“Was it an ambush? The histories say different things, as if no one can make up their minds about it.”
“That’s because no one will ever know, now that Elynd Chisal is dead.” Ager’s voice caught, and he gulped quickly from his cup. “Only General Chisal knew what was really happening during that bloody war. He was the best soldier Kendra ever produced.”
Pirem leaned forward eagerly. “Please. Tell me everything you can.”
Ager settled in on himself and closed his good eye; the empty socket, a shallow bowl of skin furrowed with scars, stared vacantly at Pirem.
“The general had learned of a Slaver camp on the other side of Deep River. He decided to go after it before they got news of us. He was always like that, taking the battle to them. It was hot, dry as a priest’s mouth. My section was in the vanguard. We scrambled down the ravine and waited for the rest of the division to catch up. General Chisal himself was with the second regiment, his own Red Shields, followed by a squadron of dismounted Hume cavalry, pissed off at having to leave their mounts behind; but they were horse archers and it never hurts to have a few bows around to sweep the enemy’s ranks before you hit him with sword and spear. Last in the line was a militia regiment, all huff and bluff, but green as baby shit through and through. When we were all down, we started up the other side. We hadn’t gone more than a hundred steps when it started.”
“The Slavers attacked?”
Ager nodded. “Oh, yes. First arrows, and then boulders. Their shooting wasn’t that accurate, and the boulders were easy enough to dodge, but with so many of us stuck on the slope some had to be unlucky.”
“So the general was caught by surprise? It was an ambush?”
Ager shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He knew the enemy scouts would have to be asleep to miss us scrambling down the ravine, and would have plenty of time to organize some kind of defense. I think he counted on them not being able to shift their whole force to the river in time to stop us getting up the other side.” He smiled grimly. “And he was right.”
“What happened then?” Pirem urged.
“The general ordered the archers to keep down the Slavers while the rest of us scrambled up as quickly as we could. We had almost reached level ground, but then two companies of Slaver mercenaries charged down slope. That shook us, I can tell you. We were exhausted, and the archers had to stop shooting because we were hand-to-hand. It was hard fighting them back up the slope, but we outnumbered them.” Ager grinned then. “And my company beat the Red Shields to the top.”
“But that wasn’t the end of it, was it?”
Ager’s grin melted away. He shook his head. “No. That’s when the real battle started, and when I got my wounds.” He drank another mouthful and opened his mouth to resume when a shadow fell across the table. He glanced up to see who it was, and then all thought froze in his brain.
Pirem turned as well, and let out a low groan. “Oh, God, not again,” he muttered.
A giant of a man glared down at the pair. His flat blonde hair, starting to gray, was cut close to his scalp, a short salt-and-pepper beard covered most of his face, and his eyes were narrowed to slits. He wore a long cloak, but there was no disguising the shape of the long sword that hung from his waist.
“Damn,” Ager said, but softly and without anger.
The stranger placed his large hands on Pirem’s shoulders. “You’d better come back with me.”
“But, Kumul, I’ve finally found someone who fought at Deep River!”
The one called Kumul briefly lifted his gaze to Ager. “You’re being fed chicken shit by someone desperate for company and a night’s drinking. Only a handful survived that battle, and you’ll find none of them in this place.”
Pirem turned back to Ager, his eyes pleading for him to refute the words, but the look was lost on him. The crookback could not take his own eyes off the giant man. “It is you, isn’t it?”
Kumul frowned. “Now that’s an asinine question.”
“Captain Alarn,” Ager said. “Captain Kumul Alarn, of the Red Shields.”
Kumul flinched, and Pirem took one of his hands. “You see? This man knows you! He must have fought during the war!”
“Many men know me,” Kumul said levelly, “and how do you know which side he fought on?” He stared accusingly at Ager, but the man could say no more for the moment—his skin had gone the color of limestone. Kumul grabbed the youth’s coat in both hands and lifted him to his feet. “Let’s not waste any more time here,” he said.
Ager stirred suddenly. “No! Wait!” But Kumul ignored him, half-dragging and half-carrying Pirem along with him. Bundling the youth past one of the servants, he exchanged a nod with her. Pirem caught the signal.
“One of your informers, Kumul?” Pirem demanded. “Or one of your whores?”
Kumul grunted, gave another tug that almost had the youth in the air. They had reached the exit when Ager, struggling hard against his crookback, caught up with them.
“Captain Alarn! Wait!”
Again, Kumul ignored him. He used a shoulder to barge open the heavy wooden door and pulled Pirem after him. Ager was not put off and followed them onto the crowded street. He bumped into a passerby, mumbled an apology, lurched forward, and managed to catch the tail of Kumul’s cloak.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Kumul cried, and spun around, one hand still on Pirem and the other pulling free his cloak from Ager’s grasp, showing the design on his jerkin and exposing his sword. “Do you recognize the livery, man? I am no longer Captain Alarn of the Red Shields. They are gone and forgotten! I am Kumul Alarn, Constable of the Royal Guards. Now leave us alone or I’ll arrest you!”
“And I am no longer Captain Ager Parmer of the Kendra Spears,” Ager shouted back defiantly. “I am now Ager Crookback or Ager One-Eye, or just plain Ager the Cripple. Look at me, Kumul! Look at my face!”
Kumul stopped short, pulling Pirem back with him, and put his face close to Ager’s. “Ager Parmer?”
Ager slouched, the effect of his rush finally catching up with him. The slouch turned into a slump, his left shoulder lifting to be level with his neck. He nodded wearily.
“I thought you were dead,” Kumul said quietly.
“No, not dead, but as good as. It took two years for the wound in my back to stop weeping.”
“But that was fifteen years ago. Why didn’t you find me?”
“The war was over, my friend. I wanted peace and quiet.” Ager swallowed. “But I could never find it. No one at home wanted me around. I’ve been wandering ever since, picking up work where I could find it.”
“What kind of work?” Pirem asked, then blushed. “I didn’t mean…”
“I’m not offended,” Ager said quickly. “I have some learning. I can read and write, and know my numbers. Officers in Kendra’s army must know these things. I work as a clerk, usually for merchants, who care little one way or the other about my deformities. I earn some spending money and my passage from port to port. As with you, Pirem, there is more to me than shows.”
Kumul looked at the youth, raising his eyebrows. “Pirem?” The youth shrugged.
“Your name isn’t Pirem?”
“No,” Kumul answered before the youth could open his mouth. “Pirem is the name of his servant.”
“Servant? Then what is your name?”
Kumul laughed. “Since I could not recognize you, I should not be surprised that you cannot recognize this one.”
Ager peered closer at the youth’s face. After a moment he pulled back as if something had stung him on the nose. “He couldn’t be,” he said to Kumul.
“He is,” Kumul replied smugly.
Before the conversation could continue, there was a scuffle among the crowd of passersby and someone cried out. All three turned to see what the commotion was about. A tall, thin woman was bent over picking up fruit that had spilled from a basket and was at the same time cursing the clumsy dolt who had tripped over her long legs. The offender, still scrabbling to his feet, his face red with anger, ignored her. As he stood, there was a glint of steel in his hand. He looked up to see he was being observed by the giant man and his two companions, one a cripple, and the other…