The Devil's Pay (Dogs of War) - By Dave Gross Page 0,8
meet the Dogs. The man greeted Sam with a two-handed shake.
“Why if it isn’t Samantha MacHorne. How long has it been?”
“Too long, Wilkie,” she said. “I can still taste Rona’s shortbread. Melted on our tongues.”
“If we’d known you were coming, she’d have made a big batch.”
“It was a sudden thing. We won’t be staying.” She threw a meaningful look toward the couple abandoning their house.
“Not everyone likes living so close to the Wythmoor.” Wilkie shrugged, but he also swallowed nervously. “Hunting Cryx, are you??”
Sam nodded at the departing couple as they hitched a pair of donkeys to their wagon. “Something’s scaring them off. I take it there’s been sign?”
“None that I’ve seen with my own eyes,” said Wilkie. “Every time someone spies a dark shadow in the Wythmoor or smells a foul stench, there’s talk of Cryx.”
“That kind of talk isn’t enough to send folks packing.”
“No, that’s so,” he said with some reluctance. “A forester came through yesterday. He told a few stories of Cryxlight and lost souls, and maybe he saw something that spooked him. Whatever it was, he ran until he stumbled upon a group of Steelheads.”
“Brocker?” asked Sam.
“Aye,” said Wilkie. “Him and that great horrible horse of his.”
Lister turned his head and spat without dislodging his unlit cigar.
“How many?” said Sam.
Wilkie shrugged. “Enough rifles and halberds that they camped around four fires.”
“Where were they?”
“Maybe six miles east by southeast.”
“Which way were they headed?” asked Sam.
“The forester couldn’t say. They sent him away before they broke camp.”
“Is this forester still around?”
Wilkie shook his head.
“Did this forester seem to be in a hurry to move on?”
Again, Wilkie nodded with some reluctance. “If I think too much about it, I start thinking I should move my own family to Tarna.”
“And he said the Steelheads were looking for Cryx?”
“He didn’t say as much, but he kept hinting there were worse things out there than mercenaries. Along with the campfire tales, some folks got it into their head… Well, you know how it is.” Curiosity creased his brow. “What exactly did you say your lot is looking for?”
Sam shrugged. “I’ll know that when I see it. Do you know anything else that might help us?”
“Well, King Baird’s men rode into the Wythmoor a few months back. They went in with six big wagons like yours, some full of building materials, the others full of enough provisions to last a winter siege. They came back less than a week later, wagons empty. Didn’t look like they’d come under fire, but they didn’t stop to chat.”
Sam nodded. “That’s good to know. Are you short of any necessaries?”
“Now that you mention it…”
After a short, informal barter, Sam sent Dawson back to fetch a few spare tools and one of the company’s spare pick axes. Sergeant Crawley quizzed him on what the locals had told Sam. As he approved the release of the company’s materiel, he said, “You look confused, Private.”
“I understand the captain wants to question the locals, but why barter with them?”
“It creates goodwill,” said Crawley. “They’re apt to tell us much more than they’d confide to a brute like Stannis Brocker. Besides, look what we get in return.”
Sam was headed back toward the wagons with a basket of colorful, late-season vegetables in her arms. Harrow carried a leg of mutton, and Lister hefted a sack of grain over his massive shoulder.
“There’s store we didn’t need to haul from Tarna,” said Crawley. “And look at those fresh peppers!”
After the exchange, the captain ordered the company west. They stopped only after they were well out of sight of the village, Burns said, “To put the minds of all the young girls’ fathers to ease.”
Sam ordered the fresh food prepared that night. Before releasing them to sleep, she stood before the assembled soldiers. “The bad news is that we may have competition for our prize,” she said. “The good news is that it’s Stannis Brocker.”
“That’s good news?” asked Burns.
“He may be a terror on that warbeast he calls a horse, but he doesn’t have our talent for taking down a warjack.”
“That won’t matter if he finds it before we do,” said Lister. “He’ll bring it back in pieces and whistle all the way to the bank.”
“You think he got the same contract we did?” asked Crawley.
“Of course not,” said Sam. “The Old Man came to us for a reason, and he’d never deal with a bastard like Brocker.”
“Somebody else could have hired him,” said Burns.
The Dogs muttered about Khadoran fingers poking into Ordic territory.
“It doesn’t matter,”