“That’s Zila and his companions’ problem.”
“Captain, I don’t give a nail’s head for Zila and his men. I’m thinking of the horses.”
Calis looked at Erik, then said, “Tend the horses as best you can, but do nothing special for them. Hay and water, that’s all we’ll give them. What they buy from the villagers is their own business.”
“There’s a man named Rian who wants to know if we’ll take him. Says he doesn’t want to lie around Maharta.”
Calis was silent for a moment. Finally he said, “If one of those turncoats is in sight when the sun reaches the sky the day after tomorrow, he will be killed.”
Erik nodded and returned to the remounts. There he found Rian and said, “My Captain says we have no room.”
The man’s expression shifted, and for an instant Erik thought he’d appeal, but at last he said, “Very well. Will you sell horses?”
Erik said, “I don’t think it would earn me my Captain’s thanks to keep you here.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Keep what little gold you have. Take that buckskin gelding over there.” He motioned toward the horse. “He’s just come sound from a stocked-up leg—he got it kicking out for no damn reason at all—and he’s got rocks for brains. But he’s fit enough to get you out of here in two days.”
The man named Rian said, “I don’t think I’ll wait that long. My Captain’s dead, and so are Bilbari’s Regulars with him. I’m heading south to find a billet before word gets down there. Once a man’s labeled turncoat, no one will ever trust him.”
Erik nodded. “Zila said you had no choice.”
Rian spat. “A man always has a choice. Sometimes it’s to die with honor or live without, but there’s always a choice. That pretty Raj was a man. He might never have fought a day in his life, but when it came time to surrender he spit over the wall. He cried like a baby when they hoisted him up onto the stake, and he howled like a broken-backed dog when he felt it coming up his gut. But even while he hung there with his own shit and blood running down the pole, he never asked for mercy, and if Khali-shi”—he used the local name for the Goddess of Death, who judges the lives of men—“has any goodness in her, she’ll give him another chance on the Wheel.”
Erik said, “Zila said you were never offered the chance of surrender.”
“Zila’s a lying sack of pig guts. He was our corporal, and with the Captain and sergeant dead he thinks he’s our Captain. No one’s killed him yet because we’re all too damn tired.”
“Come with me,” said Erik.
He led Rian to the hut Calis used as his office and quarters and asked to see the Captain. When Calis appeared, he looked at Rian, then at Erik. “What?”
“I think you should hear this man out,” said Erik. Turning to Rian, he said, “What about the offer to surrender?”
Rian shrugged. “The Raj told the lizards he would burn in hell before he’d open the gates of his city to them. But he offered any captain who wanted to quit the city the chance to leave—without pay, of course.” Rian sighed. “If you knew Bilbari, you’d know he was one greedy son of a mule. He took a bonus for staying, then made a deal with the lizards to betray the city and join in the looting.” He shook his head. “But that was the joke. It was the worst betrayal of all: as soon as the fires started and the looting began, they hunted down the mercenary companies one at a time. Those that stood died, and those that surrendered were given the choice of swearing service or taking the stake. No day’s grace, no laying down of weapons and walking away, nothing. Serve or die. A few of us managed to get free.”
Calis shook his head. “How could you betray your vow?”
“I never did,” said Rian, with what was the closest to a show of emotion Erik had seen so far. He stared Calis in the eyes and repeated, “I never did. We were a regular company, soldiers for life, sworn in oath as brothers. We voted, and those who voted to stay and fight were on the losing side. But we swore an oath to each other long before we took the Raj’s gold, and damn me if I’d leave a brother for being wrong-headed.”
“Then why did you seek service with us?”
“Because Bilbari’s dead and our brotherhood is broken.” He looked genuinely sad. “If you knew Bilbari, you also knew he had his own way of taking care of his men. Some of us were with him ten, fifteen years, Captain. He was nobody’s father, but he was everyone’s eldest brother. And he’d kill the first man who harmed one of his own. I’ve been selling my sword since I was fifteen years old, and it’s the only family I’ve known. But it’s a dead family now. After Khaipur, no man will have us to service, and that means being a bandit or starving.”