"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.