The Lost Stories (5 page)

“Who the devil are you?” Kord asked. He'd been lying back on his own bunk on the opposite side of the tent and the displeasure was obvious in his voice. He and Jerrel had enjoyed having the tent to themselves. Their four tent mates had been killed or wounded in the battle. Now, it seemed, they had a new man joining them.

“Name's Arratay,” the newcomer said. “I've been transferred from second squad. Sergeant major said for me to bunk in here.”

He was a short man, slightly built but with powerful shoulders and a deep chest. His beard and hair were ragged and unkempt. He had a grubby bandage wound around his head. Above it, the hair was black and the eyes were dark and piercing. Like a bird of prey, Jerrel thought. Then he smirked at the idea. It was more likely that the stranger would become prey for him and Kord—once he had a chance to finish working on that pair of dice. Even so, he didn't want the stranger in the tent with them.

“Find somewhere else to bunk,” Jerrel said shortly. “We're full here.”

“There's only two of you,” Arratay said reasonably, looking around the tent.

“You heard him,” Kord said. “Now get out of here.”

Arratay shrugged. “If you say so . . .”

“I do,” Kord said. “So get out.”

Shrugging, the newcomer picked up his kit and left the tent. Jerrel smiled at Kord. That had been easy, he thought. Then his face darkened as he heard a loud voice outside the tent.

“You there! A-ratty—or whatever you call yourself! Where d'you think you're going? I told you to bunk in tent forty-three, didn't I?”

“The tent's full, sergeant major,” Arratay replied.

“The blazes it is!” Kord and Jerrel exchanged exasperated glances as they heard heavy footsteps approaching. Then the tent flap was thrown back and the bulky frame of Sergeant Major Griff filled the entrance.

“My aunty's mustache it's full! Get in here!” He glared at the two occupants. “You two make room!” he bellowed.

“Yes, sar'major,” Jerrel said sullenly. Kord managed a grunt in reply. As Arratay reentered the tent, Griff stepped in front of him to bar his way, his hands on his hips in an aggressive posture.

“As for you, A-ratty, you can report to the cookhouse and scrub rubbish bins and cook pots for the rest of the day. That might remind you next time to do as I tell you!”

“Yes, sar'major,” the small man said. His eyes were down, not meeting the temporary commander's. But as Griff stalked out of the room, Arratay made an insulting gesture toward his back. Then he turned, shrugging, to Jerrel and Kord. “Sorry about that,” he said.

They exchanged a look, then Jerrel stood and took Arratay's pack, placing it on an empty bunk.

“Can't be helped. Griff can be a real pain. Better get along to the cookhouse or he'll be at you again.” He caught Kord's eye. As soon as Arratay had gone, they'd go through his kit to see if there was anything worth stealing. Kord nodded unobtrusively. The same thought was going through his mind.

Arratay sighed and turned to go. As he reached the entrance, Kord called after him, “When you've finished your work detail, maybe you'd like a little game of dice?”

Arratay smiled at them. “That sounds like fun,” he said.

Kord threw up his hands in mock exasperation.

“Another winning throw! Where does your luck come from, Arratay?”

The small trooper grinned happily as he raked in his earnings. He'd thrown three winning scores in a row and now there was a respectable pile of coins on the low table where the three of them were seated.

“Just my lucky day, I suppose,” he said, pushing forward a new wager and shaking the dice in their cup. The bone cubes rattled together, then he cast them onto the table.

“Double six again!” Jerrel said. “I don't believe it!” He looked at Kord. “I think we've got a professional in the tent.” Kord nodded gloomily, but Arratay merely laughed.

“Not me, boys. It's just clean living and a clear conscience. Want to raise the stakes?” He said it casually, but he noticed the quick, furtive look that passed between the two men.

Kord agreed, after a brief show of reluctance. “Well, I might be crazy, but why not? It'll give us a chance to win some of our money back.”

“Or I'll clean you out sooner.” Arratay smiled. He put another bet forward, waited till they matched it, then rolled again. Eleven this time, but still an automatic winner.

“Can't you roll anything but fives and sixes?” Jerrel said.

“Not when I'm running hot.” Arratay smiled again, but his eyes narrowed as this time, instead of letting him reclaim the dice, Kord picked them up and handed them to him. He's made the switch, Halt thought. He took the dice, placed them in the cup, shook them and rolled.

The other two gave an ironic cheer as the dice turned faceup to show a two and a one.

“Three!” said Jerrel. “And about time!”

It was a simple game. Eleven and twelve were automatic winners. Two and three were losers. Any other score didn't count. The gambler simply threw again until he won or lost. Halt grimaced as the others scooped in the money he'd bet. The dice passed to Jerrel and he threw a six. Then a four, then a two. Halt won back a small fraction of what he had lost on his last throw. Kord took the dice and fumbled as he placed them in the cup.

He's switched them again, Halt thought. And sure enough, Kord threw an eleven, then a twelve, winning two small hands, before switching the dice once more so that he lost, then handing the dice on to Halt. In the process of handing them over, he switched them again for the winning dice. The two cheats didn't want Arratay, as they thought he was called, losing enthusiasm too soon. The game went on, Halt winning some hands, losing others, but generally staying just ahead of breaking even.

The two cheats kept plying him with wine, which he surreptitiously managed to empty into an old boot when they weren't watching. But he pretended to become more and more affected by the drink, slurring his words and laughing foolishly when he won.

“Big day tomorrow,” he said after they had been playing for some time. “We're moving out early and heading south.”

