“Not as much as they might have been,” Dirk reminded him. “The young couple are safe, after all, though the young man will have a few bruises.” The civilians all started talking at once.
“Of course, the soldiers have a few lumps, too,” Dirk told them, with a glare that shut them up, “and since both sides seem to have pounded each other equally…” (his voice shifted to a parody of politeness) “…might I ask that all of you back off ?”
The civilians jumped, and even Cort felt the impulse to hop at the whiplash of the words.
The civilians’ leader frowned. “Who’re you to go telling us what to do?”
“The man with the staff,” Dirk said with a grin, “who knows how to use it better than any of you.” Cort and the civilian leader eyed each other with suspicion, but Cort said, “No harm done, after all, or at least, nothing that will last.”
“And other civilians might be in danger, while you stand here chattering,” Dirk pointed out.
The civilians frowned at that, and their leader said, “Well … as long as all is under control here…”
“It is,” Cort said. “I assure you of that.”
“So do I,” Dirk told them.
“We’ll be about our rounds, then,” the civilian leader said. “Keep your men leashed, now!”
“I will.” Cort reined in his temper.
The civilians turned away, muttering to each other, and went out of the alley.
Cort relaxed with a sigh. “I could almost wish we’d taught those arrogant townsmen a lesson—but I have to thank you for making peace, stranger.”
The soldiers grumbled with disappointment. “Yes, I know, I wanted a brawl, too,” Cort sympathized. Then his voice hardened. “What the hell did you think you were doing, jumping a civilian and his girl? Were you so overcharged that you couldn’t wait your turn with the professionals? Or did you think you might nod off before you got to the head of the line? What’re you using for brains—porridge? Why, you fly-infested, drink-sodden, stumbling, stuffed bearskins! Put your heads together, and maybe you can realize how much trouble this town could make for you if you had so much as touched that woman! If the captain hears about this, he’ll flog you so raw that you’ll be wanting new backs even more than new brains!”
“He—he won’t, will he, sir?” one of the troopers asked in a shaky voice. “Hear about it, I mean.” Cort took a deep breath for another blast, then sank under a tidal wave of sympathy. He knew how the men felt tonight, knew exactly how they felt. “No, I won’t tell him—and you’d better hope for all you’re worth that the civilians don’t! But if I catch one of you lousy apes so much as looking cross-eyed at a townsman even one more time, I’ll turn you into dogmeat!”
The soldiers snapped to attention again.
“Get back to the inn, now,” Cort ordered, “and lock yourselves in your room! Dis-miss!”
The soldiers relaxed and turned away grumbling—but they moved quickly. When they were out of the alley, Cort turned to Dirk. “You took a bad chance there, stranger.”
“Not really,” Dirk told him. “The civilians were putting on a brave show, but they’d already had enough of fighting with professionals. You and your men might have been enjoying the brawl, but I knew you wanted to end it quickly, so all I had to do was give you both an excuse.”
In spite of himself, Cort grinned. “A face-saver, eh?”
“Call it a chance to retire with dignity,” Dirk temporized.
“But why take the chance?” Cort asked. “It was none of your affair, and you might have been beaten senseless.”
“Not much risk of that.” Dirk flashed him the toothy grin again. “Besides, I’ve been out of work a while, and I was getting rusty. I needed a little dust-up.”
“So did I,” Cort said grimly. “I was disappointed not to have it, but I’m glad the captain won’t have a major brawl to find out about.” Then he gave Dirk a keen glance. “Mercenary, eh? And your band lost so badly it was scattered?”
“Something of the sort,” Dirk agreed. “That, and being a free lance by nature. I don’t like to stay too long with any one band.”
“Don’t like to stay peaceful too long, either, by the look of you,” Cort said. Then a sudden, huge, soul-weariness engulfed him. “The hell with it all! Come on back to the inn, stranger, so I can thank you properly with a flagon of brandy.”
The stranger raised an eyebrow. “More to it than a run-in with a bunch of overgrown delinquents, eh? Sure, I’ll be glad to drink your brandy. Maybe you can give me a point or two about the locals. Seems to be a lot I don’t know about who, what, where, and why.”
“Yes, by your accent, you would be from far away, wouldn’t you?” Cort asked. “Still, brandy’s the same in any language, friend—or at least, the taste is.”
“True enough. Drink first, talk later.” Dirk fell in beside the lieutenant as they started walking. “Of course, if we’re going to the inn you sent your men back to, you can just happen to be keeping an eye on them.”
“I can keep an eye on those who are there,” Cort said grimly, “and count the rest as they come in.”
“Well, if you need to go out for the occasional patrol, I’ll come along.” Dirk grinned again. “Might be fun.”
Cort eyed him with misgiving. “I only know two kinds of soldiers who think fighting’s fun: the ones who have never been in a battle, and the ones who have seen so much war they’ve gone crazy with it.”
“You forgot the third kind,” Dirk told him.
He said it with such a nonchalant air that Cort couldn’t help smiling. “Third kind? What’s that?”
“Soldiers on leave,” Dirk said. “Sometimes they don’t even need to get drunk first.”
Gar surveyed the line in front of them with a frown. “I’m used to merchants and farmers lining up to wait for the gate to open, Master Ralke, but these men don’t look like either.”
The town wall was only about twelve feet high, but the dark gray stone of which it was made gave it a very forbidding appearance. The dozen or so wagons lined up in front of the great leaves of the gate were driven by hard-eyed men wearing the same livery as the guards who lined the roadway to either side, armed with pikes and halberds.
“You must come from a fat country indeed!” Ralke said. “There isn’t a merchant in the lot, nor a farmer, only soldiers.” He glanced at Gar. “Did you hide your sword and dagger, as I … Yes, I see you did.”
“I understand why, now—they don’t like the competition.” Gar shook his head sadly. “But why are soldiers driving the wagons?”
“Boots, lad, not soldiers. We call them boots when their boss is a bully. They’re driving because they’re tax collectors, and that’s why they’ve so many guards. As to lining up to wait for the panels to open, they could come in any time. There just happen to be more of them here in midmorning, because they all set out from last night’s camping at more or less the same time.”
“I take it very few of the villages pay in coin, then?”
“You take it rightly; few villagers have coin with which to pay. They never have extra crops to sell, since the boss takes them all. He’s the one who does the selling and has all the gold.”
“What does he buy with it?”
“Mercenaries for his next war, mostly, but he’ll have a few coins left over to buy some spices and fine cloths for himself and his family, and that’s where we come in.”
It didn’t take terribly long to reach the gates. The wagons being driven by boots rolled on in with scarcely a nod to the guards. But when Master Ralke stepped up with the first of his mules, the gate guards clashed their pikes together to bar his way. “Vairudingugoink?” one of them demanded.