Silver May Tarnish Page 4

  “Nay, no time for explanations, and don’t tell me where you will ride. That way if I’m asked I can answer truly that I know nothing.” He took my hand. “Do no deeds in days to come which your father or lady mother would have scorned. Go with my blessing since you have no father.”

  He gripped my hand briefly, stepping back to allow me passage. It was clear I would do well to be gone now and not wait in Hogar’s camp to haggle for the sword or chain-mail I’d hoped to buy. Nor should I waste time explaining that the coin I had flung down had been meant to be silver. As Faslane said, what was done was done. I swung onto Drustan’s back, nudged him into a fast walk, and when I looked back at the camp edge Faslane was still standing looking after me. The gear Hogar had demanded he take back was piled at my friend’s feet.

  III

  I looked back once as I topped a small ridge. I lifted my hand, paused long enough to see a hand raised in return, then the camp was out of sight. I had chosen my time carefully. It would be dark in another hour, but if I rode steadily I would be well down the main road in that time. Two hours on the road by moonlight and I’d be at Imgry’s camp. I was young, but I knew about such camps. Where there were a number of lords and very many soldiers there would be supplies, stables, at least one inn, and aught else a man might need or desire.

  I reached the camp as I had planned and drew rein at the fringes. Torches flared about the perimeter. In their light I could see avenues between rows of tents and crude huts. Stalls lined the widest avenue. I sucked in a breath of satisfaction. Then I dismounted, and leading my weary Drustan I walked forward. There were guards, but I was clearly a man of the dales, and none halted me. I slid into the clamor and lights and was gone from the view of any who might have followed me.

  I must work as swiftly as I could. By the time Hogar and his son came riding in with the men of Paltendale, I wished to be unnoticeable in case they inquired for me. I stopped at a stall selling used clothing. There was a stack of cloaks to one side. Good warm riding cloaks which would wrap a man from head to boot heels when he was riding. I fingered a gaudy cloak.

  “How much?”

  The stall-owner looked me up and down. “To you, lad, nine coppers.”

  I nodded. “And to anyone else, three.”

  “Nay, I’d not cheat you. See how warm it would be. And the embroidery; you would look fine in such a cloak.” He might speak truth there, but I preferred a less obvious cloak and one which would be warmer, if less elaborate.

  I shrugged. “I’ll look at other stalls first.”

  I moved on, disregarding his scowl. I needed to find a money-changer. Showing gold here would be as dangerous as bearding a pard in his den. I took the opportunity to cast my eyes over other stalls, and next to find a stable for Drustan. I did not wish any to identify me by him. Leaving Drustan munching happily in his hired stable, I went on. I found the stall I sought at one end of the street. It was, as always, two tents. One in which a man might ask his questions, the other inner tent in which he might make the transactions. Both were well guarded. I approached openly and I saw the guard’s eyes go to my weaponless side.

  “Mistaken your way?”

  “I would change coin.”

  A small wizened man stepped past him. “Then you are in the right place. What would you wish of me?”

  “I have coin I would change for silver and coppers.” He nodded, seemingly unsurprised that such a young soldier would have gold or foreign coins.

  “Come to the inner tent then, and I will weigh what you have.” I followed him in. I was not wholly unarmed. I had a dagger given to me by Berond, a good blade taken from an enemy. And between Berond and Faslane I had been well-taught in the tricks of dealing, even unweaponed, with surprise attack.

  As for haggling in the market and assessing the quality of goods, I was well taught—first by my father, who believed that any lord should understand the quality of most usual goods and how to bargain for them lest he be cheated as a fool, and then by Berond, since after our arrival in Paltendale we had few coins to spend and certainly none to waste. Berond had seen that our poverty was likely to last for some time, so he stood over me when he could, teaching me to know good weapons and gear when I saw them and what to say to stall-holders in a marketplace.

  “Now, what coins are they which you would change?” I had thought on this. I needed enough silver and copper to pay my way. The gold coins had clearly been changed at some time in the past. They were no uncommon sort for the dales. That was not the danger. I produced five.

