“Heggen’s Beard,” Taliesin cursed, slapping flies away from her face.
Crawling on her hands and knees, she dragged her bags through the muck. The moment she reached clear ground, she glanced around to see if she’d been seen. Everyone appeared busy at their work, except Grudge, who was walking towards her. She wiped her hands on her pants and turned around to pick up the bags. Sticking out of the mud was a wooden cylinder, the type used to hold scrolls; hard to find, and certainly something she wasn’t supposed to pick up. Making a split-second decision, Taliesin pulled the cylinder against her stomach and quickly slipped it into the red leather pouch.
“Enjoying yourself, are we?” Grudge asked. “What did you do? Slip on horse guts and fall on your butt? Need a hand, little girl?”
“I’m taking a break,” Taliesin said. “And no, I don’t need your help.”
Grudge’s hearty laughter brought her scrambling to her feet. She placed the straps of her bags over her shoulders and turned to face the tall man, who towered over her by a good eight inches, all muscle and brawn. His leather pants were tucked into tall boots and covered with filth. Beads of sweat dripped from the ends of his drooping moustache. At his smile, she saw a flash of white, even teeth; not many Ravens had all their teeth or kept them as clean as he did.
“What’s the matter with you? You’re sitting on a bag of coins,” he said.
Grudge bent and pulled a leather purse out of the muck. With a flip of his wrist, he gave the purse a bounce in his hand and checked its weight. “Probably ten silver pieces inside,” he said, “five gold and fifteen little coppers. It could mean a new set of clothes for me. Maybe even a room for the night in Padama. Come with me, and I’ll give you a bubble bath.”
“Not a chance, Grudge,” she said. “Give me a hand so I can fetch that sword. It’s a Maltese. Ever hear of Maltese? She’s a swordsmith from the town of Antillean. I’d love to meet her one day and have her make me a sword.”
“Never heard of her.”
“That’s why I pick up swords, and you cut off fingers,” she replied.
Grudge slid a hand over his bald head, leaving behind five trails of dirt across his skull. “Give me your bags. I said I’d carry your load when it grew too heavy. Those bags are officially too heavy. We can’t have you falling in horse guts again, now can we?” He stuffed the coin purse into the front of his leather jerkin. “Go fetch your Maltese and stick it in one of these bags. You have quite the eye for expensively-made weapons.”
“I’m the best at everything,” Taliesin said, annoyed. He waited while she walked to the sword, picked it up, and returned to place it inside a bag. “I also give great shoulder rubs. You’ll need one after lugging those around all afternoon.”
Grudge rolled his eyes. “I seriously doubt you’re offering to rub my back,” he said, in a sarcastic tone. “Of course, you couldn’t do any better. I am a fine catch.”
“And full of hot air,” she said, hauling all three bags off the ground. “You asked for it, pal.”
She placed the straps over Grudge’s shoulder, tipping him to the side before he righted himself. Pack animal that he was, Grudge leaned down and let her adjust the straps on his shoulder. The man was strong and big enough to lift a horse on his shoulders, but he didn’t know when to use a cart. For all his talk, though, Grudge could be helpful when he wanted. Today was no different. He’d said he wanted to help and she let him carry the burden.
“It is a little heavy,” Grudge said. He licked beads of sweat off his upper lip and walked along beside her. “Find a handsome corpse yet to admire? I’ve caught you staring many times into the eyes of a corpse. Who caught your eye this time? A knight with a handsome face or some young drummer boy? You know it’s bad luck to gaze into the eyes of the dead.”
Taliesin didn’t answer, for Grudge was right. He had an uncanny ability to read her thoughts, including her secret ones. “I think it’s appalling King Frederick has never formed a fourth clan to tend to the injured or sick,” she said. “Field surgeons travel with the armies, and they frequently leave behind injured men. If the Wolf and Eagle Clans don’t bother picking up the soldiers and nobles, they have no hope of surviving. At least our clan should be allowed to care for the injured. We have a few healers at Raven’s Nest.”
