Chapter 16
Near midnight they entered the Double Dagger. The rundown building was packed with roistering men, and no one noticed two more of the same sort when they entered. The hall was long and relatively narrow, and Gord and Gellor spent a fair amount of time slowly working their way from front to rear, pausing now and then to get fresh flagons and join briefly in a conversation or a game. If anything, the tavern became more crowded with the passage of time, but while there were many patrons there were few worthy of attention from pickpocket or cutpurse. Risking detection for the sake of gaining sufficient money to merely supply themselves with drinks during the exercise seemed foolish and wasteful. Gord was just getting ready to suggest that they move on to some more promising place when a group of loud and laughing newcomers attracted his attention. The young thief knew that their boisterousness was by design, not from excess drink, although most observers would deem it otherwise. Gord signaled to Gellor, and the pair moved closer to see what was going to happen.
The newcomers were soon dispersed along the length of the place, joking, buying drinks, and talking. A bit of eavesdropping revealed that the fellows were ostensibly recruiting for their brigade of mercenaries. The sum being offered for enlistment-a lucky a head-was almost too good to be true, and vague promises of little fighting and much loot were too general to be real. That the recruiting was actual, however, could not be doubted, for a score or more were convinced and left with some of the newly arrived men to enlist immediately and get the coin-which would buy them another hundred drinks, or a wench, a jug, and plenty left for another carouse.
Gellor signaled to Gord to carefully watch the apparent leader, one who referred to himself as Flatchet. That one, and two others who looked like lieutenants, spent most of their time asking casual questions and listening attentively to the slurred replies, prompting now and then, and directing. That was indeed of note.
The pair moved closer, feigning being fairly under the weight of much strong ale. Soon both were part of a circle of people discussing the affairs of the Free Lords (as the rulers of the petty bandit states referred to themselves), and particularly the recent incursions of the Horned Society into Wormhall and Warfields, the two westernmost territories of the Bandit Kingdoms, which were both currently occupied by forces beholden to the evil Hierarchs. After the assemblage gave forth a smattering of oaths of vengeance upon these dreaded masters of the Horned Society, talk turned to criticism of the desultory nature of the warfare being waged, ostensibly for the purpose of dislodging the invaders and impaling the puppet rulers they had placed over the conquered territories.
Then, with but a few words spoken with the air of one who knows, Flatchet planted in the listeners’ minds the impression that it was the Tenha Host, not the Hierarchs of the Horned Society, that had really started the trouble. One of the bandits nodded agreement, stating that had the damned Tenhites not brought their bun-blasting cavalry across the Zumker River, thus invading the sovereign bandit states of Grosskopf and Fellands to the northeast, then no trouble with the up-till-then friendly Horned Society would have occurred.
Taw, one of the two lieutenants, asked why in hell everyone was mad at the Hierarchs anyway. After all, the Black Duke of Tenh held lands rightfully belonging to the Free Lords. The sodder had started the trouble, gained from it, and was getting off rover-free, while two former allies fought one another!
Agreement with this line of reasoning was emphatic and loud, and soon the whole place was passing the idea around and asking just what fighting with the Hierarchs did but help enemies like Urnst, the Shield Knights, and the hated Tenhites.
This revelation seemed totally new to the bandits, and the effect it had was startling. Gord thought that before another day passed, there would be mutterings all the way to Ratswharf about taking vengeance upon the Duke instead of fighting with their virtual cousins from across the Ritensa. Then, the talk came round to Gellor and Gord.
“You two seem pretty quiet,” Flatchet noted. “How about allowing me the pleasure of refilling your jacks with our host’s good ale, and telling us your line of work?”
Gellor did not speak up right away, but Gord was less reticent. “I am Gord,” he said, “the captain of a small company of free-swords lately come here after visiting the Palish.” Here he paused for a breath and grinned ruefully. “I was hoping to recruit a few men myself,” he said. “The dirty dungeaters of the Pale took a few good friends from our company. It seems that you are better equipped with speech and coin than I, so you observe me listening and learning.”
“What company is that?” Flatchet asked smoothly.
“Ever hear of the Grey Beggars?” Gord offered. When Flatchet showed no immediate sign of recognition, he continued. “No? Maybe you know some of the locals who were with us for a time. Finn? Bogodor?”
The questioner thought for a moment. “Finn… is he tall? Or a short one?”
“Tall. And Bogodor had a lot of orcish in him. Hard to forget, once you see him,” Gord added with a touch of sarcasm.
“Yeah, those two I’ve heard of, but not the company,” said Flatchet.
“No surprise,” drawled Gord. “We came out of the Flinties where the Gamboge Forest meets ’em. Had to move north from there, though, because the Nyrondese were getting pissed at our successes.”
“And you?” Flatchet asked, turning to Gord’s companion.
“Me? I’m from Stoink, and I mind my own business,” Gellor snapped.
“No need to get testy, friend,” Flatchet said soothingly while signaling for more ale. “I’m just trying to round up likely men for the brigade, and you look prime!”
Gord again took the interplay to himself. “Any bonus for officering and bringing a score or two of hardies?” he asked.
“Veterans?”
“Nothing but, and likely closer to three score if the boys are having any luck recruiting over east ’round Onglewood and Blore.”
“Triple shares for a captain, and double for his right hand, plus a common a head for every sword. You bring your Grey Beggars into the brigade, and you’ll get your coin.”
Gord looked pleased when Flatchet said that, and he then nodded toward Gellor. “My pal here is too modest,” Gord began. “He’s a hell of a scrapper and has… er… other talents to boot! Besides all that, he could get you near a dozen as good, I’ll bet-right, Gellor? It’s hard times in Stoink, right now.”
The one-eyed thief looked sour at the suggestion, but said no word of denial. After pausing to give Gellor a chance to respond, Flatchet pumped him for more information.
“You as good with a sword as your friend says?” Taking his cue from Gellor’s slow nod, Flatchet continued, “Can you get more like you?”
“Shit, half the thieves and rakes in the town will follow my lead,” the one-eyed man said softly. “But why the hell should I want to go riding off with your brigade on some half-assed nothing of a raid into the blue?”
“I think I can trust a pair like you,” the stranger said. Leaning closer and speaking in a conspiratorial tone with slurred tongue, Flatchet told them, “We are putting together a whole goddamned army, and we’re gonna sack Redspan!”
Gord and Gellor looked at each other in shock. That was a most unlikely plan, for the town was heavily fortified, well garrisoned, and prepared to withstand siege. Besides, it was in Tenh, and who wanted a full-scale war with the able Tenha Host? They turned to stare at Flatchet, whose upper body was now beginning to weave. His expression was comic, a cross between wonderment over having divulged secret information and puzzlement, as though he was surprised over being so inebriated so quickly. The captain’s eyes were beginning to cross. Gord, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before he was beyond conversation, spoke quickly and loudly.
“Done then, Flatchet! I’ll bring you the Grey Beggars, and Cyclops here will also furnish as many as he can,” he said, and as he clapped the fellow on the back in comradery, he added, “The two hundred we can guarantee only if you sign us up now-and advance a bit of the coin!”
The other one of Flatchet’s lieutenants was elsewhere, but Taw was nearby and listening casually. He turned his full attention to their table when he heard the thud of Flatchet’s head as the captain slumped into unconsciousness. “Come here and help us,” Gellor demanded of him. “This wily bastard has talked us into furnishing a full company, and now he’s too loaded to sign us up and pay over the silver.”
As Taw came near, Gord asked, “You do have the money, don’t you? We’d take it ill indeed to be lied to.”
Taw gave assurances of ability to pay and, with apologies for his captain’s drunkenness, said he’d personally