  “I would have the value of four and one half in silver, the value of the last half in coppers.” I was eyed sharply.

  “If I asked whence these came …”

  “They were honestly come by in war. As for further answer, are you Lord Imgry’s steward to ask of me?”

  He gave a quick bark of amusement. “Nay. Well enough then. I think you speak the truth and it’s no concern of mine.” He worked carefully, checking that the coins were indeed gold and honest weight. Then he counted out the twenty-two silver, the half silver bit, and the remaining copper. He threw in a belt-pouch and bowed me out. I did not see him make any sign to his guards but, nonetheless, I turned on my heel and slid between tents, ran a few steps, and circled. I came back into the street the way I had come, watching my back. There was no sign of pursuers.

  I made my way to the stall-holder with the cloaks, bargained, and purchased the one he had first shown me. It was gaudy but rather thin quality. I turned it inside out and went to another stall. There I found the cloak I really wished for. I took it up casually.

  “Ten coppers.” The stall-holder here was a motherly-looking woman.

  I looked shocked. “Ten. For this?”

  “Well, seeing as you’re only a lad, I’ll say nine.”

  I shook my head sadly. “Three, and that’s over-pricing it.”

  She threw up her hands. “If I sell at such a price I’ll go hungry. Eight.” I shook my head again. “Seven then, and my final price.”

  “Five—and mine.” We shook hands at six.

  I paid her, took up the cloak, and dodged quietly behind a tent. There I rolled the gaudy cloak embroidered-side within and donned the other. It had been a good purchase. It was worn, but nowhere near threadbare, dark wool lined with rabbit fur, high collar, and a hood with drawstrings which could be buttoned on outside the collar. It was a cloak for a plain man who rode in all weathers: warm, unobtrusive, and well made.

  I stepped out into the bustle again and found me a carrysack such as any soldier needs for his gear. I set about filling it quietly—a blanket here, a fire-striker there—until I had all that I required. I took the carrysack back to the stable and reclaimed Drustan. I paid the reckoning and walked him away to where I had earlier scouted an inn.

  “How much for three days? Myself and two mounts, all found.”

  “A room which can be secured, two meals a day, stabling for two beasts, fodder and care for them. A half silver would pay all. I’ll throw in a bath each night an you wish.”

  “Done. I’ll pay now.” He bowed at that. It was no unusual arrangement in a camp such as this. A man might be drawn into gambling and lose all he had. Or be robbed of the same if he were careless. I paid, and left again once I had secured my gear in the room and seen the pony settled. I wore the dark cloak away. In the market I found the other items I required and came at last to the weapons stalls. There I chose a sword. It was too plain but the blade was good and the hilt fit comfortably into my hand.

  “Aught else, Sir? I have good bows, horse bows. Long bows? Daggers?”

  I chose a horse bow, a strong well-made weapon with a full quiver as well. I studied the daggers. There was one—small, but with a razor-sharp blade and a sheath made to lie against a man’s forearm. I turned over others and found a second. I bought both. As I walked away I slid my arms within the cloak, as unobtrusively I fastened the first weapon into place along my forearm. Slipping between tents I knelt warily
and fastened the second at the back of my calf. One of Faslane’s tricks. Berond’s gift I wore openly upon my swordbelt. Let men see it and think that it was all I had.

  From where I was I could hear the horse-lines. I moved in that direction and found myself by a pen filled with sleepy beasts who drowsed three-legged. I had required little formal training to know a good horse when I saw one. A keep lord’s family is born into owning horses, they ride before they walk, and from childhood we are are constantly grooming, riding, breaking, or handling the beasts.

  I made no move, but studied the nearest tethered animals one by one before moving on. None of them there were worth my coin. They were thin, dispirited animals and I thought all of them were old. I wanted a good hillhorse, one like my cloak, made for hard use, serviceable, and not drawing the eye. I found him at the end of the lines.

  “Ah, you seek a mount. A fine beast this one. Young, spirited, fit for a lord.” If the lord wished a horse that kicked everything in sight that was true, I thought. I knew those laid-back ears and hunched hindquarters.

