'And what elder virtue are you?' Darll asked.
The old woman smiled thinly. Thrift.'
Graym made up his mind, turned, and addressed his companions. 'These pick-me-up armies are all bluff. Farm boys and fishermen, not one real soldier in twenty.'
Jarek was counting on his fingers. 'How many real soldiers does that make against each of us?'
'One,' Fenris said flatly.
'Maybe even two,' Farms added.
Graym waved his hand. 'What's that to us? Nothing at all. They're just trainees. We're road-tested. Months of hardship, baking sun, blinding rain — '
'Great ale — ' Jarek said, caught up in the enthusiasm.
Graym interrupted hurriedly. 'And there you are. We'll frighten off this lot in no time and be back on the road.' He raised a fist and shouted, 'To Krinneor!'
'To Krinneor!' Jarek shouted. Darll said nothing. The Wolf brothers looked worried.
The elders had tears in their eyes. Graym was pleased to think he had moved them. He held out his hands. 'As long as we're fighting the good fight for you, so to speak, can you lend us your swords?'
The elders stared at him.
'We didn't bring any,' he added.
'It's not as if we needed them,' Jarek said.
The elders were suitably impressed.
'The Protector fled with most of our good weapons. We still have a few.' Rhael lifted a rag-wrapped bundle and gave it to Graym. 'This is Galeanor, the Axe of the Just.'
'Just what?' Jarek asked.
Graym took the axe, eyed it dubiously. 'Just kidding.'
Darll muttered in his ear. 'Perfect. The fat man fights and dies with the Axe of the Just Kidding.'
Rhael handed the others dented weapons, the few the Protector had left behind. Darll examined his sword with distaste. Jarek looked at his with delight. The Wolf brothers picked up two badly corroded maces, after touching them gingerly to be sure they weren't dangerous. They stood there, then, staring at one another.
'Don't you think you'd better take up positions opposite the enemy?' Rhael suggested.
'You're absolutely right, Miss,' Graym said firmly. 'Move out.' With only a small twinge of guilt, he added, 'And we'll take the cart with us — for supplies… and… strategy.'
They traipsed down the hill, walked through Graveside. It was, Graym noted, a pleasant enough place, not much bigger than Sarem. There were cart tracks in front of the homes and manure piles in the tilled fields. It obviously was a farm-to-market town for a larger city. 'Krinneor isn't far now,' Graym said to the others. 'We're closer to the city itself. I know it. Now, if we can just shake this lot…'
Graym glanced behind him. Werlow began organizing the elders for a safe retreat down the road. Rhael had gone into one of the cottages.
Graym smiled; they continued on.
At the crest of the hill, Darll raised his hand in silent warning. The others obediently stopped the cart.
'Keep low!' he ordered. They dropped to the ground and peered into the valley below.
Tombstones and open graves, white tents and a great many ropes stippled the valley and spread up the opposite hill. A hundred helmeted, armored warriors stood in line, ready for inspection. Graym looked shocked.
'These scum robbed the graves,' said Darll. 'And they're wearing the corpses!'
'Odd taste in armor, made out of bones. What for, d'you think, sir?' Graym asked.
'Wolves love bones,' Darll said bitterly. 'Sheep shy away from them. No use in shying, though. The wolves always win.' He smiled grimly. 'I know. I'm a wolf.'
He pointed downhill cautiously. 'The two in front with the swords are drillmasters, showing close-quarter thrusts. The ones checking the lines are lower-rank officers.'
A man dashed up to a soldier, who was twisting this way and that, cuffed him, and yelled in his face. The shouting carried all the way to the hilltop.
'That,' Darll said dryly, 'would be the sergeant.'
'Which one is Skorm?' Graym whispered.
'My guess would be the big guy, wearing the sawed-off skull.'
They watched as Skorm paced calmly and evenly, inspecting the troops. The warlord, stepping over a skeleton, kicked the skull. It shattered on a tombstone.
Graym peered down at him. 'Now there's a man who knows the value of appearances.'
'Don't you ever say anything bad about anybody?'
Graym shrugged. 'There's more than enough of that around, sir, if you want it.'
'What if we split them down the middle?' a voice said.
They rolled and turned around, Graym snatching the axe from his belt. Rhael, a battered spear with a mended haft in her hands, was standing behind them. She was dressed in leather armor that probably had been trimmed from a butcher's apron.
'I've always heard that was how to deal with a larger force,' she said.
'Young Elder Rhael,' said Graym, 'why don't you go back to town and keep bad folk from climbing the hill to surround us?'
Rhael looked at Graym admiringly. 'You have the mind of a warrior.' She stood stiffly. 'I won't let you down. I promise.'
They watched her run back over the hill crest. 'I wish I could move like that,' Graym said, envious.
'Wouldn't look good on you,' Darll muttered.
Graym rubbed his rotund middle. 'True enough, sir.'
'Now,' Darll said, 'what's your battle plan?'
'Battle plan, sir?'
'You left Rhael to guard our rear — and an ugly rear at that. What's your plan of attack?'
Graym shuddered. 'Attack? Don't even think it, sir. My plan is to run around Skorm and go on to Krinneor. Why do you think we brought the cart?'
The Wolf brothers looked vastly relieved. Darll stared at him, then began to laugh. 'I like your style, fat man.'
Graym hefted the axe. 'Right. The chains, sir.'
Darll was suspicious. 'You're setting me free?'
'On good behavior.' Graym glanced sideways down the hill at the soldiers. 'I can't send you running past that lot in chains. They'd hear the rattle for sure.'
Darll dropped to one knee and laid the chain on a boulder, turning his head away and shutting his eyes tightly.
Graym swung the broadaxe overhead, brought it down. Sparks shot in all directions. The Axe of the Just Kidding sliced through the chain and gouged the rock. Shards Hew, grazing Darll.
He raised his right hand to wipe his cheek. His left hand automatically followed, a chain's length behind, then dropped. He looked with wonder at his hands, then looked longingly at the horizon ahead of them, beyond the army. 'Right. Ready to run for it?'
He pulled a thong from his pocket, wrapped it around the sleeve of his right arm. Then he bent, tightened his boots, and stood straight.
Graym stared. With only a few tucks and touches, Darll had gone from prisoner to razor-sharp man of war. Graym stared down the hill, where an army was blocking their way. 'Just think, sir,' he said, 'earlier today, the world was sweet, and I wanted it to last forever. Isn't life amazing?'
'While you've got it,' Darll said. He poked at Jarek, who was playing mumblety-peg with his sword. 'Tighten everything, boy. You want free limbs. Loosen for marches, tighten for fights or retreats.'
Jarek tightened his belt hurriedly. Groaning with the effort, Graym bent and tucked his breeches down into his boot tops. He stood puffing and stared down the hill.
Jarek said eagerly, 'Are we going to fight now?'
Graym shook his head. 'That, my boy, would be the worst disaster since the Cattle-Kissing.'
'Cataclysm!' Darll said automatically. 'I think we can run around the end of the valley there and be safely on