“I suppose you think the Royal House of Draconus is cruel and their methods inhumane,” Grudge said.
“I do,” she said. “But what can one woman do about changing how the royal court and the three clans operate. Fighting against rules and traditions that have existed for centuries is futile. No one else seems to care about the wounded. War is ghastly.”
Taliesin wasn’t that hardened, even though she’d visited a steadily increasing number of battlefields since the age of nine. Every year skirmishes and large battles were fought in Caladonia; the realm was not one of peace. While her emotional scars started to fade when she reached her twenties, it was difficult not to scream and rant and protest what they did was gruesome.
“I’ve said a few prayers today,” Taliesin said. “When some poor wretch catches my attention, and I see those overcast eyes in a young face, right as death sets in, I can’t help it. I’m not made of iron, Grudge, and I often wake from nightmares. When you’ve been digging in graveyards as long as I have, you’ll start saying a prayer every time a shadow crosses your path.”
“I don’t mind you saying prayers,” he said. “But I’m not a religious man.”
“How many battlefields have you and I been at together?” Taliesin asked. “I’ve counted three in the last eight months since you joined.”
“This makes four, because I’m counting the two knights we ran across last month. I told you then praying for men who seek death is pointless. They jousted. They killed each other and for what? Over who could cross a bridge first,” he said, in a disgusted voice.
Taliesin shrugged. “Like you know anything about knighthood,” she said. “You’re a common thief. What do you know about honor? It wasn’t just about crossing a bridge. One knight was Fregian and one was Maldavian. Everyone knows they are sworn enemies.”
“I’m not judging you,” Grudge said. “Pray for whoever you want to pray for, Taliesin. It’s always hot after a summer rain in Maldavia. I hate summer. I prefer the winter. Bodies rot faster in the heat.” His timing for laughter wasn’t appropriate, but ended as quickly as it began. “Despite my best attempts to teach you to read a battlefield, this conflict wasn’t merely about Fregians fighting Maldavians over a long-forgotten argument. Tell me what happened here and let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”
“Says the criminal.”
“Says your teacher,” he replied. “Go on. Impress me.”
“The Maldavians set an ambush,” she said. “Duke Peergynt’s men arrived a day earlier. Finding the field muddy from the rain, they easily dug a three-foot ditch across the field and then filled it with wooden stakes before covering the entire area with straw. The Fregian cavalry arrived and, though their numbers were larger, they didn’t pause to check the lay of the land and rode over the hill and right into the trap. The Maldavian archers took their time to find their targets. Time enough for Duke Hrothgar to figure out there was a trap, yet he still sent his infantry after the knights, confident they would win, but that’s not what happened. While the Fregians wallowed like pigs in the mud, the Maldavian soldiers came out of the trees and surrounded them. I’d say the slaughter took less than ninety minutes, no more. Am I right or not?”
“Very good,” Grudge said. “But this was only a small task force sent from Fregia. Their main army is ten-thousand strong, and I assume they marched onto Padama. Duke Hrothgar was a close friend of King Frederick. Duke Peergynt has always been jealous of their friendship and made it a point to eliminate him from the game.”
Taliesin wanted to ask why the Fregians had sent a task force to a cow pasture, and how he knew the main army had gone on to the royal city. However, the moment she spotted a bloody flag on
the ground, she held her tongue. The wind blew over a folded corner and revealed a white lion rampant on a field of blue. It was the flag of Prince Sertorius, the youngest prince of the Royal House of Draconus. The royal city of Padama was located in Maldavia, more than a hundred miles away. Duke Peergynt ruled Maldavia, but the royal city was Draconus domain, and the presence of a prince’s flag meant the battle wasn’t a mere domestic squabble between two great dukes. A royal flag. A royal prince. One of the dukes had the support of the Draconus family, and she figured it had to be Duke Peergynt, who had the privilege of protecting Padama. Taking flags wasn’t against clan laws; it simply wasn’t for the Ravens to pick them up, but she always took home banners and flags to hang on a wall in her room. Since she didn’t have any royal flags, she stuffed it under her leather jerkin when Grudge’s back was turned.
