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.
‘Oh, horse shit,’ Wolfgar sighed. ‘It is you.’
Dennis respectfully lowered his head in a formal bow. ‘You were the greatest of bards ever to visit the Hartraft Keep.’
‘Bountiful was the table of your grandsire,’ Wolfgar said, his voice weak but suddenly revealing the richness of the training in his craft, ‘for there is still fat at the root of my heart from the feasts he gave in my honour.’ Bones creaking, he turned slightly to look at Asayaga. ‘What in the name of all the devils is that? Is that little man typical of them, these Tsurani I hear of?’
‘He is the captain of the band that joined my unit.’
Dennis could see Asayaga stiffen slightly and Wolfgar cackled.
‘Proud as a peacock with a new feather sticking out of his ass, this Tsurani.’
‘I did not join him,’ Asayaga snapped. ‘We have an alliance.’
‘Oh, an alliance is it?’ and Wolfgar’s features clouded. ‘Then you spoke the truth. The Dark Brothers are chasing you.’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh damn you,’ Wolfgar sighed wearily. ‘They suspected some of us were hiding hereabouts, but never bothered to look too hard, being troubled by other things. Now they’ll be on us.’
‘My men,’ Dennis said and then he caught Asayaga’s baleful gaze. ‘Our men. We’ve been on the run for days. We need shelter, food, a place for our wounded to heal. I can offer you nothing in return but my bond one day to repay you. I ask this in memory of my father and grandfather who were honoured to call you their friend.’
‘And if I refuse?’
Dennis drew closer, leaning over.
