"Our luck, the bloody wolves'll howl fine on their own," said Jaker sourly.
Ross spoke up. "That courtyard's mostly stables, isn't it? The lad in the village said they breed horses."
"Aye," says Devlin. "And so?"
"Horses hate fire, don't they?"
"You don't say," put in Jaker. He was in charge of the horses—guess that's why he said that about wolves. "They hate it, and it makes 'em stupid. I've seen 'em run back into a burning barn just to get killed—and a hell of a noise they make."
Then Ross says, "So why don't we set fire to the barn?"
Even in that company there was a hiss of quick-drawn breath. Fire happens when it happens and every man alive works to put it out. We were meres, not outlaws. My da had once told me about a fire he'd seen, a house caught somehow and they couldn't get the people out. He'd said he'd heard the screams for what seemed like hours. I still sometimes had nightmares about that.
Dev just waited, but nobody else said a thing.
"Not as easy as it sounds," he says after a few minutes, thoughtful. "They build with stone around here. Those barns are stone to the rooftree and slate tiled above. Not much to burn there." He stared into the fire for a moment, then he smiled real slow and looked around at us. "But the stalls have windows on the outer wall, and they're closed with wooden shutters," he says, right pleased with himself.
"But fire..." says Hask. I was surprised. I'd always thought him a hard man.
"It's not as bad as that," says Devlin. "We won't burn the people, we'll just scare the horses. Jaker, we'll all ride halfway there and walk the rest—you keep the horses where we stop, safe for our retreat. The rest of you—if Old Man Merc comes out to fight, you kill him before he can do you. Anybody else, just take them out the fight fast as you can, no need for killing unless you've got to. The girl's tall as a man, she should be easy to spot. Soon as one of you has her, let out a long whistle and all scatter. We'll meet back at the village—not here, it's too close."
"I don't like it, Dev," says Hask. He stood up. "Fire ain't right. I near got kilt in a fire when I were young. Fire ain't right."
Dev just looked up at him, for Hask was a big man. "You got a better idea?"
Hask shook his head.
"Then it's set," says Dev. "Jaker, you reckon Hask could take care of the horses for the time?"
"Sure," says Jaker. He and Hask had been working for Dev a long time, and they were as close to being friends as men got in such places. He took Hask aside and started talking horses at him.
I got out my knives and started in to sharpen all three of 'em. I planned to take Old Man Merc myself, pay him out for making me look a fool in front of Dev. My speciality was throwing knives and I was damn good at it.
Well, I thought I was damn good at it.
Jamie told us about the mercenaries at the noon meal. Varien was appalled by the idea of men that were paid to fight but he wasn't stupid, and even he could tell that the expression on Jamie's face wasn't one that invited questions.
"I'd guess that someone from your trip isn't happy about the way it worked out, my girl. Maybe Marik got better," he said. "I certainly haven't done anything to rattle anyone lately. Can you think of anyone else who'd come this far and pay meres to look for you?"
"Only Marik, or the demon master he works with," I said. "He's the only one I know of with a reason, but I'd be amazed if Marik could even speak yet, let alone plan such a thing."
Jamie drought for a moment. "Must be the demon master, then. Why in all the Hells has he sent men instead of demons?"
Varien spoke, but his calm voice was belied by the anger in his eyes. "Demons demand quite a price for their services. Perhaps he is not wealthy, or has run out of blood he is willing to part with."
"Where is Marik, anyway?" asked Jamie, looking relieved that we weren't going to have to fight demons just yet. "Someone must be looking after him, surely. Who would it be? You said he was the head of a Merchant House."
"His men carried him from the ship," said Varien quietly. "I know not where they took him."
Jamie sighed. "Truth to tell, I've almost been waiting for this. Stories are all well and good, my Lanen, and they sound fine coming from a bard, but real people who are after you don't just let you get away. You've come away the winners of this last bout, but it sounds like there is too much at stake for it to stop just because you give up. There are always loose ends from any weave. You seem to have left a right trail of them behind you."
I laughed, imagining a ravelling bit of rough-woven cloth trailing behind my horse, but I was the only one. Varien looked thoughtful.
"What are they most likely to do, Mas—Jamie?" he asked. "Would they attack such a stronghold as this?"
"Depends on their numbers," Jamie said. "If there's a score of them they might try it, but if they're less than ten they'll think of some distraction to make their way easier. We need to know what they're after first."
"Could it be the gold?" I asked quietly. "I don't think anyone saw it, but we brought back—quite a lot from the Dragon Isle."
"What!" cried Jamie. "Lanen, you never said word!"
I grinned. "You never asked. I was going to leave it as a surprise. The dragons—well, they—they have plenty, and we decided it might come in useful here."
"How much do you have with you? I've seen the circlet you wear," he said to Varien. "That's bad enough. Most men don't ever see that much gold in their lives. Many don't see gold at all. Did you bring—is there much more?"
I went to fetch my pack and brought it to Jamie. "Inside," I said.
Jamie felt around inside the nearly-empty pack. When he found it his eyes grew wide. He lifted out a lump of gold, that the dragons call khaadish, about the size of his fist. He stared at it, his jaw slack in wonder.
"Lanen tells me that khaadish is rare among your people, Master," said Varien calmly, "yet I have no sense of its worth. I saw no scrap of it on our journey here. What could you do with that much—"
"Gold. It's called gold, Varien." Jamie blinked. "Hellsfire. What could you do with it? Varien, a silver piece is worth twelve coppers. You can pay a man two coppers for a day's work and know he has the full value of it, for coppers are cut into halves and quarters—they're called haves and farthings, and most men deal in coppers for daily business. We sell horses, the best in Kolmar, and we occasionally see a gold piece for our best stud stallions. There are a hundred silver pieces to a single gold coin. A man's work for two years, that's what gold is worth. And that's a single thin coin. There must be—gods, there must be the best part of two hundred gold coins here. Enough to buy this whole farm and every stud and mare on it, and the work of the men for years to come."
Varien bowed his head briefly and closed his eyes. "I thank you," he said, sighing. Glancing up again he looked to me. "I think I begin to understand why so many of the harvesters over the long years dared to breach the Boundary and face our wrath. Your legends tell of—of dragons stealing and hoarding this metal, do they not?"
"Yes, they do." Jamie watched Varien carefully. "Is it true?"