“They sound awful,” said Wesson.
“Don’t you worry ’bout it, boy. Yer friend there seems to think he can take on an army!” He and his men laughed and jeered.
Rezkin rose unsteadily, motioning for Wesson to stand. He leaned heavily on Wesson’s shoulder as he said, “Only thing I’m plannin’ to take on is this here ale.”
Orin grunted. “Seems to me you’ve had enough, but at least you’ll be rested if we decide to attack ya. Maybe even you’ll kill a few of us, eh?”
“Sure, and the purple lizard men, too,” Rezkin said with a drunken gurgle.
When they got back to the camp, Rezkin slumped to the ground in front of the fire and called loudly for Malcius to dish up the grub. Having already removed much of his armor, Malcius shuffled forward, leaving his sword with his pack. Rezkin grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back, causing him to trip and tumble into Millins who was trying to sleep before taking his turn as lookout.
“What was that for?” Malcius hollered, his anger getting the better of him.
“Don’t be stupid,” Rezkin said, switching to the highly accented Ashaiian trade dialect. “You leave yer sword unattended, and it won’t be tendin’ you when ya need it. I don’t care whether your pissin’ or bathin’, you keep that blade on you always.”
“Like he bathes,” Brandt said with a snort, dutifully playing his role of debaucherous mercenary.
Malcius’s response died on his lips when he saw Brandt’s gaze flick to a place beyond the firelight. A movement in the dark, the crunch of a footfall, and the jingle of buckles betrayed the mercenary hovering at the road.
Attempting to mimic Rezkin’s style of speech, Malcius said, “I don’t need to, seein’ as how, unlike you, I don’t go rollin’ about with swine.” Rezkin, Kai, and Brandt burst into laughter.
Yserria huffed, and the trade dialect so common in Skutton rolled off her tongue like liquid silk. “You’re all swine, and if ya don’t lay off the ale, you’ll be spitted like swine, too.”
Malcius cinched his sword belt with an angry tug and said, “You’d best hope that don’t happen since none of us’d be around to save you this time.”
Yserria squared her shoulders. “No, I can see that honor don’t run in the family. You forget that I don’t need your help.”
Alert to the shift in tone and the silent watcher at the road, Rezkin interrupted the exchange. “The woman’s got a point.”
Malcius looked at him flabbergasted. “You’re questioning my honor?”
Rezkin turned a sharp gaze on his friend and slurred, “No, ya idjit. Ain’t no honor to be had by the likes of us.” Malcius’s mouth snapped shut, and his shoulders dropped as he resumed his mercenary role. Rezkin continued. “I was talkin’ ’bout us getting’ spitted.” He slapped Wesson on the shoulder and motioned to the roasting meat. “Since Mal can’t keep his head straight, you get the food.” As Wesson crouched over the fire muttering incomprehensively, Rezkin said, “Them over there is sayin’ there’s lizard men goin’ around eatin’ people.”
“Lizard men?” Brandt said hesitantly, as though hoping to avoid becoming the butt of a joke.
Kai, the presumed leader of the group, leaned forward from where he sat atop Rezkin’s saddle, “You mean drauglics?”
Rezkin nodded. “That’s what they’s sayin’. They was attacked less than two days ago. Drauglics killed ’bout a third of their men and took most of the horses.”
“We’d best be on high alert,” Kai said, meeting each of their gazes. “It’ll be easy fer those creatures to sneak up on us in this high grass.”
“You mean real drauglics?” Brandt exclaimed. “You’re serious.”
Rezkin nodded. “Their scales are hard. A sword can get through with enough force, but it ain’t easy in a heavy battle. Got scales on the sides of their necks, so you gotta jab straight for the throat. Same with the torso. The middle’s soft, but they usually cover it with some kinda armor. Yer good to go fer the inner thighs, groin, and soft spot under the tail.”
“They have tails?” Brandt said with too much enthusiasm.
Kai grumbled, “You’d best hope we don’t run into any.”
Rezkin nodded toward the others, silently indicating that man at the road had returned to his camp.
“You sound like you’ve battled ’em before,” Brandt drawled, still wary of being overheard.
Rezkin nodded. “About two years ago, a large band of ’em took up in the Zigharans. We went in a cleared ’em out.”
“You and your trainers?” Kai said.
“Nah, just me and my men. Men like them,” Rezkin said with a nod toward the party on the other side of the road.
Kai narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said you’d just left yer trainin’ when we met.”
“Right, but I weren’t always at the fortress.” He met Kai’s suspicious gaze and said, “Didn’t go near no settlements. There was trainin’ to be done. Battles to be fought. Wars to be won.”
“You fought mock battles?”
The others watched him with hawk-like gazes as he spoke. Even Millins had given up on his attempt at sleep. Despite the attention, Rezkin realized that he was no longer inundated with the persistent paranoia that had plagued him since landing on Cael. He said, “Only thing mock about ’em was the reason for fighten ’em. Men was captured or hired to fight on both sides, and none of ’em knowin’ why. Turns out, weren’t no reason fer it but me. I even went on campaign with a King’s Army unit called the Scavengers.”
“You were part of the Scavengers?” Millins exclaimed, his expression soured with disdain.
“Who are the Scavengers?” Malcius said as he took a bowl from Wesson.
With a glance toward the other camp, Millins drawled, “Not all men make good soldiers. Some cause trouble—fightin’ in the unit, problems with the locals, offendin’ the nobles, deserters. Those men go to the Scavengers. Nobody wants to be a Scavenger. They get the worst assignments, the worst pay—most or all of it levied for fines before it even reaches their purses. As a reward for their sadism, the strictest officers are assigned to whip the Scavengers into shape.” Millins looked to Rezkin. “So, you were placed in charge?”
“Nah, I was a green recruit. I got caught for desertion,” he said with a half grin. “My job was to fit in—to learn the ways of the army. It ain’t so convincin’ to fake if ya’ve never experienced it. I’ll tell ya, the deserters is treated the worst. The vilest degenerates in the army got too much honor … or fear … to abandon their posts. Even the foulest of the lot spit on the deserters. I had to work my way up the ranks—without exposin’ my trainin’.”
Malcius said, “Who were you battling?”
He looked angry, and Rezkin could only guess as to why. Rezkin shrugged and said, “Bandits, mercs, insurgents. We was at peace, but that peace was kept by maintainin’ close watch over the borders. Northern forces prod for weakness. We made sure no one survived to keep proddin’. Anyway, I made sergeant—”
“Wait, you made sergeant in a year?” said Millins.
Rezkin grinned. “Commander said I was the fastest learner he ever seen. After I made sergeant, I weren’t gonna get no more promotions in that unit, and I couldn’t transfer. I was there fer a reason, after all. So, we was sent to battle an army of four merc companies. We was outnumbered three to one, and I had to pretend to be an average soldier, except without gettin’ killed. The mercs killed most of our men, but we took out a lot of theirs. I had orders, though. When it looked like we was done for, I killed the rest of our men.”
Leaning forward so he could see around Wesson, Minder Finwy looked at him with horror. “You killed your own men?”