After a week had passed, one of the guards set at the north end of the town cried out, “Riders!”
Foster barked out orders for the men to get ready, and practice swords were discarded, replaced by steel. Those men selected as bowmen hurried to a position overlooking the town, under Foster’s command, while de Loungville and Calis moved the rest of the company to defensive positions at the north end of the village.
Calis moved to where Erik and his companions waited, and said, “They’re coming fast.”
Erik squinted and saw a half-dozen men racing down the road that led into the village. As they drew near, they reined in, probably having seen a glint of metal or the movement of men.
Biggo said, “They’re not so quick to come rushing in now that they know we’re here.”
Erik nodded. Roo said, “Look over there.”
Erik turned to where Roo pointed, back into the village, and was astonished to see it was once again deserted. “They do know how to make themselves scarce, don’t they?”
The riders began to trot toward the village, and when they were close enough to be seen clearly, Calis shouted, “Praji!”
The leader waved and spurred his horse into a canter, while his companions followed. As they neared, Erik saw that the six men were mercenaries, or at least dressed as such, and that the man in the van was easily the ugliest person he had ever seen. A face like seamed leather was dominated by an improbably large nose and a huge brow. His long hair, mostly grey, was tied back. He rode poorly; his hands were far too busy, and it was irritating his horse.
Getting down, the man walked toward the defensive position. “Calis?”
Calis walked forward and the two men embraced, with heavy back-slapping on both sides. The man pushed Calis away and said, “You don’t look a damn day older; curse you long-lived bastards—steal all the pretty women, then come back and steal their daughters.”
Calis said, “I expected to see you at the rendezvous.”
“There isn’t going to be one,” the man called Praji said; “at least not where you’d expect it to be. Khaipur has fallen.”
“So I heard.”
“That’s why you’re here and not marching up the banks of the Serpent River,” said Praji.
Foster motioned for Erik and five other men to take the horses. As they gathered the animals, they studied the other five riders. Hard men all, they had a beaten, tired look. Praji said, “We got our tails singed, for sure. I barely got out with a score of our men; we got as close to the siege as we could, but the greenskins had outriders and they came down on us hard. I didn’t even have time to claim we were looking for work. No truces. You’re either with them or you’re attacked.” He hiked a thumb at his companions. “After we got loose, we split up. Half the lads went with Vaja to the Jeshandi. Figured you’d be coming up that way, but in case you put in at Maharta I was heading that way. Figured you’d send word through our agents where you were if I was wrong. Give me something to drink; my throat’s coated with half the dirt between here and Khaipur.”
Calis said, “Let’s get a drink and you can tell me more.”
He took the man over to the pavilion, and as they moved, villagers began to appear 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.”