Paks took the opportunity to begin learning longsword, and collected a whole new set of cuts and bruises.
With free time in Valdaire, they found that the salary which seemed so large at first disappeared amazingly fast.
“It’s not that things are so expensive,” said Arne thoughtfully one evening in
“I know.” Paks frowned at her linked hands. “I was going to save most of mine to repay my father, but I keep spending it. But except for coming here with you, I’ve needed what I’ve bought—or most of it—”
“We’ve gotten used to spending,” said Saben. “That new dagger I bought—I could have used the Company one. But—I bought it.”
“We might as well enjoy it,” said Vik. “We’re going to spend it one way or another. No use fretting about it.”
Paks snorted. “There speaks a man who dices his way to twice his salary.”
“Not always.” Vik was unruffled. “And if I do, I spend it all. I’ll teach you, if you like. I’ll even let you start with pebbles.”
“No, thank you. I just can’t see taking a chance on losing it.”
“You take chances when you fight—that trick you pulled on Canna today—”
“That’s different.” She blushed when Vik laughed. “No, it is. I know what chances I’m taking, in fighting. But with money—”
“You’re still a country girl, Paks. That’s exactly the difference between city and country—”
“I’m the same way,” said Saben mildly. “I can’t see throwing money away—or anything else, for that matter.” Vik laughed, shaking his red head.
The Duke left, to ride north; they realized that he was going to inspect another group of recruits. Paks was distressed to find that Stammel was going with him.
“What did you expect?” he asked. “It’s my year to recruit and train; I saw you through your first year. I’ll be back a year from now.” His brown eyes twinkled. “And you’d better be here to lick my recruits into shape, you and the rest. Take care—I want to hear good things of you.”
“Is Bosk going too?” Paks felt like crying.
“No. He’s staying down another year. Devlin wanted to stay north; his wife’s had another baby.”
Paks had never thought of any of them being married; she eyed Stammel but lacked the nerve to ask him.
While waiting for the new recruits to come down, they had more time off. Paks met a corporal in the Valdaire city militia who had grown up near Rocky Ford—the first person she’d met in the south who knew where Three Firs was. A bowman from Golden Company bought them all ale one night—he was celebrating his retirement, he said— he’d saved enough to buy a farm. Spring came earlier and quicker in the Vale of Valdaire than in the north. As the fields greened, grass ran like green flame up the slopes toward retreating snow. Rivers boiled with snowmelt, roaring and tumbling the rocks in their beds. Tiny yellow and white flowers starred the grass. New lambs scampered among the flocks, flipping their ridiculous tails. Paks was almost homesick when she saw the lambs. Buds swelled on the trees; wild plums flowered by every rivulet. The first caravans clogged the city with wagons and pack beasts, waiting for the pass to open.
Paks had not realized, the year before, that someone left the recruit column to warn the Company camp while the column went through the city. This year, when the courier came, the older veterans explained what to do.
“Just hang about as if you didn’t know they were coming,” said Donag, grinning. “Keep close to the yard. When the captain yells, throw yourself into position, fast. Whoever’s closest, go for the front; never mind your usual position. What counts is speed. They don’t know where we’re supposed to be, and they’ll be too scared to notice. Be sure to keep a straight face—they’ll be funny, but don’t laugh.”
Paks saw the column coming up the lane; she strolled back to the yard, her heart hammering. What would the new recruits be like? Were they as frightened as she had been? And what about the sergeant who would replace Stammel? She watched as they came into the yard and halted, and tensed, waiting for the captain’s shout. When it came, she was moving before it ended. Donag, still quicker, made his usual position before anyone else had a chance at it. It was all over in a moment. They stood silent and motionless, and the recruits’ eyes widened.
Stammel’s replacement was a black-haired, green-eyed woman named Dzerdya; Paks thought she looked forbidding. The other cohorts each had a new sergeant, and Bond, senior corporal in Cracolnya’s cohort, was replaced by Jori. They had twenty-nine new recruits in Arcolin’s cohort alone. Paks was glad to find that she was not assigned a recruit; she wouldn’t know what to say to the bright-eyed youngsters who filled the empty bunks.
In the next few days, Paks found Dzerdya nothing like Stammel or easygoing Coben, their junior sergeant. She seemed to have a mind as quick as her bladework, and she demanded instant attention and obedience. Paks was surprised to find that her recruits actually liked her.
“She was my sergeant,” said Canna. “Isn’t she amazing?”
That had not been Paks’s first thought. Terrifying, quick-tempered, hasty, impossible—but not amazing. But Canna went on, not noticing her reaction.
“Wait until you see her in battle. She’s so fast you can hardly see her blade. You ought to drill with her sometime.”
“She seems kind of—kind of—angry a lot,” said Paks lamely.
“Oh, that. She’s quick to bite, true, but she doesn’t brood on things. Don’t worry about it. I don’t think she knows, sometimes, when she’s scared someone half to death.”
In another week, Paks had begun to agree. Dzerdya was strict, and had a tongue like a handful of razors, but she was fair. She obviously cared a great deal for her troops.
This year’s contract was very different. “It’s a siege,” explained Donag, who had used his own mysterious contacts to find out. “The Guild League cities are joining to siege and assault another city, halfway across Aarenis. They’re hiring several companies as well as their own militia. I think our contract’s with Sorellin, but the others are supporting it.”
“What city?” asked Canna.
“Rotengre. Have you heard of it?”
“I think so. Wasn’t there a caravan raid near there, last year?”
“Yes. The Guild League thinks that Rotengre harbors brigands—in fact, they suspect the city lives by preying on the northern caravan route between Merinath and Sorellin. Three or four years ago—before your time, Canna— five caravans were totally destroyed. That was the worst, so far as I know, but for the past ten or twelve years the loss has been enormous. Almost as bad as what Alured’s done to the Immer River shipping.”
“But why do they think it’s Rotengre?” asked Paks. “Do the caravans go through there?”
“Look.” Donag began to scratch a rough map on the table with the burnt end of a stick. “Here’s Valdaire, in the northwest. Now here’s the river. It’s like a tree, sprouting from the Immerhoft Sea in the south, with branches northwest, north, and northeast. Downstream from Valdaire you come to Foss, Fossnir, Cortes Vonja, Cortes Cilwan, and Immervale, where the branches meet. On the north branch, up from Immervale, you’ve got Koury, Ambela, and Sorellin. The other branch, to the east, has Rotengre. Then off in the far northeast, Merinath and Semnath. And the Copper Hills—”
“Have you been to all those places?” asked Paks, awed.
“Most of ’em. The Copper Hills, now, that’s where caravans come north from the coast—”
“Why don’t they come up the Immer?” asked Vik. “That other’s a long way out of their way, isn’t it?”
“You haven’t heard yet of Alured the Black?” asked Donag, brows rising. They shook their heads. “Well— that’s a tale in itself. Used to be a searover he did—a pirate—and somehow decided to come ashore. He controls a belt of forest near the coast, and he’s pirated so much of the river trade that there isn’t any. It’s cheaper to go the long way around than pay his tolls.” Donag rubbed his face with one meaty hand, then went on. “Like I was saying, the caravan route is north along the Copper Hills, then west: Semnath, Merinath, Sorellin, Ambela, Pler Vonja, then Fossnir and Foss and upriver to Valdaire. The road they’ve built is something to see.
“The stretch between Merinath and Sorellin is long—comes fairly close to Rotengre—and that’s just where the caravans have been attacked. A lot of that’s forest, so it’s easy enough for brigands to throw off pursuit, and for Rotengre to claim they live in the forest. But they trade somewhere, and Rotengre is the obvious place. Besides,
