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In a mob we avalanched through the gate. Nodgen the Potter was in charge of the gate detail, and he
had sense enough to allow the following benhoffs through as I yelled to him. The three Moons now chose
to shine forth at last free of the clinging clouds. We saw the mass of Iron Riders pelting along, the pink
light gleaming and sheening on their armor, their shaggy pelts flaring in the wind of their passage.
The last free benhoff lumbered through and Nodgen the Potter yelled to his men to slam the gates and
set the bolts and bars. He was a potter, a master of his khand, his guild, and violently resentful of being
called Nodgen the Pots. The gates slammed in the furious faces of the Iron Riders. Some of the citizens
on the walls above called down taunts and insults, catcalls that infuriated the radvakkas even more, and
gave me heart. We d do it, yet, despite the difficulties. If we did not, we d all be miserably dead or even
more miserably slave.
Half a dozen dark desperate figures dropped off the last free benhoffs. Before my men could start in
prodding with their spears I yelled.
 Do not harm them! They are escaped slaves  welcome them.
Well, we sorted out that little problem. These men had chosen what was, in truth for them, a sensible
course, and clambered onto benhoffs to ride after us rather than wander about outside, in the almost
certainty of being taken up. I spoke a few heartening words to them and then turned my attention to the
group of riders who had joined us.
 They were a mixed bunch of apims and diffs  and one diff I recognized at once, now I could see them
by the light of a torch bracketed to the wall of the guard tower. I knew him. He was unmistakable.
 Hai, Korero, I said, walking across.  Lahal and Lahal. You are most welcome.
The Kildoi flexed his four arms and his wicked tail shipped over his head. His golden beard bristled.  If I
am welcome, Jak the Drang, I would welcome an overflowing tankard of good Thermin ale. Lahal and
Lahal. I joy to see you still alive, for I do not forget what passed in Nikwald.
 As to that, the joy was to me. How came you here? These others  And I looked at them. Well.
Of course I had immediately noticed Korero. But the others  I had told them I was going to
Therminsax, and they had shuffled that off, down by that stream outside Thiurdsmot with a crossbow bolt
hole in my thigh. Cleitar the Smith still held his hammer, and the head was darkly stained. Dorgo the Clis,
his scar livid, spoke for them all.
 We came to Therminsax, because you said so, Jak the Drang. He shook his head, puzzled.  Although
why we should do so is a mystery.  But you are in poor case, it seems. We bided our time out there,
wondering how best to chop off a few radvakka heads, when you sallied. So 
 And right welcome you are, Dorgo, all of you. We need fighting men here. And we have ale and wine
 the city fathers will bless you and see you have full cups for tonight.
Two men rather in the background, holding zorcas with a bunch of diffs, now moved forward. Dorgo
looked and said:  We met these paktuns on the way here. They tell us they are all that is left of an army
sent against the radvakkas. He shook his head again and I guessed he was wondering why on Kregen
he had come to Therminsax instead of hightailing it for South Vallia.
Among the diffs were Khibils, Pachaks, Brokelsh, a Rapa and a Fristle. They were all hard-bitten
professional fighting men, paktuns, mercenaries. One of them, one of the four Chuliks, stepped forward.
He looked mightily impressive in his armor and military insignia, his tusks thrusting arrogantly up from his
cruel curved mouth. He surveyed me.
 I am Shudor Maklechuan, called Shudor the Mak. I command here. If you wish us to fight for you, I
will draw out a contract. Our fees are high, for we are mighty men.
 I might have expected it, by Vox, I said. I d been having trouble with the city fathers and the khands
over similar monetary arrangements.  No doubt you are capable of bearing arms. As to payment, I am
prepared to give you a trial period. I see you wear the mortilhead, so you are a paktun. How many other
of your men wear the pakmort?
 Me! and  Me! rose from his men. There were thirty or forty of them, and of that number no fewer
than ten were real paktuns. There was not a hyr-paktun, however.
The two men I had noticed gentling the zorcas, caring for them, seemed to be arguing away over some
private matter. Their fierce whispers were intended for their own ears; but the heat of the matter made
them speak louder and louder. Shudor the Mak turned his head and bellowed:  You two arguing again?
May Likshu the Treacherous be my witness! Zarado  cease mewling and leave well alone.
The two men withdrew and they did not stop arguing. They were shadows in the angle of a buttress and
so I could not distinguish the details of their accoutrements or weapons. The Chulik paktun swung back
to me, very grim, very fierce.
 As to a trial period, dom, that remains  [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]