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

‘Remember, Asayaga, the truce is temporary.’

‘But for now we need you as much as you need us,’ Gregory interjected, staring straight at Dennis who reluctantly nodded an agreement.

‘I think your men were just as played out, Hartraft.’

‘We are,’ Gregory replied. ‘We were coming back in from patrol, the place where we met three days ago, we expected to rest there and wait out the storm. The men were already worn. They’re just as beat as yours.’

‘Do you think your men are just as exhausted?’ Asayaga asked, gaze locked on Dennis.

‘What is this? Some sort of game of pride?’

‘Yes, everything is a game,’ Asayaga replied and Dennis could sense a note of bitterness in the Tsurani’s voice. ‘You are worried about staying here aren’t you?’

‘The enemy we face bears a deep hatred for my family. It will compel him to press forward against us.’

‘Then we remain watchful and break camp before dawn.’

‘If he comes he’ll have the advantage.’

Asayaga nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then fate is fate.’

‘What?’

‘Just that. We can go no further this evening, that is now a given. You believe the enemy will press forward and I will accept that as a given. So it is fate that decides, but for the moment it is senseless for us to stand here freezing while the warmth of the fire beckons.’

Without another word, Asayaga turned and walked around the flimsy stockade to join his men who were huddling around the fire.

Dennis looked over at Gregory who chuckled softly.

‘He’s right, you know, and the meat smells damn good.’

Dennis followed the Natalese scout reluctantly. Darkness was closing in. The last of the wood-gatherers came in with one more load and dumped it into the piles next to the roaring fires. The flames were so hot that many of the men had pulled off their heavy jackets, hats and gloves. Ropes were strung up to hang the wet clothing on to dry out.

Many of the Tsurani were sitting, unwrapping their foot-cloths, groaning with delight as they extended bare feet to the fires. The first slabs of venison were being speared out of the flames and pieces of meat were tossed about, laughter rippling through the group as more than one man swore and let the hot meat drop in order to suck scorched fingers, then gingerly picked the steaming treats back up.

The last Kingdom hunter came in with two marmots over his shoulder, both of them plump with early winter fat. The hunter was embarrassed with such paltry fare but the Tsurani cried aloud with delight, even as the disgusted hunter dumped the carcasses on the ground and apologized to his comrades.

There was a moment’s hesitation as two Tsurani moved closer to the hunter.

‘Go on, take the damn things,’ he finally growled. ‘I’ll eat crow before I’d touch ‘em. It’s all I could find.’

His gesture of disdain was clear enough signal and the two Tsurani swept the marmots up and within seconds had them dangling from a tree limb. With expert cuts they sliced the skin around the necks, and then without making another cut they gradually pulled the skin off the bodies. The two seemed to be running a race and the conversations around the fires fell silent as the Kingdom troops watched what was being done.

Chattering amongst themselves, the Tsurani skinning the marmots finally had the skins completely pulled off and dangling from the rear legs of the giant rodents. Then with a quick jerk the skins were popped off and then with a snapping gesture turned from inside out, to right side in, so that each skin was now a bag with the fur again on the outside.

They now fell to carving the flesh and fat off the bones of the marmots and tossing them into the bags of fur. Next the bones were broken at the joints and stuffed in and finally all the guts as well. While the two laboured at their tasks other Tsurani had been gathering up small rocks and tossing them into the fires. Now they fished the red-hot rocks out of the flames and, laughing, tossed them bare-handed to the two butchers who grabbed the rocks and plopped them into the stuffed bags as well.

Finally a couple of pins, made from a Tsurani wood almost as hard as metal, were fished out of haversacks and used to stitch the neck holes shut. Broken sticks were used to plug the arrow-holes in the hides and the two bags were tossed into the flames.

Every Kingdom soldier had gone quiet and a bit wide-eyed, while the Tsurani seemed to be in near-celebratory mood, chattering amongst themselves, pushing in around the butchers, and obviously exclaiming over the strange feast being prepared.

