale — " Jarek said, caught up in the enthusiasm.

Graym interrupted hurriedly. "And there you are. We'll frighten off this lot in no time and be back on the road." He raised a fist and shouted, "To Krinneor!"

"To Krinneor!" Jarek shouted. Darll said nothing. The Wolf brothers looked worried.

The elders had tears in their eyes. Graym was pleased to think he had moved them. He held out his hands. "As long as we're fighting the good fight for you, so to speak, can you lend us your swords?"

The elders stared at him.

"We didn't bring any," he added.

"It's not as if we needed them," Jarek said.

The elders were suitably impressed.

"The Protector fled with most of our good weapons. We still have a few." Rhael lifted a rag-wrapped bundle and gave it to Graym. "This is Galeanor, the Axe of the Just."

"Just what?" Jarek asked.

Graym took the axe, eyed it dubiously. "Just kidding."

Darll muttered in his ear. "Perfect. The fat man fights and dies with the Axe of the Just Kidding."

Rhael handed the others dented weapons, the few the Protector had left behind. Darll examined his sword with distaste. Jarek looked at his with delight. The Wolf brothers picked up two badly corroded maces, after touching them gingerly to be sure they weren't dangerous. They stood there, then, staring at one another.

"Don't you think you'd better take up positions opposite the enemy?" Rhael suggested.

"You're absolutely right, Miss," Graym said firmly. "Move out." With only a small twinge of guilt, he added, "And we'll take the cart with us — for supplies… and… strategy."

They traipsed down the hill, walked through Graveside. It was, Graym noted, a pleasant enough place, not much bigger than Sarem. There were cart tracks in front of the homes and manure piles in the tilled fields. It obviously was a farm-to-market town for a larger city. "Krinneor isn't far now," Graym said to the others. "We're closer to the city itself. I know it. Now, if we can just shake this lot…"

Graym glanced behind him. Werlow began organizing the elders for a safe retreat down the road. Rhael had gone into one of the cottages.

Graym smiled; they continued on.

At the crest of the hill, Darll raised his hand in silent warning. The others obediently stopped the cart.

"Keep low!" he ordered. They dropped to the ground and peered into the valley below.

Tombstones and open graves, white tents and a great many ropes stippled the valley and spread up the opposite hill. A hundred helmeted, armored warriors stood in line, ready for inspection. Graym looked shocked.

"These scum robbed the graves," said Darll. "And they're wearing the corpses!"

"Odd taste in armor, made out of bones. What for, d'you think, sir?" Graym asked.

"Wolves love bones," Darll said bitterly. "Sheep shy away from them. No use in shying, though. The wolves always win." He smiled grimly. "I know. I'm a wolf."

He pointed downhill cautiously. "The two in front with the swords are drillmasters, showing close-quarter thrusts. The ones checking the lines are lower-rank officers."

A man dashed up to a soldier, who was twisting this way and that, cuffed him, and yelled in his face. The shouting carried all the way to the hilltop.

"That," Darll said dryly, "would be the sergeant."

"Which one is Skorm?" Graym whispered.

"My guess would be the big guy, wearing the sawed-off skull."

They watched as Skorm paced calmly and evenly, inspecting the troops. The warlord, stepping over a skeleton, kicked the skull. It shattered on a tombstone.

Graym peered down at him. "Now there's a man who knows the value of appearances."

"Don't you ever say anything bad about anybody?"

Graym shrugged. "There's more than enough of that around, sir, if you want it."

"What if we split them down the middle?" a voice said.

They rolled and turned around, Graym snatching the axe from his belt. Rhael, a battered spear with a mended haft in her hands, was standing behind them. She was dressed in leather armor that probably had been trimmed from a butcher's apron.

"I've always heard that was how to deal with a larger force," she said.

"Young Elder Rhael," said Graym, "why don't you go back to town and keep bad folk from climbing the hill to surround us?"

Rhael looked at Graym admiringly. "You have the mind of a warrior." She stood stiffly. "I won't let you down. I promise."

They watched her run back over the hill crest. "I wish I could move like that," Graym said, envious.

"Wouldn't look good on you," Darll muttered.

Graym rubbed his rotund middle. "True enough, sir."

"Now," Darll said, "what's your battle plan?"

