Inside there were a half-dozen buildings, all made of wood and covered with daub made from dried mud and straw. Smaller wattle-and-daub huts had sprung up around the larger buildings, and a fair-sized town had evolved. Erik could see why the Saaur at the gate had ordered them to remain outside; it was quite close inside this fortress.
He heard laughing and moved toward what he assumed would be an inn, and once inside he knew he had been correct. The room was dingy with smoke and poor light, but the stench of ale, spilled wine, and human perspiration struck Erik like a blow. Suddenly he was terribly homesick and wished to be nowhere so much as back at the Inn of the Pintail. He pushed down the sudden surge of feeling and made his way to the bar.
The barkeep, a stout man with a florid complexion, said, “What’ll be?”
“Got any good wine?” asked Erik.
The man raised an eyebrow—everyone else seemed to be drinking ale or fortified spirits—but he nodded and produced a dark bottle from beneath the counter. The cork was intact, so Erik hoped the bottle was fresh and not resealed. Old wine tasted like vinegar mixed with raisins, but you couldn’t convince the average tavern keeper he couldn’t just stick the cork back in at the end of a day and unseal it again the next and not have his customers complain.
The barman produced a cup and poured. Erik sipped. The wine was sweeter than he would have liked, but not as cloying as the dessert wines made to the north of Yabon. Still, it was acceptable and he paid and indicated the barkeep should leave the bottle.
He glanced around the room and saw Biggo on the far side, trying to look inconspicuous and failing mightily. He leaned against the wall, behind a table where five men gamed with two Saaur. The lizard men were too large for their chairs, but they hunkered down as best they could and seemed intent upon the game. Erik recognized the sound of knucklebones, as they called dice here, rattling across the table and the accompanying shouts of the winners and groans of the losers.
After a few minutes, Dawar stood up and left the game. He came over to Erik and said, “Got a minute?”
Erik motioned to the barkeep for another cup and filled it. Dawar sipped and made a face. “Nothing like the wine from the grand vineyards of home, is it?” he said.
“Where’s home?” asked Erik.
Dawar said, “Far from here. Let’s go outside for a minute.”
Erik picked up the bottle and let Dawar lead him outside into the fresh, cold night air. The man looked one way, then the other, and signaled for Erik to follow him around the corner, into a dark place next to the wall, sheltered above by the palisades.
“Look, Corporal,” began Dawar. “Let’s have an end to the mummery. You’re the company Nahoot was sent to keep from coming this way.”
“What makes you think that?” said Erik. “You’re the ones that jumped us.”
“I wasn’t born this morning,” said the man with a grin. “I know your Captain’s not your Captain, but the slender blond fellow is.”
“What do you want?”
“A way to get rich,” said Dawar, a greedy glint in his eye.
“How do you propose to do that?” said Erik, moving his hand slowly down to his sword.
“Look, I could maybe get myself a gold coin or two for telling Murtag you’re not who you say you are, but that’s a gold coin or two, and then I’m back looking for a company to join.” He glanced around. “But I don’t like what I’m seeing lately, with this grand conquest. Too many men dying for too little gold. There’s not going to be much left of use to anyone if it keeps on, don’t you see? So I’m thinking I might be a help to you and your captain, but I’ll want more than wages and found.”
“You’ll get ample chance for loot when we take Maharta,” Erik said noncommittally.
Dawar took a step forward, lowering his voice. “How long do you think you can keep this up? You lot are not like any company I’ve seen, and I’ve been around more than most. You talk funny and you have the look of . . . I don’t know . . . some sort of soldiers, without the parade ground nonsense, but tough, like mercenaries. But whatever you are, you’re not what you want people to think you are, and it ought to be worth something for me to stay quiet.”
“So that’s why you covered for us at the gate?”
“Sure. Most of us look alike to the Saaur and Murtag’s pretty stupid—don’t make that mistake about most Saaur—which is why he’s stuck out here running this garrison and not with the main host. I figure I can turn you in any time, but I thought I’d first give you a chance to make me a better offer.”
“I don’t know,” Erik said, holding his wine cup to his lips with his left hand, while his right moved to the hilt of his sword.
“Look, von Darkmoor, I’ll stick with you until the end, if the pay’s right. Now, why don’t you talk this over with Captain Calis—”
Suddenly a figure loomed up behind Dawar in the darkness, and large hands reached around and gripped him by the shoulders. They jerked him around, and as he spun, they grabbed the back of his head and his chin and forced it in the opposite direction, and with a loud crack, his neck was broken.