  “What about this one?”

  “A wise choice. Now this horse is young and will carry you day and night. He is …” I’d looked into the beast’s mouth before he finished. The vendor saw that I knew how to read a horse’s teeth and without even a blush for his lies waved forward another beast. “This one then. A fine strong animal, young, as you can see.” It was also clumsy as I could tell by the marks at the back of the fetlocks. I needed no over-reacher, forever going lame.

  At last he worked his way to the horse which stood at the back of the pen. It watched him warily. He drew it forward by the rope halter and posed it as best as he could I hid a smile. It was no beauty and it was clear the dealer was wondering what points he could praise which would please a young man. I went over the animal carefully. It was about seven. The legs were a little less than fine but they were strong and unmarked. The nose was the opposite of an aristocratic dish and the color was a dusty clay with some black mottling. It was a gelding, that I approved. A gelding is not apt to cause trouble with mares or stallions and the color would be unobtrusive while I was scouting.

  “I’ll throw in gear if you buy, sir. Bridle, halter, saddle. He’s just been shod again.” The man was beginning to be hopeful of a sale.

  I continued to check. Then I looked up with an unenthusiastic glance. “A good enough animal, I suppose. I might offer a half-silver.”

  The dealer gaped at me. “Lad, lad. In an army camp any mount is worth gold. Good beasts are in short supply. True, he has no great looks, but he’s sound, not old, and he’s sensible. I couldn’t let this horse go for less than a silver and a half.” I beat him down copper by copper, but in the end I led my new horse away.

  I went at once to the next stall I had marked down. They had mail, mostly used, but it had all been well-repaired and I had already seen a hauberk which would fit me. At fifteen, I would still grow, but not so greatly the chain could not be added to and let out a while. I bargained so well a chain coif was thrown into the deal.

  Weaponed, chain-mail clad, and with my new mount I returned to my inn. I stabled the horse by Drustan, took food and ale to my room, secured the door, ate, then fell asleep almost at once. Those at the inn had seen me only briefly and by night. Before they saw me again I would look a little different. I took up the basins of hot and cold water they brought come morning, picked out rags I had purchased, and with them packets from my carrysack.

  Using one of my small daggers I trimmed my hair short. Then I rinsed it twice with water and the contents of one packet. My hair was a dark honey color, but as I gazed into the small steel mirror I saw I had done well. It had become a brownish shade, neither dark nor light but in-between and hard to describe. I washed in the hot water, rubbing onto my skin with another rag the contents of the second packet. Then I looked again into the mirror. I smiled slowly at my reflection.

  My skin appeared darker, more weathered. I looked older. More importantly, I looked not at all like Lorcan of Erondale. The dye would last months before it wore off slowly, by which time I should have tanned more heavily. If not, I could procure more dye. My hair’s shade would last through several washings and, again, I could purchase more of the tint. I was satisfied none were like to recognize me, save Faslane perhaps. I tinted my eyebrows carefully. My lashes would have to remain pale, but if anyone even noticed that they would probably assume it was some family trait.

  I ate heartily of the food which the servant brought and went out once I was done. None remarked me as I walked confidently about the crowded camp. At noon I ate at another inn, listening to soldiers gossip while lingering over my single jack of ale. I must find someone who would hire me as a blank-shield; I wanted a man who was well thought of by his men. I also thought of a story and a new name for myself. I could hardly hide my appearance then give out my true name like a veritable farm-boy.

  “A game of dice, lad?”

  I laughed. “I have few coppers and—no offense-but my father taught me never to dice with those I do not know.” The man grinned back at me.

  “A wise father breeds a wise son.” He quoted. “How else am I to win your money then?” I liked what I saw. I’d lived among soldiers long enough to sum up this one. He’d lend a friend money as quickly as he’d expect them to lend it to him, did they have it to spare. He’d steal, lie, but not to a friend. And he’d know all the byways of any camp within hours of his arrival.

  “How long have you been here?” I placed a copper on the table. He flicked it into his sleeve.

