The Serpentwar Saga. Raymond E. Feist

at Erik’s awkward fumbling. She calmed him when he needed it, and while their coupling was frantic and quick, there was some sense of caring in it. After it was over, she quickly dressed, but stayed a moment after he paid her. ‘What’s your name?’

      ‘Erik,’ he said, not sure if he was comfortable telling her.

      ‘You’re a wild boy, Erik, in a man’s body. The right woman’s going to come to love your touch if you always remember how strong you are and how tender her flesh is.’

      Suddenly he felt self-conscious. ‘Did I hurt you?’

      She laughed. ‘Not really. You were … enthusiastic. I’ll have a bruise or two on my backside from hitting the damn ground so hard at the end there. But nothing like when those lads who like to slap a whore around get done with me.’

      Pulling on his clothing, Erik said, ‘Why do you do it?’

      The woman shrugged in the gloom, the gesture almost lost, as she dressed. ‘What else can I do? My man was a soldier, like you. He died five years ago. I have no family or rank. I can steal or whore.’ She repeated, without apology or regret, ‘What else can I do?’

      Before he could say anything more she was gone to seek another customer. Erik felt both relieved and empty. There had been something missing in their coupling, and Erik couldn’t tell what it was, but he also knew he was already anxious to try this wonderful thing again.

      Six days after making camp, Erik saw Praji and Vaja riding up. Calis motioned for them to come over to where he sat, a short distance from Erik and his squad, who had just finished their midday meal. Men nodded greetings to the two old mercenaries, who walked to where Calis waited and knelt down next to him.

      ‘What did you discover?’ asked Calis.

      Praji said, ‘Nothing terribly surprising.’ With a wave of his hand to indicate those companies mustered on all sides, ‘We’re all boxed in between a range of hills to the east, the river over there, about twenty, twenty-five thousand swords to the north of us, and the armies of Lanada and Maharta mustering about fifty miles south of here.’

      ‘The Raj of Maharta sent his army that far north?’

      ‘That’s the rumor,’ said Vaja, keeping his voice low so only those near Calis’s campfire could hear him.

      Praji said, ‘This campaign’s been going on for a dozen years, since the fall of Irabek. Sooner or later you’d think the Raj would figure it out. One by one, the cities of the river have fallen, each hoping its neighbor to the north would be the last the Emerald Queen took.’

      Calis said, ‘What else?’

      ‘We’re moving out in a few days, a week at the most, I think.’

      ‘What did you hear?’ asked Calis as Robert de Loungville and Charlie Foster approached to stand behind Calis.

      Praji said, ‘Nothing that said, “We march in three days.” Just watching and listening.’

      Vaja waved to the north. They’re building a large bridge across the river where the ferry is. Got at least six companies of engineers and a couple of hundred slaves working on it all day and all night.’

      ‘No one from this side can go north without a pass,’ said Praji.

      ‘And no one can leave this area unless they have signed orders,’ added Vaja.

      ‘On the north side of the river,’ continued Praji, ‘there’s where all the old vets are gathered, the ones who’ve been at the heart of this campaign from the start, them and the Saaur lizard men.’

      Calis was silent for a moment. ‘So we’re wall fodder?’

      ‘Looks like,’ said Praji.

      Erik turned to the other men in his squad and whispered, ‘Wall fodder?’

      Biggo kept his voice low so the officers wouldn’t hear him when he answered. ‘First to march to the wall, old son. You get “fed” to the wall, as it were.’

      Luis made a motion of drawing a blade across his own throat. ‘First companies to hit the wall lose the most men,’ he added softly.

      Calis said, ‘We need to be alert. We’ve got to get closer to this Emerald Queen and her generals to find out what we really need to know. If that means we’re the first through the gate or over the wall to prove our worth, that’s what we’ll do. Once we know what we need to know, then we’ll worry about how we get the hell out of here.’

      Erik lay back on his pallet, arm behind his head. He watched as clouds scurried by overhead in the late afternoon breeze. He would have night watch, so he thought he’d try to get some rest.

      But the thought of being the first to attack the wall of a city, that image returned again and again. He’d killed four men so far, on three different occasions, but he’d never been in battle. He worried he would somehow do something wrong.

      He was still contemplating the coming campaign when Foster came along and kicked his boots, telling him it was time to get to his post. Erik found himself surprised that it was now night. He had lost himself in contemplations of the coming struggle, and the sun had set without his noticing. He rose and got his sword and shield and moved down toward the river, to spend the next few hours watching for trouble.

      He thought it ironic that he was on guard in the midst of an army that would turn on Calis’s Crimson Eagles in an instant if they understood their real purpose, and from what he had no idea, as no enemy was closer than fifty miles. Still, he was told to go stand guard, and that he did.

      Nakor stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the priest lift up the dead sheep. The Saaur warriors closest to the fire let out a yell of approval, a deep-throated hissing, that echoed through the night like a chorus of enraged dragons. Those humans behind the circle of lizard men watched in fascination, for these rites were unknown to any but the Saaur. Many humans made signs of protection to their own gods and goddesses.

      A great celebration was under way and Nakor was wandering freely through the various companies of men. He had seen many things and was both gratified and horrified: gratified that he had uncovered several key elements of the mystery that would help Calis best decide what to do next, and horrified because in his long life he had never met a gathering of evil men so concentrated in both numbers and malignancy.

      The heart of this army was the Saaur, and a large company of men who called themselves the Chosen Guard. They wore both the common emerald armband and green scarves tied around their heads. Their malignancy was clearly demonstrated by one of their number who stood a short distance from Nakor, wearing a necklace of human ears. Rumor in the camp had it these were the most violent, dangerous, and depraved men in an army of dark souls. To join their ranks, one must have endured several campaigns and distinguished oneself by deeds black and numerous. It was rumored that the final act of acceptance was ritual cannibalism.

      Nakor didn’t doubt it. But having visited cannibals in the Skashakan Islands in prior years, he also knew these men indulged in practices that would have revolted most cannibals.

      Nakor nodded and grinned at a man covered in tattoos who held a young boy tightly to him. The boy had an iron collar around his neck and his eyes had a drug-induced vacancy in them. The man snarled at Nakor, who merely grinned even more as he moved away.

      Nakor was trying to move around the largest clump of celebrators so he could gain a vantage point from which to see the Emerald Queen’s pavilion. Strange energies floated on the night wind, and old, familiar echoes of distant magic sounded between the notes of song; and Nakor was coming to a conclusion about who and what he would find there.

      But he wasn’t certain, and without certainty he couldn’t return to find Calis on the other side of the tributary to tell him what he must do next. The only thing of which he was certain was the need to return to Krondor, to warn Nicholas that whatever he had feared was occurring in this distant land, far worse forces were being unleashed. Subtle, behind the ancient magic of the Pantathians, a