' A free-lance merc wears his fortune,' Quenten told him. 'If you need to buy something, and you don't want to spend any of those outland gold coins because it might draw attention to you, break off a couple of links of those necklaces, take a plate from the belt, hand over a ring or a bracelet. That's the way a merc operates, and no one is going to turn a hair. Very few mercs bother with keeping money with a money-changing house, because it won't be readily accessible. In fact, only about half of even bonded mercs have a running account with the Mercenary's Guild, for the same reason. Where you're going, every merchant and most good inns have scales to weigh the gold and silver, and they'll give you a fair exchange for it.' Skif thought about what he said, then sent Quenten's agent back to the bazaar to exchange the rest of their Valdemaran and Rethwellan gold and silver for jewelry. He had to admit that the ornaments he got in exchange, a mixture of brand new and worn with use, were a great deal less traceable than the Valdemaren coin. He felt like a walking target-his old thief instincts acting up again-but he knew very well that when he was a thief, he'd never, ever have tackled two wealthy fighters, especially when they walked with their hands on their hilts and never drank more than one flagon of wine at a sitting. Quenten had been right; a wealthy, cautious fighter was someone that tended not to attract trouble.
Still, he'd complained to Elspeth their first night on the road that he felt like a cheap tavern dancer, with his necklaces making more noise than his chain-mail.
Elspeth had giggled, saying she felt like a North-Province bride, with all her dowry around her neck, but she had no objections to following Quenten's advice.
He still resented that, a little. He'd made a similar suggestion-though he had suggested they dress as a pair of landed hill-folk rather than mercs-and she had dismissed the notion out of hand. But when Quenten told them to disguise themselves, she had agreed immediately.
Maybe it was simply that he'd suggested plain, unglamorous hill-folk, and Quenten had suggested the opposite. Skif had the feeling she was beginning to enjoy this; she was picking up the kind of swaggering walk the other well-off mercs they met had adopted, and she had taken to binding up her hair with bright bands of silk, and some of the strands of garnet and amethyst beads Quenten had bought. There were eyecatching silk scarves trailing from the hilt of Need, and binding the helm at her saddlebow. She looked like a barbarian. And he got the distinct impression she liked looking that way. Her eyes sparkled the moment they crossed into a town and found a tavern, and she began grinning when other mercs sought them out to exchange stories and news. One night she'd even taken up with another prosperous female free-lance, Selina Ironthroat, and had made the rounds of every tavern in town. the gods only know what they did. I don't even want to think about it.
At least she came back sober, even if she was giggling like a maniac. If half the stories those other mercs told me about Selina are true, her mother would never forgive me.
Not only that, she took the inevitable attempts at assignations with a cheerful good humor that amazed him.
He'd expected her to explode with anger the first time it happened.
She had been the center of a gossiping clutch of Guild mercs, but as the evening wore on, one by one, they'd drifted off, leaving her alone for a moment. That was when a merc with almost as much gold around his neck as she wore had tried to get her to go off with him-and presumably into his bed.
He readied himself for a brawl. Then she'd shocked the blazes out of him.
She'd laughed, but not in a way that would make the man feel she was laughing at him, and said, in a good approximation of Rethwellan hill-country dialect,
'oh, now that is a truly tempting offer, 'tis in very deed, but I misdoubt ye want to make me partner there feel I've left 'im alone.' She'd nodded at Skif, who simply gave the merc The Look. Don't mess with my partner. And turned back to his beer, with one cautious eye on the proceedings.
'He gets right testy when he thinks he's gonna be alone, truly he does,' she continued, a friendly grin on her face, her eyes shining as she got into her part. 'Ye see, his last partner left 'im all by 'imself one night, and some sorry son of a sow snuck up on im when he wasn't payin' attention, an' hit im with a bottle. ' Her face went thoughtful for a moment.
'Twas sad, that'e not only took it out on 'is partner, gods grant th' puir man heals up quick, 'e took It out on th' lads as took the puir fellow off. He hates havin' no one to watch 'is back, he truly do.' The other merc looked at Skif, who glowered back; gulped) and allowed as how he, too, hated having no one to guard his back.
'Then let's buy you a drink, lad!' she'd exclaimed, slapping him so hard on the back that he'd staggered. 'When times be prosperous, 'tis only right t' share 'em. No hard feelin's among mercs, eh? Now, where are ye bound for?' Oh, yes, indeed, she looked, and acted, the part; a far cry from the competent but quiet princess of Valdemar, who never had seen the inside of a common tavern in her life.
As he waited for her to decipher the sign, he wondered, as he had wondered several times before this, if she wasn't enjoying it a bit too much.
She dropped down into her saddle by the simple expedient of doing just that, her feet slipping down along the sides as she fell straight down and he winced. That was one of Kero's favorite tricks, and it always made men wince. ''We're on the right road if we go straight ahead,' she said. 'That's 'Dark Wing Road,' and we don't want it; it's going into the Pelagiris Forest in a couple of leagues, and it doesn't come out until it hits the edge of the Dhorisha Plains. No towns, no inns, no nothing. We want this one; it's still the Pelagiris Road, and in a while it'll meet the High Spur Road, and that takes us to Lythecare.' On the map, this 'Dark Wing Road' had looked to be a very minor track, but it was just as well-maintained in reality as the High Spur Road they expected to take. Of course, now that she'd pointed out what it was, it was obvious that it went in the wrong direction, but with all this dark mist confusing his senses-'I'm all turned around in this fog,' he complained.
