Dragon

"You've got it figured that precisely?"

"Yes."

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

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

"So how do you play?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, it seems like it works."

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

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

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

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

"Let me know how it works."

"I will."

"So, why are you here?"

"Here? You mean, in the service?"

"Yeah."

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

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

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

"Oh?"

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

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

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

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

"The food's good."

"Heh."

"And there's a lot of it."

"I didn't see a lot."

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

"Everyone's been feeding you?"

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

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

"Heh."

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

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

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

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

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

"I wonder why?" said Aelburr.

"Be grateful," said Napper.

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

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

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

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

"Loiosh, what am I doing here?"

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

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

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

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

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

9—Skulking About

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

"Why am I not reassured?"

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

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

"Look closer, Loiosh."

"Oh."

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

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

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

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

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

"That was my secret plan," I said.

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