The Bristling Wood - Katharine Kerr [45]
“This is the worst scrap I’ve ever fought.” The captain’s voice was halfway between a growl and a whisper. “Well, what else did I expect? That’s what we’re for, this dishonored pack of dogs, thrown out ahead of everyone. It’s going to happen again, lads. Again and again.”
Since the herbed mead was making Maddyn’s head swim, he had to bend all his will to understand what Caradoc was saying. Aethan put one arm around him and helped him sit up.
“It’s a fine short life we’re going to have,” the captain went on. “Ah, horseshit and a pile of it! Now listen, Maddo. I know you rode into that scrap with no guts for it, and I honor you. That’s enough. You’ve proved you’re not a coward, so stay out of it from now on. A bard’s too valuable a man to lose.”
“Can’t. What kind of honor would I have?”
“Honor?” Caradoc tossed his head back and howled with high-pitched laughter. “Honor! Listen to you! You don’t have any honor, you god-cursed little bastard! None of us do. Haven’t you listened to one piss-poor word I’ve been saying? No noble lord sends men with honor into a suicide charge, but they sent us, and I took it because I had to. We’ve got as much honor as a pack of whores: all that counts is how good we fuck. So stay out of it from now on.” He laughed again, but the pitch was closer to his deep-voiced normal tone. “Listen, when my Wyrd takes me, I want to know that there’s a man still alive who can take over whatever’s left of the troop. You pack of whoreson bastards are the only thing I have in life, and blasted if I know why, but I want to know the rottenassed troop will last longer than I do. From now on, bard, you’re my heir.”
Caradoc got up and strode away. Maddyn slumped back and felt the world spin around him.
“Do what he says,” Aethan growled.
Maddyn tried to answer but fainted instead.
By the time the army returned to Maenoic’s dun, another man in Caradoc’s troop had died. That left eleven, plus Caradoc himself, Otho, and Caudyr, to huddle dispiritedly in a corner of a barracks that had once housed nearly forty of them. The war over, Lord Maenoic turned generous, telling Caradoc that he was welcome to his shelter until his remaining wounded (Maddyn and Stevyc) were ready to ride. He also promptly paid over the negotiated wages and even added a couple of silver pieces as a bonus.
“Bastard,” Caradoc remarked. “If he hadn’t hired me to do it for him, he would have had to lead that charge himself, and his piss-proud noble lordship knows it.”
“He’d be dead, too,” Maddyn said. “He’s not half the man on the field that you are.”
“Don’t flatter the captain, you whelp of a bard, but as a cold, hard assessment, like, you’re right enough.”
After a day or two in bed, Maddyn was well enough to go down to the great hall for dinner. Caradoc and his men sat together as far away from the rest of the warband as they could, drank hard, and said next to nothing, not even each other. Occasionally Caradoc would try to joke with his demoralized pack, but it was a hard thing to smile in answer to him. When Maddyn grew too tired to sit up, the captain helped him back to the barracks. Otho was already there, twining the rings of a bit of shattered mail by lantern light.
“I’ve been thinking, smith,” Caradoc said. “Remember our jest about the silver daggers? We’ve got a good bit of extra coin. Is it enough to make us some?”
“Mayhap, but how am I going to work metal on the road?”
“We’ll be sheltering here for at least one week, and if Maddyn and Stevyc groan and moan like dying men, we can eke out another. There’s a forge here in the dun, and the blacksmith says it’s a good one.”
Otho considered, running gnarled fingers through his beard. “You need somewhat to pick the lads up a bit,” the dwarf said at last.
“I do, and my own spirits could use a little raising, for that matter. A silver dagger—it’s a nice bit of jewelry for a man to wear.” Caradoc paused to stare into the hearth fire for a long moment. “I’m beginning to get an idea. Do you know this troop is going to survive? By being