"I know. How many men did we lose?"
"I don’t have a count yet. A hundred, at least".
Light, Mat’s going to have my hide when he hears about that. Mat hated losing troops. There was a softness to the man equal to his genius—an odd, but inspiring, combination. "Send some scouts to watch the city roadways nearby for approaching Shadowspawn. Heap some of these Trolloc carcasses to make barriers; they’ll work as well as anything else. You, soldier!"
One of the wearied soldiers walking past froze. He wore the Queen’s colors. "My Lord?"
"We need to let people know this gate out of the city is safe. Is there a horn call that Andoran peasants would recognize? Something that would bring them here?"
" ‘Peasants,’ " the man said thoughtfully. He didn’t seem to like the word. They didn’t use it often, here in Andor. "Yes, the Queen’s March".
"Sandip?"
"I’ll set the sounders to it, Talmanes", Sandip said.
"Good". Talmanes knelt to clean his sword on a fallen Trolloc’s shirt, his side aching. The wound wasn’t bad. Not by normal terms. Just a nick, really.
The shirt was so grimy he almost hesitated to wipe his weapon, but Trolloc blood was bad for a blade, so he swabbed down the sword. He stood up, ignoring the pain in his side, then walked toward the gate, where he’d tied Selfar. He hadn’t dared trust the horse against Shadowspawn. He was a good gelding, but not Borderland-trained.
None of the men questioned him as he climbed into the saddle and turned Selfar westward, out of the city gate, toward those mercenaries he’d seen watching earlier. Talmanes wasn't surprised to find that they'd moved closer to the city. Fighting drew warriors like fire drawing cold travelers on a winter night.
They hadn’t joined in the battle. As Talmanes rode up, he was greeted by a small group of the sell-swords: six men with thick arms, and—likely—thick wits. They recognized him and the Band. Mat was downright famous these days, and so was the Band, by association. They undoubtedly also noticed the Trolloc bloodstains on Talmanes’ clothing and the bandage at his side.
That wound had really begun to burn fiercely now. Talmanes reined in Selfar, then patiently patted at his saddlebags. I stowed some tabac here somewhere . . .
"Well?" one of the mercenaries asked. The leader was easy to pick out; he had the finest armor. A man often became leader of a band like this by staying alive.
Talmanes fished his second-best pipe out of his saddlebag. Where was that tabac? He never took the best pipe into battle. His father had called that bad luck.
Ah, he thought, pulling out the tabac pouch. He placed some in the bowl, then removed a lighting twig and leaned over to stick it into a torch held by a wary mercenary.
"We aren’t going to fight unless paid", the leader said. He was a stout man, surprisingly clean, though he could have done with a beard trim.
Talmanes lit his pipe, puffing smoke out. Behind him, the horns started blowing. The Queen’s March turned out to be a catchy tune. The horns were accompanied by shouts, and Talmanes looked back. Trollocs on the main thoroughfare, a larger batch this time.
Crossbowmen fell into ranks and began loosing at an order Talmanes couldn’t hear.
"We’re not—" the head man began again.
"Do you know what this is?" Talmanes asked softly around his pipe. "This is the beginning of the end. This is the fall of nations and the unification of humankind. This is the Last Battle, you bloody fool".
The men shuffled uncomfortably.
"Do you . . . do you speak for the Queen?" the leader said, trying to salvage something. "I just want to see my men taken care of".
"If you fight", Talmanes said, "I’ll promise you a great reward".
The man waited.
"I promise you that you’ll continue to draw breath", Talmanes said, taking another puff.
"Is that a threat, Cairhienin?"
Talmanes blew out smoke, then leaned down from his saddle, putting his face closer to the leader. "I killed a Myrddraal tonight, Andoran", he said softly. "It nicked me with a Thakan’dar blade, and the wound has gone black. That means I have a few hours at best before the blade’s poison burns me from the inside out and I die in the most agonizing way a man can.
"Therefore, friend, I suggest that you trust me when I tell you that I really have nothing to lose".
The man blinked.