"Battle plan, sir?"

"You left Rhael to guard our rear — and an ugly rear at that. What's your plan of attack?"

Graym shuddered. "Attack? Don't even think it, sir. My plan is to run around Skorm and go on to Krinneor. Why do you think we brought the cart?"

The Wolf brothers looked vastly relieved. Darll stared at him, then began to laugh. "I like your style, fat man."

Graym hefted the axe. "Right. The chains, sir."

Darll was suspicious. "You're setting me free?"

"On good behavior." Graym glanced sideways down the hill at the soldiers. "I can't send you running past that lot in chains. They'd hear the rattle for sure."

Darll dropped to one knee and laid the chain on a boulder, turning his head away and shutting his eyes tightly.

Graym swung the broadaxe overhead, brought it down. Sparks shot in all directions. The Axe of the Just Kidding sliced through the chain and gouged the rock. Shards Hew, grazing Darll.

He raised his right hand to wipe his cheek. His left hand automatically followed, a chain's length behind, then dropped. He looked with wonder at his hands, then looked longingly at the horizon ahead of them, beyond the army. "Right. Ready to run for it?"

He pulled a thong from his pocket, wrapped it around the sleeve of his right arm. Then he bent, tightened his boots, and stood straight.

Graym stared. With only a few tucks and touches, Darll had gone from prisoner to razor-sharp man of war. Graym stared down the hill, where an army was blocking their way. "Just think, sir," he said, "earlier today, the world was sweet, and I wanted it to last forever. Isn't life amazing?"

"While you've got it," Darll said. He poked at Jarek, who was playing mumblety-peg with his sword. "Tighten everything, boy. You want free limbs. Loosen for marches, tighten for fights or retreats."

Jarek tightened his belt hurriedly. Groaning with the effort, Graym bent and tucked his breeches down into his boot tops. He stood puffing and stared down the hill.

Jarek said eagerly, "Are we going to fight now?"

Graym shook his head. "That, my boy, would be the worst disaster since the Cattle-Kissing."

"Cataclysm!" Darll said automatically. "I think we can run around the end of the valley there and be safely on our way to Krinneor before they know what happened."

"We'll be the first traders through Skorm's blockade," said Graym suddenly. "They'll call us heroes and pay triple the value on every glass of ale."

He raised the Axe of the Just Kidding. "To Krinneor!"

Skormt turned around, looked in their general direction.

The Wolf brothers shrieked and dived for the cart.

"No!" Graym shouted.

It was too late. In the struggle to fit underneath the cart, Fanris's foot dislodged the chuck block. The cart started rolling downhill.

The ale!" Graym ran forward. Darll followed, swearing. Jarek whooped and charged alongside him. The Wolf brothers, terrified at being left alone, jumped up and ran after them.

Cart and barrels hurtled down the hill, bouncing over rocks, heading straight for Skorm and his officers.

The officers took one look and ran.

Astonishingly, none of the rank-and-file warriors budged. "Training's training," Darll panted, "but that's not possible."

The lead barrel, now thundering down faster than a man could run, bounced off a dirt pile and into the first row of warriors, who didn't even look up.

The second barrel hit the second row. The third barrel tangled the ropes that had strung the soldiers together. The bodies fell apart.

Darll gripped Graym's shoulder. "They're fake! Nothing but armor on sticks and bones!"

He ran toward the "officers," apparently the only living men on the field. Skorm shouted a command in a harsh voice.

Two of the men sidled around Darll, keeping out of range of his sword. One of them raised a throwing mace and swung it with a deadly whir.

Graym, desperate, flung the axe end-over-end. It thunked handle-first into the mace-swinger, knocked him senseless.

Darll leapt over the fallen man, stepping on his back. "Officer material," he grunted, and wrapped his dangling manacle chain around the other man's sword and pulled. The sword flew out of the man's hand.

Darll shouted back to Jarek. "Pick up his sword!"

Jarek picked it up, dropping his own sword. Graym punched an opponent in the stomach and doubled him over, sent him stumbling into two men behind him.

The men staggered back and raised their swords, jumping at the Wolf brothers, who were closest.

Fanris and Fenris looked at the armored, bone-covered sword-carrying men. Panic-stricken, the brothers both shrieked, "We surrender!" and tossed their maces in the air.

