The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

as if from the air. Erik and the other men detailed to the horses took the riders over to the remounts, and Erik inspected them all. They had been ridden hard; they were heavily lathered and breathing deep. He unsaddled the horse he led, and told the other men to start walking the animals. They needed an hour’s cooling at least, he judged, before they could be allowed to eat or drink, lest they become colicky.

      After the horses were cooled, Erik staked them out and rubbed them down, checking to make sure none was injured or coming up lame. When he was satisfied the horses were all right, he returned to his own tent.

      With the arrival of the riders, order in camp was lax, and he found his five bunkmates lying on their bedrolls. He knew that it could be seconds before the order to fall to was issued, so he luxuriated in the first moment he felt the bedroll under him.

      Natombi said, ‘Legionaries always grab whatever rest they can, minute to minute.’

      ‘Who?’ asked Luis.

      ‘You call them Dog Soldiers,’ said the Keshian. ‘In ancient times they were kept away from the cities, penned up like dogs, to be unleashed upon the Empire’s enemies.’ Like Jadow, Natombi shaved his head, and his dark skin made the whites of his eyes and his teeth appear in stark contrast when he spoke. The nearly black irises made Erik think of deep secrets.

      ‘You’re a dog, then, you’re saying?’ asked Biggo with mock innocence.

      The others laughed. Natombi snorted. ‘No, stupid-head, I was a Legionary.’ He sat up on his bedroll, his head almost touching the canvas above. He placed his fist on his chest. ‘I served with the Ninth Legion, on the Overn Deep.’

      ‘I’ve heard of those,’ said Luis, making a display of not being impressed by shaking his open hand back and forth.

      Sho Pi rolled over and raised up on his elbows. ‘In my country, Kesh is the heartland of the Empire. Isalani is my nation, but we are ruled by Kesh. Those he speaks of are the heart of the army. How did one from the Legion come so far?’

      Natombi shrugged. ‘Bad company.’

      Biggo laughed. ‘This isn’t an improvement, I’ll wager.’

      ‘I was serving with a patrol that was to escort a man, a very important man of the Trueblood. We traveled to Durbin, and there I fell into disgrace.’

      ‘Women, gambling, or what?’ asked Biggo, now genuinely interested. Natombi was something of a mystery to the others, even though they had shared the same tent with him for more than a week since Billy’s death.

      ‘I let the man die at the hands of an assassin. I was disgraced and fled.’

      ‘You let him die?’ asked Roo. ‘Were you in charge?’

      ‘I was a captain of the Legion.’

      ‘And I was Queen of the Midsummer Festival,’ said Biggo with a laugh.

      ‘It’s true. But now I am as you, a criminal living on time given to me by another. My life is over, and now I live another man’s life.’

      ‘That doesn’t make us particularly unique,’ observed Biggo.

      Roo said, ‘What was it like in the Legion?’

      Natombi laughed. ‘You know. You live like a Legionary.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Roo looked confused.

      ‘This is a Legion camp,’ said Natombi.

      ‘It’s true,’ agreed Sho Pi. ‘The formations, the way we march, the practices, this is all of the Legion.’

      Natombi said, ‘This man Calis, our Captain, he is a very smart man, I am thinking.’ He tapped his head to make the point. ‘This Captain, he trains us to survive, for, man to man, there is no army on this world that can face the Legion of the Overn and survive. No army here has faced the Legions of Kesh, and when you fight someone, it’s good to fight them with tactics they’ve never encountered before. Makes even better the chance to survive.’

      Luis was cleaning his fingernails with his dagger. Flipping it up, he balanced it on the tip, resting lightly upon one finger point, then he let it slip, caught it by the handle, and slammed it point first into the dirt. Watching it vibrate from the impact, he said, ‘And that’s what it’s all about, isn’t it, my friends? Survival.’

       • Chapter Fifteen • Village

      The lookout shouted.

      ‘Riders!’

      Erik and the others moved away from their various tasks and put on their weapons. Since arriving the week before, Praji had warned Calis’s men that companies fleeing the fall of Khaipur would be heading south. Twice already bands of fighters had passed, avoiding the village after having seen the fortifications Calis had ordered constructed after conferring with the villagers.

      Erik was uncertain if the Captain intended to truly defend this village or simply wanted to drill the men in another aspect of warcraft. Where just another village had stood, now a respectable fortification sat athwart the road. A full-scale moat had been dug around the village, with the earth from it serving as the foundation of the palisades. Two gates bound with iron had been hung, one at the north end and one at the south of the village, each securely attached to gateposts carved from the trunks of oaks from across the river. Erik had overseen the forging of the hinges, pins, and bands.

      The village smithy had been abandoned years before when the last smith died, but the old forge still stood. Lacking a full set of smith’s tools, Erik had made do with those carried in the baggage train so he could shoe the horses. Given enough time, he could use those tools to make other tools, and eventually restore the smithy completely. Each time Erik looked at the gates he felt a sense of pride. It would take a serious siege engine to knock them down. Glancing around, he thought he’d rather attempt to breech the log wall, perhaps burning it, than to send a company against either gate, while being fired upon by the men on the wall.

      He looked over his shoulder as he put on his armor, and saw Foster and de Loungville, following hard on the heels of Calis, as they came down from the tower that was being erected in the center of the village. This tower, built atop a huge mound of earth, when finished would give them an unobstructed view for miles, and prevent any company of significant size from approaching unnoticed.

      Erik and Roo hurried to their appointed places, each silently checking to see that all weapons and supplies were where they needed to be. Roo carried a half dozen of the heavy iron spears, and Erik found himself amazed at the wiry strength his friend had developed since they had run from Ravensburg.

      He felt a stab of unexpected pain at a fleeting memory of his mother and Rosalyn, then let the thought go as the riders came clearly into view.

      It was a company of at least thirty men, all seasoned warriors by their look. At the head of the company rode a heavyset man of middle years, his grey beard hanging down to his stomach. He signaled for a pair of his men to circle out and around the fortress, and slowed as he approached. As soon as he came within hailing distance, he shouted, ‘Hello, the fort!’

      From the wall, Calis shouted back, ‘Who rides?’

      ‘Bilbari’s Regulars, fresh from the fall of Khaipur,’ and, glancing around, he added, ‘or what’s left of us.’

      The outriders returned and Erik assumed they were informing their leader that it was a closed fortress, not a simple barricade. Calis called back, ‘Who commands? I know Bilbari, and you’re not he.’

      The leader again looked around. ‘I guess I do. Bilbari died at the wall’ – he spit and made a sign – ‘and we took the day’s grace after the fall. My name is Zila.’

      Praji came to stand next to Calis, and Erik could hear him say,‘I know them. A good enough band for butchery, though I’d