Raymond E. Feist - The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy - Honoured Enemy, Murder in Lamut, Jimmy the Hand

‘If they’ve got twenty men in there, armed with bows, they’ll kill half of us.’

‘A night attack then.’

‘What I was thinking.’

‘Why attack?’ Asayaga asked.

‘What?’ and Dennis turned to look at him.

‘We could talk, make an offer.’

‘We are a good fifty miles beyond the frontier,’ Dennis announced as if trying to explain something basic to a child. ‘Anyone up here is outside the law and is to be treated as such.’

‘The law?’ Asayaga said with a bitter laugh. ‘You call what we are doing to each other the law, and people up here are the lawless? Have we seen any sign of the presence of these Dark Brothers here?’ And as he spoke the question he looked at Tinuva.

The elf slowly shook his head. ‘Nothing. I’ve seen only human signs since we came to the valley floor. There is a chance, though, they could be allied to the moredhel.’

Asayaga looked sceptical. ‘Do you think that? If they were allied to the Forest Demons they should have been waiting for us at the bridge. Surely those behind us would have sent one fast rider around us while we were down in the foothills, to gain their help in blocking the bridge. I think those who pursued us were as surprised by the bridge as we were. The way they attacked frontally tells me they had no knowledge of the terrain above us or what was at the top of the trail. Two archers could have stopped us from crossing. I think these people are hiding, had no idea of our approach and we are a very unwelcome surprise.’

Tinuva was silent for a moment as if deep in thought, and then finally nodded his head. ‘You have a logical mind, Asayaga. And wisdom.’

‘I see where this is going,’ Dennis said wearily.

Dennis looked over at Asayaga as the two of them walked up the trail. They were in the open now, in the killing zone of open fields around the stockade. Tinuva, as always, was right in his observations: the wooden stockade was somewhat weathered, but was not more than several years old. Smoke coiled from a chimney of the long house inside the small fortress. Dennis could see faces peering over the wall, but it was hard to tell who they were.

‘Women and old men, mostly,’ Dennis said. ‘Listen to me, the moment the first arrow flies we run and if you get hit, blood debt or not I’m leaving you. This scheme borders on outright stupidity. There is no way in hell they are going to swing open their gates to over a hundred armed men.’

‘Blood debt?’

‘You know damn well what I mean. Fishing me out of the river.’

Asayaga laughed softly.

‘So you honour that, too.’

‘I honour nothing, Asayaga. I think this idea is mad, but if we can capture this place intact, without losing any more men, or worse yet having it burn down around us, we just might survive the next few days. That’s the only reason I’m coming along with you.’

‘It’s me coming along with you,’ Asayaga growled. ‘You’re the Kingdom soldier, I’m the alien invader, as you put it when we discussed this idea.’

‘I need you along to help explain what we want.’

‘Not another step closer!’

The voice, clearly that of an old man, caused them to stop.

‘Clear out of here right now, or my archers will riddle you with arrows.’

Dennis cautiously lowered the shield loaned to him by Asayaga’s sergeant and raised his right hand. ‘I wish to parley.’

‘Clear out, I tell you.’

‘I am Dennis Hartraft, of the House of Hartraft. My father and grandfather before him held the royal warrant as wardens of the marches before the coming of the Tsurani. I come without weapon drawn to talk.’

‘Hartraft? They’re all dead these nine years. Go away.’

Dennis lowered his shield, letting the butt rest on the ground. With his free hand he ever so slowly unbuttoned his cape and let it fall to the ground, revealing the faded colours of the Hartraft crest on his dirty tunic. It was not the tunic he usually wore on patrol, but Gregory had suggested that he pull it out of his pack and put it on.

‘By these colours,’ he pointed at his chest, ‘you will see that I am who I claim to be. I am rightful warden of the marches.’

‘Step closer.’

Dennis gave a sidelong glance at Asayaga and did as requested, stopping when he felt that to venture any closer was suicide. He carefully scanned the battlement, looking for the slightest movement that would indicate a bow being drawn.

Asayaga advanced with him, but kept his shield up.

‘That short fellow beside you?’

‘I am Force Commander Asayaga of House Tondora, of Clan Kanazawai.’

‘Why would Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers march side by side? You are deserters and renegades. Clear out. You are liars: I heard that no Hartraft would tolerate a Tsurani to live.’

Again the sidelong glance from Asayaga.

‘How do you know what a Hartraft would do?’ Dennis asked.

‘I just know,’ the old man cried in a peevish voice. ‘Now move it, you scum-eaters, you sons of drunken whores, you rump-kissing pasty-faced boys not fit to suck the pig-dung off my toes. No man who claims to be a Hartraft would walk with a damned Tsurani who looks like the offspring of a cretinous dwarf and a one-legged disease-addled harlot.’

Asayaga bristled, raised his shield slightly, obviously ready to respond to the insult to his lineage.

‘Don’t move,’ Dennis hissed, and even as he spoke there was a puzzled look on his face as if trying to remember something.

Asayaga, features turning red with anger struggled to maintain control.

‘The Tsurani by my side is indeed a sworn enemy,’ Dennis replied. ‘But there is a darker enemy afoot. Whoever it was you had watching the rope bridge will tell you that.’

‘He saw only an elf and a Natalese before he fled to bring warning.’

‘We are pursued by the Dark Brotherhood. Tsurani and Kingdom soldiers will always lower their swords against each other and join to fight such a foe.’

‘Damn you,’ and there was a tense shrillness to the challenging voice. ‘If they are chasing you now you’ve brought them down upon us! Clear out! I’ll grant you the rights of parley no longer. Clear out, you sons of a herder who sleeps with his goats because they remind him of his sister!’

‘Damn foul-mouthed fool,’ Asayaga hissed. ‘Maybe you were right, Hartraft. Once it’s dark we storm the place.’

Dennis, however, let his shield drop to the ground and stepped forward another pace.

It was the wonderful insults that had triggered something. A memory of long ago, of boyhood, a memory of hearing such phrases, cherishing them, and repeating them to his friends, until one day his father overheard him and washed his mouth out with soured milk.

‘I know that voice. Wolfgar, is that you?’

The voice did not reply.

‘Damn it. Wolfgar? I remember you now. When I was a boy you use to chant the old ballads for my grandfather. You were the finest of bards of the northern frontier.’

Dennis took another few steps forward and cleared his throat.

‘ Kinsmen die, cattle die, I myself shall die , All that shall live after me , When I go to the halls of my sires , Are the songs that Wolfgar shall chant of the glory won in battle .’

He proclaimed the words in the old way, a deep baritone chant, his voice carrying far across the fields.

‘You wrote those words,’ Dennis said with a grin. ‘I remember it well, you pox-eaten offspring of a pus-licking dog.’

There was no response until finally the gate cracked open and a wizened old man, leaning on a ornately carved and twisted staff slowly shuffled out.

It took more than a minute for him to cross the few dozen yards to where Dennis stood. He was so hunched over that the crown of his bald, liver-spotted head came barely to Dennis’s shoulder. Like an ageing buzzard he craned his neck, twisting sideways so he could look up into Dennis’s eyes.