“Fregian knights fought beside the Knights of the White Stag,” Grudge said. Dirt covered his nose and cheek where he’d brushed away flies. “If Duke Hrothgar was here, so was Jasper Silverhand, who goes as does his older brother. And Jasper is a Knight of the White Stag.”
“I didn’t know that,” Taliesin replied.
“I doubt Duke Peergynt was on the scene. He’d have sent one of his commanders. If you do your job right, you should be able to find the Volgan brothers and their swords.”
“That I do know, Grudge,” Taliesin said, annoyed he didn’t think her smart enough to know the differences between the orders of knights. “After today, I’m done picking up weapons. I never want to see another battlefield as long as I live. I’m sick of death. Sick of warfare. And I’m sick of smelling like this.”
“It’s your job. What else are you good for if not finding valuable weapons?”
Taliesin let out a groan. “Excuse me,” she said. “My Andorran stallion, Thalagar, is four years old now and ready to start mating. In a year, he can produce enough offspring so every Black Wing will ride one of his colts or fillies. Horse breeding is second nature to me.”
“There is nothing wrong with what we do for a living, Taliesin,” he said in a gruff tone. “We are in the dead business. We’re scavengers. It’s how we earn a living, and because we do it well, we always make a tidy profit. Unlike you, I don’t care what people think of our clan. I’d rather do this than farm or tend sheep, and it’s certainly a better way to make a living than knighthood.”
“Like you know anything about farming, sheep herding, or knighthood,” she grumbled.
“Better a grave robber than a fool, I always say.”
Taliesin had never heard Grudge say such a thing. Grudge had avoided the hangman’s noose and joined the Raven Clan. The King’s Law provided anyone who committed a crime could avoid arrest and possible execution if they became a member of the Raven Clan, which meant the best and brightest didn’t live at Raven’s Nest; yet Osprey kept law and order.
Without the royal license that allowed the Raven Clan to pick the dead clean, the penalty for anyone caught looting was imprisonment or death; probably another reason townsfolk hated their clan. The Raven Clan had the right to scavenge, and no one else did. Osprey had turned a possible nightmare world into one where everyone was given a second chance. If grave robbing was how they had to make a living, and with the King’s blessing, then Taliesin figured folks like Grudge had a good reason to love their lifestyle.
“This is the last time I’ll ever do this job, Grudge,” she said. Thirsty, she removed a flask of water from her belt. The water was from a river, tasted a bit like mud, and was warm, but it quenched her thirst. She gave Grudge the flask. “I mean it. I’m through after today. I’m going to ask to be a stable groom so I can tend to my horses. Thalagar doesn’t like it when I’m gone days at a time, and since I’m not allowed to ride a horse when we’re on a job, though it makes no sense at all, he has a right to be annoyed.”
The big man eyed her sternly. “Your talents are greatly needed in the field,” he said. “Master Osprey asked me to personally look after you because you have a special gift. I suggest you start looking for the Volgan brothers. They’ll have the most expensive swords and that’s what you need to find if you ever hope of being more than what you are.”
Taliesin didn’t argue, since Grudge was right.
* * * * *
Chapter Two
“I think Prince Sertorius fought with the Maldavians,” Taliesin said.
After an hour of scouring the main area of the battle, they’d moved off the field to find shade under a nearby grove of tall birch trees. They sat on the ground eating green apples, the only food she’d eat with dirty hands.
“Why do you say that?” Grudge asked, tossing aside his apple core. A leather pouch lay on the ground, opened, and apples had fallen out. He selected one, rubbed it on his vest, and took a bite. “You know something I don’t, or is this just wishful thinking? I’ve always wondered which of the five princes you’d like best, knowing how much you like reading about knights and princes. Figured you’d be dying to meet one in the flesh.”
“That’s beside the point. I spotted Prince Sertorius’ banner some ways back.” Seen it and stuffed it beneath her leather bodice. Just like she’d seen the scroll and picked that up, too.
“Did you have the good sense to pick it up?” Grudge said.