The maces hit each man squarely in the head. Fenris and Fanris looked at each other in relief and turned to run away.

The remaining men, daunted by five berserkers crazed enough to charge an entire army, fled.

Skorm turned his skull face toward Graym. The graverobber charged, aiming a vicious two-handed sword straight for Graym's heart.

Darll yelled, "The axe!" picked it up, and threw it.

Graym caught the axe by the thong, just as it struck Skorm's sword and shattered the blade. Graym grabbed the axe handle clumsily, and smacked Skorm on the head.

Skorm Bonelover, the Sorrow of Huma, the Dark Lady's Liege Man, the legendary Eater of Enemies, dropped to the ground with a whimper.

The fat cooper, axe in hand, stood panting over him. Rhael ran down the hill, spear in hand.

"We won!" she cried exultantly.

Halting, she looked down at Skorm's shattered sword and frowned. "That looks familiar," she said. "That's the Protector's Sword of Office!"

Graym bent and pulled the skull off Skorm's face. He was conscious again and looked pinched and scared, but fairly ordinary beyond that.

"Protector!" Rhael gasped.

Darll kicked the Protector's sword hilt away from him and stood watching over him.

Rhael was staring admiringly at an embarrassed Graym. "I heard the noise. I saw the whole thing. You charged an army by yourselves!"

Darll opened his mouth to explain, but Jarek trod on his foot. "We toppled our barrels on them. Then Graym was the first one down. Not even Darll could outrun him."

Rhael sighed. "What a wonderful idea. But your trade goods — your ale — you sacrificed them for us?"

"One barrel made it," Jarek told her. "It rolled off to one side and didn't hit anybody." He shook his head. "But I bet all those other soldiers are drinking it now."

"There are no other soldiers, rock-brain!" Darll growled. "This Protector and his friends built them out of corpses, tugged on ropes to make them move, pretended to train them. They wanted to scare everyone out of town, then loot it, and it nearly worked."

Jarek scratched his head. "Why didn't the town set up a bunch of fake soldiers to fight back?" he asked.

Darll looked at Graym, at Jarek, and at the Wolf brothers, who, seeing the fight was over, had returned. Darll grinned.

"They did set up fake soldiers. Sort of."

Graym cleared his throat. "Well, we'd best get on the road." He handed the Axe of Just Kidding back to Rhael. "Business calls, Miss. Glad we could help, and all."

She brushed his cheek with her finger. "You knew," she said wonderingly. "Even before you attacked, you knew Skorm was a fraud."

Graym looked uncomfortable. "Well, I had an idea. Couldn't be sure, of course."

Darll rolled his eyes.

Graym, feeling awkward, said simply, "Nice meeting you, Miss." He turned and walked through the graves and the shattered mock soldiers.

They collected the cart and the single surviving barrel. Graym tried, briefly, to find the barrel taps and the rest of their belongings, then said, "Give it up." They dragged the cart through the scattered armor, framework, and bones of the open graves.

The cart rolled freely. Jarek looked at the single barrel in it and said happily, "The price of ale must be way up now."

"Best thing that could happen, really," Graym said, but he sounded troubled. He and the Wolf brothers drew the cart alone. Darll and Jarek walked alongside as they moved up the last hill before Krinneor. Darll was trying to learn the second verse of "The Bald Maid and the Barber."

Fenris, beside Graym, said, "I hate to turn him in."

Graym nodded. "He's not a bad lot. Wanted to kill us or jail us, but face it. Who wouldn't?"

Fanris, on his other side, said, "Can't we just let him go?"

Graym stared at the road. "He's expected. We were paid half in advance. We can't just two-step into Krinneor — "

"Do we need to go there so bad?" Fenris asked softly.

Graym looked back at the cart, bouncing easily with one barrel of ale and no supplies. "It's all we've got left."

They walked in silence, watching Darll try to teach Jarek to juggle. The mercenary, even while mocking Jarek's efforts, had a hand affectionately on the man's shoulder.

The road cut through a pass and angled to the left.

Jarek sniffed the air. "I smell something funny."

"That's the sea, boy," said Graym.

But Darll looked troubled. "I didn't know there was an arm of the sea here."

