12. Firaldia, Ormienden, and the End of Connec at Antieux.

By the second afternoon, after Else fell in with the youngsters, they were deferring to his leadership. He did not want that. But it fell out that way.

That evening the band reached Ralli, where the main industry was wresting white marble from the flank of a nearby mountain. Ralli marble was renown for its lack of flaws and its almost translucent quality. Quarrying had gone on there for two thousand years. Ralli marble could be found in palaces and memorials all around the Mother Sea.

The townspeople eyed the travelers warily, which was understandable. They might be brigands or criminal fugitives. Soldiers commonly were.

A fellow who might have been a constable came and told them, "If you're looking for quarry work you need to go up to the quarry head in the morning. If you're looking for the man hiring soldiers, he's set up on the barren south of town."

The constable wanted them to keep on moving.

Else grunted. His ragged bunch would generate confidence in no one.

"The recruiters are offering a hot meal to everybody who'll listen to their pitch."

Else asked, "Any of you boys interested in the quarrying trade? I recommend that over taking up the profession of arms."

Nobody volunteered. The youngsters were all sad and homesick and going on mainly because they did not want to reveal their humanity to their companions.

Two dozen tents stood in the waste ground mentioned by the constable. Else did not like the camp's look. It was too orderly. Too professional. He observed, "It looks like we're in time for supper." In the twilight a line of men received food from a pair of squat, wide cooks who might be brothers. "Anybody see any banners or shields?" It would be nice to know who was hiring.

A voice asked, "Does that matter?" An armed sentry materialized from brush beside the road. Else was startled. Professional indeed.

"Of course it does." Else assessed the man as best he could in the failing light. The sentry did the same with him. Each saw a professional soldier. Else said, "Some people I won't follow. Maybe because of who they are. But, mostly, because they have reputations for failing to pay their men."

The light was not so weak that Else failed to catch the sentry's contempt. He was not a mercenary himself so did not think well of mercenaries.

Else did not think well of them himself but he had to play that part.

The sentry shouted, "Post number three! I have thirteen and a mule, coming in."

Else asked, "Are you expecting an attack, or something? Here?"

"You let your guard down because you think you should be safe, you'll end up prematurely cold."

Else grunted. That confirmed his suspicion. Professionals, indeed. He had fallen in with the Brotherhood of War again. Not so good.

On the other hand, maybe not so bad, supposing they were putting together a gang to assist the Patriarch in some of his mischief.

But knowing who these men were made Else uneasy. He was marching a little too close to the Brotherhood lately.

Someone jogged up. He was not one of the fighting brothers. He was too small and too young but, obviously, had been around them long enough to have picked up a military patina. "Come with me, please."

Bo Biogna grumbled, "I got a feeling they's gonna be way too much spit an' polish horseshit aroun' here for me, Pipe."

Else was using the name Piper Hecht.

"There's honest work in the quarries, Bo."

"Then why not trot your ass back up there and sign on?"

"Not my kind of thing. I'm not made to stay in one place."

"So how's it different for me?"

It was different. Bo Biogna was not good at what he wanted to do. Else suspected Biogna never was much good at anything, but he was mostly honest and he tried as long as somebody was watching. "It's your life, Bo. I'm just reminding you that you have options."

Their guide took them directly to the tail of the chow line, where he said of Just Plain Joe's mule, "Hey, you can't take this critter with you."

"How come?" Just Plain Joe's friends wanted to know. Pig Iron was the most popular member of the company. He was like no other mule that ever lived. He was friendly and mostly cooperative. And Just Plain Joe insisted that Pig Iron wanted to join the cavalry. “This here horse is a born destrier."

The guide had no sense of humor. Which might have been why he had been assigned his particular job. He led the future cavalry steed away.

Else was impressed. This was a well-organized camp. And some thought had been invested in this recruiting scheme. Hot food, and plenty of it, was guaranteed to get potential recruits thinking kindly of you. Severe hunger was commonplace for the poor.

Else asked the nearest unfamiliar face, "Whose camp is this? What kind of campaign are they getting ready for?"

The guide showed up in time to hear the question, without Pig Iron. "This camp is commanded by Captain Veld Arnvolker. He hasn't told us what we're going to do, only that we'll have the Patriarch's blessing and there'll be plenty of booty. Talk is, it might have something to do with what's been going on in Sonsa."

"Where's Pig Iron? He doesn't usually like to be away from Joe."

"He's hobbled beside the tent you'll be sharing. He has hay and a ration of oats."

"He's turned traitor that cheap?" Joe grumbled.

"Plenty of booty?" Else queried. "I'll tell you, that doesn't sound promising. Not in Firaldia." Unless this was the Brotherhood preparing to punish Sonsa for having run it out by engineering the sacking of Sonsa and the Three Families. He found the possibility that he might go back to Sonsa in Brotherhood employ ironic.

"Then you're in for something new and marvelous, aren't you?"

Else had to restrain powerful urges springing from a lifetime of Sha-lug training. He understood the western approach to warfare philosophically but could not make a connection in his heart.

When westerners decided to make war they swept up the dregs and leavings of their societies, handed out old and poor quality weapons, added a few hereditary warriors as leaders, then turned the mob loose. Such armies were as dangerous to friend as foe. Either they would indulge in outrageous slaughter or they would break at the first threat of combat. But they were cheap during peacetime. It was not necessary to feed, house, clothe, or train them. And they were never the threat always presented by a standing army.

The evanescent loyalties of its frontier armies had been one cause of the breakdown of the Old Brothen Empire.

Else would have been willing to bet gold. And he would have won. The meat being served so generously, to the members of the company and prospective recruits, was pork. Else was beginning to develop a taste for the unclean flesh.

"You guys sure picked your time," the one-armed cook in charge told Else. The other, who, up close, looked enough like him to be a twin, still had both of his arms.

"Eh?"

"Pranced in here just late enough so you'll get you a free breakfast, too, didn't you?" He did not seem to mind, though.

All of Else's band were baffled.

The one-armed cook said, "The wizard does him a whole show on why you should praise God and sign up to the serve the Brotherhood. It's mostly a crock a shit but you get yourself a meal for sitting through it. Two meals, if you're just clever enough to wander in here too late for him to do his buck and wing tonight. For a wizard he sure likes to hit the sack early." The implication being that any wizard would be on intimate and extended terms with the Instrumentalities of the Night.

"Wizard?" Else had another bad feeling.

"I didn't stutter. Move along. It's time for the changing of the guard. And those assholes don't like to be kept waiting at chow time."