Gregory watched the show, grinning slightly. ‘I once slipped up on a Tsurani camp at night and saw this. Near as I can figure their lingo they got something like marmots on their world and they’re considered a rare delicacy fit only for the nobility.’

The air was thick with the stench of fur burning off the carcasses. The two self-appointed cooks rolled the marmots back and forth in the flames and the marmots swelled up like balloons, reminding Dennis of nothing other than a dead body floating in the water, bloating up beneath a hot summer sun.

Finally it looked as if the marmots were ready to burst asunder when suddenly juice and steam started spraying out of holes in the bodies that nature had originally placed in the marmot and which had not been plugged shut. Loud shouts of laughter erupted from the Tsurani as the two marmots were rolled out of the flames. One of the cooks, hands now protected with gloves picked one of them up and with juice still squirting out approached Asayaga, who grinned and bowed ritualistically, then knelt down while the cook held the marmot over his head. A stream of juice shot into Asayaga’s mouth. He licked his lips, and said something that caused a great burst of laughter.

The second cook held up his marmot and began to approach Asayaga, but the Tsurani commander said something and pointed towards Dennis. The laughter stopped and all looked over at Hartraft.

‘The first juice of the marmot,’ Asayaga announced in the common tongue, ‘is reserved for nobles and leaders. You drink now.’

‘Like hell I will,’ Dennis grumbled under his breath, his words drowned out by the crackling roar of the fire.

The second cook, approached Dennis, grinning.

‘Better do it,’ Gregory whispered. ‘It’s obviously considered a sign of respect.’

‘Damn it, I won’t drink juice spraying out of a marmot’s backside.’

‘Do it!’ Gregory hissed, ‘or we might have a fight on our hands. This is the first sign they’ve given that they respect you as a leader; don’t cock it up!’

Dennis spared a sidelong glance at his men. There was a mixture of reactions. Some were obviously disgusted with the entire affair, but more than one, especially the older hands, were grinning at the predicament Dennis was now in.

His angry glare killed most of the smiles. Then, cursing under his breath, he knelt down on one knee. The Tsurani cook held the marmot up, steam still spouting out of the marmot’s rearend. The Tsurani squeezed the body and a stream of juice shot out.

Dennis managed to take a single gulp. The liquid was oily, thick, and scalding hot. He struggled to swallow and the cook turned away, shouting something. Laughter erupted from the Tsurani and was soon joined by the Kingdom troops, obviously delighted by the discomfort of their leader.

Asayaga approached Dennis, pulling a sac out from under his tunic and uncorking it. ‘Here, drink this, to wash it down.’

Dennis looked at him coldly and Asayaga, smiling, tilted his head back and squeezed the sac. A stream of white fluid shooting into his mouth. He pointed the sack at Dennis and squeezed.

The sour bitterness hit Dennis’s palate and this time he did gag.

‘What in the name of all the devils is that?’ he cried.

‘Aureg.’

‘What? It tastes like horse piss.’

‘Ha! The wrong end of a horse, if it came from a horse. It’s fermented needra milk.’ The needra were the six-legged beasts of burden the Tsurani had imported from their homeworld. They served as oxen and draft-horses for the Tsurani, who had no horses on their world. ‘Cools one in the summer heat and warms the stomach in winter.’

‘Oh damn,’ Dennis said.

As he spat out the rest, the Tsurani erupted in gales of laughter. Dennis looked over at Asayaga, wondering what the hell he was doing and the Tsurani drew closer.

‘Respect forestalls the killing,’ Asayaga said, his voice suddenly cool. ‘My men will be more receptive to your “suggestions” in the future.’

He looked back at his men who were gathered around the two marmots which had been split open. Eager hands were reaching in, pulling out the steaming hot meat. One of the men came up respectfully to Asayaga and held out his hand. Resting on the palm were two steaming pieces of meat.