"A port city," Graym explained. "Not just rich, but a trade center. We're nearly here. Beyond this curve, we'll see the road on the shore, probably a lovely seaside view, all the way to Krinneor — "

They rounded the comer.

The hill plunged down to a sandy beach strewn with rocks. The road ended, half-covered with sand, sloping down into the water and disappearing. Ahead was water, all the way to the horizon,a new sea, still gray with the silt and mud of the land collapsing and the waters rushing in.

A half mile out from shore, a group of battered golden spires stuck upright, barely a man's height above the waves. Gulls were nesting on them.

The men rolled the cart to the beach and stood.

"The golden towers," Fenris said.

"The marble doors," Fanris said.

"And excellent drains," said Darll.

Graym, staring at the spires in shock, murmured, "I hear that's very important for a city."

The others laughed for quite a while. Graym sat on a rock by the shore, staring.

Jarek moved down the beach, picking up stones to skip. The Wolf brothers, once they were over their fear of gulls, took off their boots and went wading. Darll walked up to Graym. "Where to from here?"

"Nowhere." Graym stared, unseeing, over the open water. "No horses, no food, no money. No Krinneor." He blinked his eyes rapidly. "All gone."

Darll was shocked. "There's a world out there. You can start over."

Behind them, a voice said, "You can stay here."

Rhael came forward, holding some sort of medallion and twisting it in her fingers. Her determination was gone; she looked unsure of herself.

Graym stared at her a moment. "You knew the truth about Krinneor, didn't you?"

"We all knew. No one wanted to tell you before you helped us."

"I don't suppose you did, Miss," Graym said heavily. "And after?"

"Afterward, Elder Werlow was afraid of you. You're fierce warriors."

Darll had the grace not to laugh.

"So you let us go. Good joke." Graym sighed.

She twisted the medallion chain almost into a knot. "I argued with them and said I'd follow you and apologize, and — and give you this."

She held up the medallion, realized how twisted it was. "Sorry." She untwisted the chain nimbly, then dropped it over Graym's neck. "There."

The medallion was a small shield with a single piece of black opal in the shape of an axe. Graym looked down at it. "It was brave, your coming here when you were embarrassed. Thank you, Miss. I'll keep this."

"Until he gets hungry," Darll said bluntly, "then he'll sell it. He'll have to."

Rhael ignored the mercenary. "Why not stay in Graveside?" she asked. She touched the medallion. "To fill the office that goes with this."

"Office?" Graym said blankly, opening his eyes.

"Of Protector," Rhael said. On impulse, she kissed his cheek. "Please take it. Your men, too. You'll have food and lodging, and we know we can trust you."

Graym stared bemusedly at her. "Me, a law officer?" He turned to Darll. "Would I be any good, sir?"

"Unless you rob them, you can't do worse than the last one they had." He looked at the dangling chain. "I suppose you'll put me in jail there?"

Graym sighed. "Can't do it, now that I'm their Protector. Wouldn't be right, would it, sir? I mean, you're their war hero and all."

He frowned, concentrating, then smiled and slapped Darll on the back. "You can go, sir. It's all right. You're pardoned."

Darll's jaw fell and he goggled at Graym. "You're pardoning me?"

"First offense, like you said, sir. You've matured since then. Probably be an upstanding citizen of Graveside." He puckered his brow, thinking, and suddenly brightened. "You could stay and be my military advisor."

"You lead? Me advise?" It was too much. Darll shook his head and walked away, swearing, laughing, and muttering.

"What's he upset about?" Jarek asked. "He fought all right."

"You all fought wonderfully," Rhael said firmly. "You're our heroes." She kissed Graym again, then walked swiftly back through the pass toward Graveside.

"Heroes?" the Wolf brothers said at once, and laughed.

Graym said gruffly, "There've been worse."

Darll looked back up the road toward Graveside, at the retreating Rhael. "Lucky for them they found us, in fact."

Graym grinned at the others. "Best thing that could have happened, really."

Suddenly he was back at the cart, tugging on one of the shafts. Darll joined him. "Right, then. Let's get back." Graym pointed at the remaining barrel of ale. "Skull-Splitter all around, when we get there, on the house."

It was a surprisingly fast trip.