  “Ten days. I came in with my Lord Salden.”

  I bowed my head in casual greeting. “I am Farris of Eldale.”

  He eyed me. “I have not heard of that place.”

  “Likely. Few have. It’s a dungheap dale to the Northwest. The invaders struck there recently.’Tis a place hard to find, and I’m sure they came upon it by accident only. I alone escaped, being away on my master’s business. I returned to find keep and village still smoldering and all dead.” For a moment I remembered Erondale and Lisia. I shook the memories from me and continued.

  “The swine had not even bothered to loot so I took all I could find and rode to take arms against them. I seek employment. A lord who has fewer men but treats them with honor. I am young but I have my own mount, pack-beast, weapons, and gear. I have had some swords-teaching as well. Where would I find such a man who might hire a blank-shield?” I placed five coppers on the table.

  My companion nodded. “A wise son indeed. Well then. Were I such a man I would seek out Lord Altan of Berendale. He uses the Inn of The Silver Ship. If he will not employ you, return here. It is possible my own lord might hire you if I spoke to him.” He grinned hardily. “Of course, I would require to be paid again for an introduction.”

  I nodded. “If I returned here, who should I ask for?”

  “Aran of Tildale. Good fortune to you.”

  I returned his wish and departed in search of Lord Altan. I was unfortunate in that I found the man and he was one such as I had described. But he could not hire me—or would not. I was unsure. But at length I returned to the inn and inquired for Aran. He took me to his lord after relieving me of five more coppers. Thus I was hired as a blank shield by Lord Salden of Tildale and Aran became my friend.

  I say my friend and so he was, but I kept a shut mouth on what else was in my charm bag apart from herbs. I wore openly the belt pouch given by the money-changer. From that I dispensed coin as I must and frugally. I loaned Aran coppers when he asked and always he returned them faithfully. We rode mostly as scouts against the invaders, and I learned to kill from ambush, to cut a man’s throat silently when needs be, and to judge the best land into which to draw the invaders for a more major attack against them. In another year I was lean and battle-hardened as only a man can be who is constantly riding or fighting on a sparse diet.

  I had ridden with my friend for well over a year and was briefly relaxing in our camp, sitting
cross-legged while I repaired Drustan’s bridle, when Aran came seeking me.

  “Listen, Farris, there’s talk among the lords.” I could read his suppressed excitement. Some momentous foray must be planned.

  “Well, what talk? Are we to storm the invaders last coast-camp? Put all to the sword? Or is it some daring trip across the waste?”

  “No.” His face became sober. “’Tis the last battle, I daresay. Word is that the were-riders have gathered once more.”

  “They have been fighting beside us near three years,” I said slowly. “What changes now?”

  “I heard that they have the invaders pushed into a corner. Some of us ride to stop bolt-holes. The remainder ride to the final battle.”

  I never knew whence Aran had the word, but it was good. My Lord Salden rode out next day taking all in his train with him, with Aran and I riding ahead as scouts. Paltendale rode at the same time, though not quite in our direction. I saw Hogar, Hogeth at his side, with Faslane leading the men. I would that I could have spoken to him but I dared not. I had been fortunate in that never in the many months I had been with Salden had we been paired with Paltendale to ride or scout. Many times I had seen Faslane in the distance and always I had gone some other way. I wished to put no strain on his loyalties.

  It was nigh the end of the Year of the Hornet. The enemy had been thrust back and back since the Riders joined hands with our cause. Lord Imgry himself had spoken to the men before we departed, saying that the invaders were cast down. Now was the time for a final repaying of our debt, yet it would not be easy. The invaders were isolated, maddened, and desperate. I wondered then as I rode, if Aran was right and this was to be the last battle.

  I was just seventeen, Lord of ruined Erondale. What of me if the fighting ceased? Where would I go, whose dale was ash and rubble? Hidden there in that same rubble was wealth, yet how would I use it? Where should I raise my banner now? Well, I would let the questions bide until after the battle. If I lived I could seek answers. And of my survival I was none too certain.