Выбрать главу

“Knifed. Got in a brawl with a local.”

Prado sucked his teeth. “No way for a soldier to die.”

“No way for a farmer to die either. You thinking of recruiting his people as well?”

“As many as I can get.”

“Sal Solway put her company down near Black Petra’s. That’s another hundred or so. She’ll join up, at any rate. I hear her inn was burned down.”

“We’ll make the biggest company Theare has ever seen,” Prado said, his eyes gleaming.

“We? I haven’t said I’d join up, Prado.”

“You didn’t say, that’s true.”

“You’ll pay me six times what I make from my farm, and I leave in summer with all the booty I can carry.”

“Anybody would think you were a mercenary.”

Freyma laughed, and the two men shook hands.

Prado set up in the second largest inn in the valley’s largest town. His men wondered why he did not stay in the largest, but Prado would not tell them the largest inn was where he had kidnapped Lynan, slaying the owner of the tavern in the process.

Once word got around he was recruiting, over eighty of his old company came to see him and sign up, many of them bringing their children to sign up as well. By the end of the first week, he had over two hundred on his roll.

He sent Freyma to spread the word among any other mercenaries he could find closer to the Chandran capital, Sparro, and by the end of the second week his numbers had swelled to four hundred, many of them veterans, and even including a few locals with no military tradition but eager for adventure and easy money. Freyma had been right about Sal Solway, and Prado now had his second captain. She was a short, solidly built woman of middle years with short black hair. He let Freyma and Sal choose their own lieutenants and sergeants, and within a month of arriving in the Arran Valley had a force of five hundred mercenaries, all mounted, and divided into two companies of roughly equal strength. Freyma wanted to start training right away, but Prado told him to wait until they were on the border with Haxus.

“I want to get north and find billeting before spring.”

“They can’t train in winter,” Sal complained.

“They can and will,” Prado said harshly. “They’ll do whatever they have to do if they want to stay in my company.”

“How long before we leave the valley?” Freyma asked.

“Another day or two, then we head for Sparro, picking up any of Sal’s and Black Petra’s old companies that still want to join, then north, recruiting where we can until we get to the border with Hume. I hope to have at least two thousand under me before I start calling on Queen Charion for some of her regiments.”

Sal was impressed by Prado’s ambition. “Two thousand! We can do a lot with two thousand mercenaries.”

“We only have to do two things,” Prado reminded her. “Kill Rendle and kill Lynan. If I can avoid using Charion’s regulars, I will.”

“You said it was Areava who first commissioned Rendle ...” Freyma began.

“What of it?”

“... did she employ other companies at the same time? Could we get them to join us?”

“They’ve already taken Areava’s gold. She wouldn’t look too kindly on us paying them again.”

“Not whole companies, maybe,” Freyma mused, “but a troop here and there?”

Prado grinned. “Well, maybe a troop here or there. I’ll leave that to you.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have at least two others with you now,” Sal said to Prado.

“Who do you mean?”

“Bazik and Aesor. They were your sergeants once, weren’t they? Stuck closer to you than ticks on a dog.”

“I was wondering when they’d turn up,” Freyma added.

“They won’t be here,” Prado said darkly, and something in his tone told Sal and Freyma to leave well enough alone.

On their last day in the valley, as their company gathered with their mounts along the main street, Prado still kept open a table for any last-minute recruits. He was glad he did. So far, five more locals, each armed with their own bow and arrows, had signed up, and there was a short queue still waiting to be processed. He wanted as many of the Arran Valley archers as he could get his hands on: there were none better in Theare.

“Have you been in combat before?” Freyma was asking the next in line, a boy barely old enough to shave, but he had weapons and a horse.

“No, sir.‘’

“Then your pay is one gold piece a day, and one share of any booty after each battle.”

“Good enough.”

“Can you write?”

“No, sir.”

Freyma pushed over the page he had been writing on as he asked his questions. “Make your mark here,” he said, handing him the stylus. The boy did so, and Freyma then gave the stylus to Prado to countersign. “Right, report to Lieutenant Owel at the end of the line; she’s the one with a roan mare and a scar shaped like an arrow point on her forehead.”

The boy nodded, bowed a little to Prado who patted him genially on the back, and made way for the next in line, a man who had seen better years and came with the yellow sash of the grieve’s office and a dress sword that would be good for little except sticking fruit.

Well, we can’t expect them all to be warriors, Prado thought to himself, then brightened when he saw a small group of riders approaching from north of the town. They were well mounted and well armed. Now these were the kind of recruits he wanted.

“Name?” Freyma asked the man in the yellow sash.

“Goodman Ethin.”

“Occupation?”

“Clothier by trade.”

“Any military experience?”

“None. But I am currently grieve hereabouts.”

Freyma nodded. “That will do.” He pointed to Goodman Ethin’s sword. “We can’t afford to arm you with anything better. You fight with what you bring.”

“I’m not here to sign on to Jes Prado’s company,” the man said.

“Then why in God’s name are you wasting my time?” Freyma spat.

“To arrest your general.” The man turned to Jes Prado. “Sir, I am placing you under arrest to answer charges of murder and kidnapping.”

Prado stared at the grieve in astonishment. “What are you on about, man?”

“I am charging you with the murder of a local innkeeper, Yran, and the kidnapping of a youth, on a night during the summer past.”

Freyma laughed at the grieve. “You must be joking?”

Some of the locals in the queue started drifting away.

Prado’s face went red with anger and surprise. “Do you have any witnesses to either the murder or the kidnapping?”

“You deny the charges?” the grieve returned.

“Do you have any evidence at all?” Prado insisted.

“I have the testimony of patrons that you were among the last customers in the inn on the night of these events. At any rate, I am arresting you until the charges can be proven or cleared.”

“You can’t do that!” Freyma shouted indignantly. “He’s a general in Queen Areava’s service!”

Goodman Ethin regarded him coolly. “Even the queen is not above the law.”

“The youth in question was an outlaw,” Prado said.

“So you do admit it!” the grieve declared.

Freyma stared at Prado. “Jes, what are you talking about?”

“I admit nothing,” Prado said. “I took the youth into custody. He was to be delivered to the queen for trial.”

“To the queen, you say! And why would she be interested in him?”

“Because he was Prince Lynan, murderer of King Berayma and traitor to the crown.”

The grieve’s face went white. “No.”

“Oh, yes. You might remember his companions?”

“Of course...”

“Kumul Alarn, ex-constable of the Royal Guard, Ager Parmer, ex-captain of the Royal Guard, and Jenrosa Alucar, student magicker. All outlaws.”

“The big one was Kumul Alarn? Kumul of the Red Shields?” The grieve’s eyes were almost popping out of his head. He shook his head. “But what of Yran? Do you deny murdering him?”