“No,” she said. The lie left a bad taste in her mouth. She tossed her half-eaten apple into a bush for the squirrels and ants. “Peergynt and Hrothgar are old adversaries, nothing unusual about that. They fight over every petty squabble, but I can’t figure out why Sertorius would be here. King Frederick never gets involved in petty squabbles.”
“Have you no sense at all, woman?” Grudge said. “That banner could be sold to the Eagle Clan. Royal flags are valuable. If Sertorius was here, you can be sure Lord Arundel already knows it, but the royal flag is still proof. After we check the woods for the Volgan brothers, we’ll make our way to the flag. I want it.”
“I don’t give a fig about Lord Arundel,” Taliesin said, rising to her feet. “If the Eagle lord already knows Sertorius was here, he doesn’t need the banner to prove it. Forget about the flag. I’m sure Minerva will have picked it up by now, so she can make someone a new bed quilt out of the pieces.”
Minerva made blankets from flags. It was the least objectionable of the woman’s curious habits. Her collection of human skulls in her bedroom outnumbered Taliesin’s flag collection four to one. As she stretched out her arms, she noticed an edge of the flag poking out of the top of her leather tunic; she tucked it inside with a finger, hoping Grudge hadn’t noticed.
“I’m ready,” she said. “Are you?”
“The flag is a little more important than you think, Taliesin,” he said, gathering his things and standing. “Perhaps you were unaware Sertorius’ older brother, Almaric, has declared war on their father. He wants the old man’s throne. Fregia has always supported the king.”
“Peergynt is King Frederick’s cousin,” Taliesin said. “Why would he side with Almaric? Honestly, Grudge, how do you know this? Gossip from a local tavern is just talk.”
Grudge gave her a hard look and took a bite of his apple. He talked with his mouth full as he walked along beside her. “Without the flag, we can’t prove Sertorius was here. It appears Hrothgar crossed into Peergynt’s land,” he said. “All Peergynt has to do is say he was merely defending Maldavia from a northern invasion. Next time, pick something up if it’s important, and then tell me about it.”
“I ran across a Knight of Chaos,” Taliesin said, knowing this would interest him. “He was alive until an Eagle slit his throat and took his purse. He emptied the bag, didn’t find what he was looking for, and dropped it. I’m wearing it now. Good leather. I also picked up the knight’s silver sword, which I intend to keep.”
“The Knights of Chaos are Prince Sertorius’ personal order; he created them, he leads them, and, if an Eagle killed one, it means the Eagle Clan is backing King Frederick,” Grudge said. “Trust me. They were doing everyone a favor by
killing that knight. The Knights of Chaos are a bloodthirsty order. They eat little girls like you. Come on. I know where to find what you’re looking for, so don’t dawdle.”
“I never dawdle,” Taliesin said, irritably.
At the southern end of the battlefield, Taliesin and Grudge passed the burned bodies of the Maldavian dead, which had apparently kept anyone else from searching the area. No one had thought to look beyond the burned bodies, but Grudge knew better and made her walk the extra distance away from the cow pasture and into the woods. One hand on an oak tree, he leaned against the trunk. He drank water from a flask and rested, while she walked around a mound of fifteen armored bodies. A Fregian flag, light blue with the emblem of a white bear, lay at the side of the heap. Upon the silk lay a man’s arm in a sleeve of gold chainmail. She knew before Grudge spoke she had found someone very important.
“That’s Hrothgar’s arm,” Grudge said. “His brother will have fallen close to him. You’ll recognize him by his silver hand. He lost his real hand in battle and wore the fake hand as a replacement.” He frowned as he scanned the area. “The Eagle Clan must have been in a hurry to leave. Probably found something they felt the King needed to know about, but there’s quite a few flea-backs sniffing around. I like the Wolf Clan no more than you do.”
Taliesin knelt beside the golden-clad arm, unable to see the duke’s torso with so many bodies lying atop him. Grabbing a dead knight by the foot, she pulled the body off the stack, and was caught off guard by the sound of a groan coming from the bottom of the pile.
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