His two companions reacted with surprise at that.

“South?” said Kord. “Why south? We're supposed to head home and disband.”

Halt shook his head and peered at them owlishly. “Not anymore. Not anymore,” he said, tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger. “The Wargals are putting up a stiffer resistance than expected. Morgarath has them under firm control again and Duncan needs extra men. We're them,” he added after a pause.

He could see that this news had the effect he'd desired. Kord and Jerrel exchanged a glance. Then Jerrel questioned him further.

“Where'd you hear this?” he asked.

Halt jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the administration section of the camp.

“At the cookhouse,” he said. “The cooks had taken delivery of extra rations to prepare for us.”

Now the two cheats looked thoroughly concerned. Cookhouse rumors were the source of much intelligence among the rank and file. And they had a reputation for accuracy. Halt, of course, had heard no such rumors. But he hoped that the thought of an imminent departure for the south might force Kord and Jerrel's hand. If they were planning to rob Daniel's farm, this might precipitate things.

He leaned forward, peering with bleary eyes at the table.

“Now where are those dice?” he asked. “It's my throw again.”

“Here you are,” Kord said, passing him the dice and throwing cup. He had just lost the last throw and it was Halt's turn again. Halt was reasonably sure that he'd been handed the losing dice. His suspicions were confirmed by Jerrel's next words.

“It's getting late,” he said. “Let's put it all on one last big pot. What do you say?”

Kord pretended to look doubtful. “It's up to Arratay.”

Halt shrugged. “Why not?” he said. “I feel my luck's coming back.”

They all shoved their remaining money into the center of the table. Halt reached for his tankard and took a deep swig—the biggest he'd had all night. Then, as he clumsily set the tankard down, he spilled the remaining wine on the table, flicking it toward Jerrel so that a red tide flowed across the rough wood and into his lap. Jerrel sprang backward with a curse.

“Look out!” he said.

“Sorry. Sorry,” Halt replied thickly. But in the confusion, he'd switched the losing dice for another pair that he'd had in his jerkin pocket. He'd prepared them that afternoon while he was supposed to be at the cookhouse, and they were shaved so that they would show a twelve at each throw.

He shook them, muttering to them as he did so, then spilled them out onto the table.

“Bad lu—” began Kord, already reaching for the money. Then he stopped as he saw two sixes gleaming up at him, like two sets of teeth in two tiny skulls.

“How did you . . . ?” Jerrel stopped as he realized he'd give the game away if he went any further. Arratay might be drunk. But he wasn't that drunk.

Halt grinned foolishly at the dice, and scooped them up. “Lucky dice!” he said. “I love these dice!”

He pretended to kiss them noisily, and switched them once more for the losing pair he'd been handed originally. That done, he slipped his own dice into his pocket and dropped the others back onto the table as he began to rake in his winnings.

“No hard feelings, boys,” he said. “I'll give you a chance for revenge tomorrow.”

“Yes. Of course. Tomorrow,” Kord said. But his tone told Halt that there would be no game the next night. And there'd be no sign of Kord or Jerrel, either.

 

Half an hour later, Halt lay on his back, breathing heavily and noisily through his mouth as he feigned sleep. His two tent mates were talking in lowered voices. They had waited until they were sure Halt was fully asleep. Kord was testing the dice, rolling them over and over again and constantly getting a losing score as a result.

“I don't understand,” he said quietly. “It's simply not possible for him to roll a twelve with these dice.”

“Careful,” Jerrel told him, casting a quick glance in Halt's direction. But his companion waved his caution aside.

“Aaah, he's out like a light,” he said. “Did you see how much he drank? He's full as a boot.”

Halt's mouth twitched slightly in amusement. There was definitely a full boot in the tent, he thought. His loud breathing was making it difficult to hear what the others were saying, so he stirred, muttered something and rolled onto his side, facing away from them. The snoring stopped as he was no longer on his back, but he kept his breathing deep and even. Kord and Jerrel hesitated as he stirred, but soon relaxed when it became obvious he hadn't woken.

Once again, Kord tested the dice. Once again, they rolled a three.

“Give it away,” Jerrel told him angrily. “It was an accident. They must have hit a crack or a dent in the tabletop. Besides, we've got more important things to think about.”

Reluctantly, Kord stowed the dice away in his pocket. “You mean this rumor about us heading south?”

Jerrel nodded. “Last thing we want is to get tied up in another campaign. It could go on for weeks, and we've got places to be. If we're held up, there's a chance that family members will arrive to help the widows and we'll miss our chance.”

Turned away from them as he was, Halt could allow himself a scowl of anger. It was true, he thought; the two of them were planning to rob the families of men killed in the battle.

“So what's your plan?” Kord asked.

Jerrel paused, then came to a decision.“I say we pull out tonight. We'll leave an hour or two before dawn and get on the road north. We'll hit the sergeant's farm first. That's the closest.”

“We'll be flogged if they catch us deserting,” Kord said, but Jerrel dismissed the protest.

“They won't catch us. With all the recent losses, odds are they won't even be sure we're gone.”

“Griff will know. I get a feeling he has his eye on us.”

Kord snorted derisively. “Griff will be too busy doing his job and the captain's job to worry about us. He'll probably think it's good riddance. Now let's turn in. We'll need to get started early.”

“What about him?” Jerrel asked, jerking a thumb toward Halt's still figure. Kord hesitated.

“I'd like to knock him on the head and take our money back,” he said. “But if we kill him, Griff will have to take notice of the fact. He'd be sure to send men after us. Best if we leave him.”