William’s men had the advantage of surprise, but the Grey Talon mercenaries were a hard and experienced bunch. The struggle was bloody and only the fact that a half-dozen mercenaries had gone down early enabled William’s men to carry the day. After William’s third kill, he glanced around, expecting to see mercenaries asking for quarter, but he was surprised to find they were still fighting, even though there were now two of the Prince’s soldiers facing each mercenary.
“Keep at least one alive!” William shouted, even as he remembered the man he had hamstrung, lying somewhere on the ground in the midst of the carnage. He turned to see how his own command was doing. The archers had put up their bows, drawn their swords, and were now entering the fray. The mercenaries continued to resist and several of William’s men were down, either dead or seriously wounded. “End this!” William shouted to a retreating mercenary who was desperately attempting to keep two Krondorian soldiers at bay.
The man ignored William and kept looking for an opening. William swore in disgust as another mercenary was killed. He circled around behind one of the last remaining mercenaries, and struck him from behind across the helmet with the flat of his blade. “Don’t kill him!” he shouted to the two men who were about to run him through. The man staggered, and one of William’s soldiers leapt forward, grappling with the mercenary’s sword-arm. The other stepped inside and struck the mercenary hard across the face with the hilt of his sword, stunning the man.
Then it was over. William looked around and shouted, “Sergeant!”
Hartag hurried over and said, “Sir!”
“What’s the damage?”
“Six men down, sir. Three dead, two more likely to join them, one who might survive if we get him to a healer quickly. Several others wounded, but nothing to brag about.”
“Damn,” muttered William. That left him with eighteen men, not all of them fully able. “What about the mercenaries?”
“Damnable thing, sir. They wouldn’t ask for quarter. Fought to the death. Never knew mercenaries to do that. Usually they’re smart enough to know when they’re whipped.”
“How many alive?”
“Two,” answered Hartag. “One’s bleeding to death from a deep leg wound and won’t be with us much longer.” William nodded, realizing this must be the man he’d hamstrung. Hartag continued. “The other’s that fellow you banged across the head. He should be rousing soon.”
The mercenary came around after a few minutes and William had him dragged over. “Who are you? Are you one of Bear’s men?”
“Not anymore. Name’s Shane McKinzey. Currently - “ He glanced around. “Used to be with the Grey Talons. We was contacted by Bear’s agent so we came to join up. We met with this Bear, and he told us what to do.”
“Why the fight to the death?” asked Hartag.
“Orders.” He rubbed the back of his head. “Seems our captain” - he motioned toward a corpse being dragged to a makeshift funeral pyre - “he got the word that Bear had some sort of magical powers. Said he’d hunt down and eat the soul of any man who betrayed him.” He blinked, as if trying to clear his vision. “Man, I’ve been hit before, but nothing like that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, Capt’n, he says a clean death and fast ride to Lims-Kragma’s Hall is better than bein’ sucked dry of blood and havin’ your soul captured by some hell’s spawn.”
“Why were you camped here?”
“We was left to kill anyone following him. This was our first job for him. Looks like it’ll be our last.”
“Where’s Bear now?”
“Don’t know. We were supposed to camp here and kill anyone coming this way, then meet him on the morning of the new Small Moon, at Two Fangs Pass.”
Hartag said, “You’re lying.”
“Maybe, but since you’ll have to kill me anyway to keep me from warning Bear . . . why should I be honest?”
“Since we’ll kill you anyway,” said William, “maybe you ought to come clean and help us get the man who set you up.
Shane looked at William, and said, “I’ve been a mercenary for more years than you’ve carried a sword, boy. I don’t fear dying, but I can see you’re afraid of killin’ in cold blood.”
William pointed to where his men piled the dead. “Take a look at the rest of your men and tell me again that I’m afraid. Still, you could live if you’re honest. You’ve never worked for Bear before, right?”
“What of it?”
“Then you don’t need to share in Bear’s punishment. Tell us what we want to know and my men will escort you back to Krondor. From there you can take a ship to wherever you like. I suggest back down to the Vale.”
The mercenary rubbed the back of his head as he weighed his options. “Well, I guess I’ve not much of a company left. All right, you’ve got a deal. I was lying about the killing-anyone-who-followed part. We were supposed to make it look easy to attack us — damn we did make it too easy — bleed a little, then run like hell. Bear’s setting a trap for you at Two Fangs Pass. We were supposed to lead you to it. If you hurry, you can beat him there.”
“You made the smart choice. Thanks.” William beckoned to a nearby soldier. “You and Blake take Mr. McKinzey here back to Krondor with anyone else who’s too badly wounded to go any further.”
“Yes, sir!” came the answer.