The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy: Honoured Enemy, Murder in Lamut, Jimmy the Hand

Richard lowered his head. The beatings. That seemed to be the only way the old man knew how to treat his sons. If they did well, there was, at best, silence; but fail in anything and there would be a beating. As the eldest surviving son, he felt that the old man would never be satisfied. Too often there was mention of Quentin, twenty years older, from the Squire’s first marriage, killed in the last war. Always the Squire spoke of him as the worthy son who should have inherited all, and that Richard was the weak second choice.

‘Quentin was a good man,’ Gregory said.

Again there was the disturbing sense that the Natalese scout somehow had the ‘sense’, the ability to read the thoughts of others. ‘I see the same in you.’

Richard poked at the fire, saying nothing. ‘I don’t think our captain sees it that way,’ he finally ventured.

Gregory chuckled. ‘Dennis is a hard man on the surface, just like your father. He has to be out here not just to survive but to preserve those who serve with him. But underneath, he’s very different. If he has a fault it’s that he loves his men too much. Every death burns his soul. Jurgen was like his elder brother, the closest friend he has ever known. You just happened to be in the way.’

‘I caused his death.’

‘Don’t ever say that again. Don’t think it. War is cruel. Men die. Jurgen did what any man would do: he went to save a comrade.’

‘I wish I had died instead.’

‘Why?’

Richard looked over at him. ‘Because,’ he lowered his head, ‘my life for his. Who was more worthy to live? Who did the company need more? I know the Captain wishes it had been the other way around.’

‘Jurgen lived his life well. He had fifty years or more, you but eighteen. I think that’s a fair trade. He gave you back years you never would have had. Just remember that and don’t feel guilty. He didn’t do it because you were the son of a squire. Remember that as well. He’d have done it for the son of a peasant or thief. So live every day after this as if it was a gift from him, and when the time comes some day, pay it back the same way he did.’

Richard looked over at Gregory, unable to speak. He realized now why the scout had wanted him out here on patrol, so that he could share these words with him.

He didn’t know what to say in response.

Gregory stiffened and at nearly the same instant Richard noticed it as well, a sound, slush crunching, something moving on the trail.

‘Lower your head,’ Gregory whispered, ‘then move when I do, and do what I do.’

Richard did as ordered, the troll’s cloak pulled up over his head, his shoulders hunched forward, watching out of the corner of his eye. There were three of them, two trolls … and a moredhel.

Should we run? Richard wondered, but Gregory did nothing.

The three drew closer, slowed. The moredhel held out his hand, motioning for the trolls to stop. They stood less than ten feet away. He barked out a command.

Gregory grunted, head swaying as if coming awake. He growled a comment, and one of the trolls snorted as if in amusement.

A gust of wind swept the group, sparks flaring up from the fire. The moredhel took another step closer, snarling angrily, and then, to Richard’s eyes, everything seemed to shift, as if time was slowing.

The moredhel’s movement changed, as if he had suddenly realized that something was wrong, that he was not dealing with two trolls who had fallen asleep on watch.

Gregory started to stand, the cloak falling back, and at the same instant his hand snapped out, and his dagger was twirling over the firelight. A second later, the moredhel was dying, the dagger having slashed open his throat. Gregory was up, cloak flung back his sword drawn.

Richard stood, dagger in hand and leapt forward, following the scout. It was over in seconds, so complete was the surprise. Gregory split the skull of one of the trolls who stood gape-mouthed, staring down at the moredhel who was clasping at his throat, staggering backwards, trying to hold his lifeblood in as it sprayed out between his fingers.

Richard leapt for the second troll and this time he almost did it right, driving his dagger straight in, cutting the troll’s throat, losing the blade when the troll jerked backwards, the dagger jammed into his lower jaw.

Richard stepped back and then leapt with surprise since he had stepped into the fire.

Gregory was bending over the moredhel, cutting down, ending his agony. Warily he looked up, then crouched low. Richard looked with him. Gregory pointed: there was more movement on the trail. From the entrance to the mine there was movement as well, shadows reflecting the flash of spear points from the fire within.

‘Time to leave,’ Gregory whispered, ‘I think they’re going to try a night attack, figure we’re asleep. We’ve got to let Dennis know.’

Reaching into a pouch at his hip he pulled out several caltrops tossed them on the trail and kicked slush over them.

‘Come on, lad, I think it’s time to get moving again. What they find here might slow them a bit but we better pull out.’ He glanced at the sky. ‘Snow’s lessening. It’ll clear tomorrow. We’d better be somewhere else when it does.’

They turned away from the trail and as they did so Gregory patted Richard on the shoulder.

‘We might make a scout out of you, yet, lad.’

Then the Natalese set off at speed, disappearing into the night. Richard was left struggling to keep up.

• Chapter Five • (#ulink_fe9735cc-3465-5199-8ac8-b9c4beb96901)

Accommodation (#ulink_fe9735cc-3465-5199-8ac8-b9c4beb96901)

THE SNOW STOPPED.

Asayaga chanced a look over the wall. The mist was blowing clear; it was possible to see across the narrow clearing as the light of the middle moon illuminated the ice-covered forest. He could feel the temperature dropping as a cold wind lashed in from the north-west.

Good and bad, he thought. We’ll be drier but the ground will be icy, making footing difficult. He had never seen ‘frozen water’ before coming to Midkemia, as his homeworld was a hot world compared to this one, but he had become as close to an expert on cold weather warfare as any Tsurani could after nine winters in the field; he didn’t like it, but he understood it.

‘Force Commander.’

He looked down. It was Tasemu. He had ordered the Strike Leader to stay in the barracks hall to keep watch, not trusting Sugama to maintain order.

Asayaga nodded, motioning for him to climb the ladder and join him on the wall.

Tasemu crouched down beside him.

‘Force Commander, what are you going to do?’

Asayaga chuckled and sat down by the Strike Leader’s side.

Do? At the moment he had no answer to that one. A dreaded enemy blocked the way back to their lines, and unbelievably he was sharing a meal and spending the night with nearly sixty Kingdom troops.

‘May I venture to say that my Force Commander is not sure of the future path?’ Tasemu announced, sounding quite formal but in so doing offering Asayaga a chance to ask for an opinion.

They’d been together since the start of this war and rank notwithstanding, he knew Tasemu to be a friend, and not just a loyal retainer. If they ever got back home they’d assume the old roles, but out here it was different.

‘Speak your mind, Tasemu. What future do you see?’ Asayaga asked, taking up his Strike Leader’s offer of advice.

Tasemu sat back against the stockade wall and looked up. The low scudding clouds parted for a brief instant, revealing the stars. Tasemu rubbed the patch over his empty eye-socket, a habit of his when he was thinking hard.

‘The black-skinned one, the Natalese, he is a deadly foe, as is their captain,’ he replied finally. ‘I have caught glimpses of them in battle several times. Only glimpses, but I know we have faced them before and lost. Killing those two would be a great coup, worthy in fact of the sacrifice of this entire unit. Later it would save the lives of many of our comrades.’

Asayaga snorted derisively. ‘I never knew you to be worried about the skin of others, especially of the Clan Shonshoni. This does not sound like your thoughts. It is what Sugama is saying, not an old veteran like you.’