Lhors blinked. “But all those blades,” he whispered, “and abow
Malowan nodded. “If he was a tenth of what he appears to be,yes. He’s not, though. Oh, he’s good enough with the swords. You’d be impressed,if you saw him in a duel against a pack of drunken thugs. His mothers paid for his dueling masters since he was a boy. She’s the one who sees he has fancyclothes and expensive weapons, and she’s noble. Few men of the noble or commonrank would risk offending her by injuring her precious boy.”
Lhors eyed Arkon the Adamant, who now stood arguing with Vlandar. Full sun fell on a face that might be considered handsome.
“If I were a swordsman,” Lhors ventured cautiously, “I wouldnot wear sleeves like that. My opponent’s blade might catch in them.”
“You remember what Vlandar’s been telling you,” Malowan saidwarmly. “Good lad. What else?”
“He looks very wealthy. That’s foolish, unless you want toattract thieves.” Lhors sighed. “And he was rude to the rangers. That wasn’tnecessary.”
“He is wealthy, or his widowed mother is. She buys anythinghe asks for, and when he gets into trouble with his shiny toys, she blames his companions who must have led him astray. He picks his fights carefully and never fights anyone better than he.”
“He’s not a hero?” Lhors asked.
Malowan nodded. “He’s a fraud and not even named Arkon. Hisreal name is Plowys, after his mother’s brother.”
A sharp, angry curse brought the paladin around, hands out. The young noble had come back in, unnoticed by either Lhors or Malowan.
“Your pardon, young Arkon,” the paladin said smoothly. “I wasnot aware you were eavesdropping.”
“If you mean to imply that I was sneaking about, listening toyour gossip…” the youth said angrily.
“I imply nothing,” Malowan said evenly as Vlandar came backinto the barracks, where he could step between them. “I merely wonder that yourmother Plovenia would allow you to go twenty paces beyond the city gates in any company whatever. I doubt her purse strings or her apron strings stretch so far.”
“You insult my lady mother?” Plowys demanded.
“No,” Malowan replied evenly, “I insult you, and you knowwhy, young Plowys. A young companion of my ward is dead because you challenged him. Remember Vesisk? He was a street lad, a boy with no weapons skill at all, and you challenged him to a battle and killed him. One day, your mother will no longer be able to buy your way out of such situations.”
Plowys-or Arkon-swore under his breath and freed a dagger.Lhors gasped as the man stalked forward, but the paladin made no effort to defend himself. As the fancy-clad young man brought the blade up, it seemed to slam into an invisible barrier and bounce back. Plowys yelped as the dagger went flying.
“You should know better than to try to harm a paladin,”Vlandar told him. “He has his own protection. Fortunately, he’s not in the habitof attacking young men with bad manners.”
“It’s
“Life is not fair,” Malowan said evenly. “Most youths yourage have learned it by now. Your mother cannot buy you a place in this company, and she would be appalled to learn you came here. Go home. We are looking for those who can work as a team-something you may learn one day. You would not likethe world beyond Cryllor. Giants, goblins, and other evil creatures do not know your mother and would not spare you because of her rank and wealth.”
“You’re afraid,” Plowys said, “afraid I’m better than you.”
“No,” Malowan replied simply.
Vlandar shook his head firmly. “You cannot pick your fightsout there. Challenge the wrong foe, and you’re dead without even a chance todraw your blades.”
“You’ll be sorry,” Plowys snarled, but Lhors didn’t think hisheart was in it anymore. The pouting young man resheathed the dagger andstalked off.
Malowan watched him leave then sighed after a moment. “I willspend my next two nights kneeling on a cold stone floor to implore the gods’forgiveness for my treatment of that poor child. Heironeous sees into my heart and knows I still can feel such anger.”
“Phuff!” Vlandar spoke sharply, silencing him. “I wonder the‘poor child’ is still alive after insulting so many.”
“He’s still alive,” Malowan replied, “because he only choosesfights against poor or drunk men. I wonder why the guard has not arrested him before now.”
“Because, as you say, his mother protects him, and becausehe’s only just finished his course of swordplay with Master Eggidos. He hasn’tbeen on Cryllor’s streets that long.” Vlandar still sounded angry. “Make youramends if you will, Malowan. If your god is the least fair, he’ll understand.”
“No.” Malowan smiled faintly. “In my anger and pride, Ichallenged the boy’s manhood, his sword skills, and ill-spoke his mother. He isuntutored and ignorant, but I am not.” He rose to his feet. “I will return,Vlandar. If Agya comes this afternoon, remind her that I want to hear her recite the Acts of Clean Living tomorrow morning. I also want her to resume honing her skills at sniffing out things. It might prove itself useful on this journey.”
Vlandar clasped his friend’s arm. “I will. Mind you, don’thold vigil the entire night. I have need of you tomorrow.”
Malowan smiled faintly. “I know. I will be here.”
He left, and Lhors watched him go.
Vlandar cleared his throat. “Any questions, lad?”
The youth rubbed his still-patchy beard. Arkon’s-Plowys’-had been both thick and neatly trimmed. I could envy him just the beard, letalone those blades, thought Lhors. He sighed and said, “I think I understand.Father said a man who fights only those he can beat is a bully. But out there against giants he couldn’t choose his fights.”
“Exactly. Now-” Vlandar broke off as a huge red-haired mancame into the barracks and began looking around. The man was impressively built and armed. Tall and massive with broad shoulders, the man’s hands were huge andcapable-looking. Lhors tried not to stare as the fellow stopped mid-room, but it was nearly impossible not to. A thick, braided sash held up heavy woolen trousers. A second sash held both an enormous warhammer and a spiked ball and chain. His armor was all padded and quilted, reinforced here and there with black hardened leather that was shiny with age. He was very pale-skinned, his hair pale golden-red and braided back with two narrow beaded strands hanging in front of his ears. His eyes were light winter-sky blue and intense.
“Who is
“I’ve seen him round the city once or twice in the past fewdays. He’s Fist clan, I think.”
“Fist?”
“They inhabit the lands around the Grendep Bay in the farnortheast, cold lands. He’s a barbarian, anyway. Why?”
“Just wondered. I’ve heard tales of the northerners.”
Vlandar smiled. “They can be arrogant and touchy, but theyare excellent fighters.”
At Vlandar’s gesture, the barbarian strode over to the tableand said, “I am Khlened.” His voice was deep, rough, and carried an accent thatLhors had never heard. “I’m seeking one named Vlandar. I hear he wants men tofight giants.”
Lhors edged over to settle on his bunk as the massive barbarian sat on the nearby bench. As Vlandar went over their mission, the newcomer sat and listened quietly, now and again eyeing the youth perched on his narrow cot.
“Well, then,” he said after Vlandar had finished. “I’m goodin a fight-good even among my own people.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Vlandar said mildly, “but we also needmen who can follow orders.”
Khlened’s eyes narrowed. “You saying I can’t?”
“No. I’m saying I’ve fought alongside northerners before.Where we’re going, we’ll have one person in charge, and that will be me. Thestrongest and bravest warriors no good to me if he ignores my orders or sets his own course. We’re a small company. With you, we’ll have eight so far. That meanswe all get along. No feuds or wounded feelings, and we share everything.”
The barbarian huffed and pushed partway to his feet, but then he hesitated and finally bared his teeth in a wild grin. He dropped back to the bench, rattling Lhors.
