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I walked over and squatted on my heels before the mercenary. Kreeg was behind me, attempting to look menacing. He was doing an excellent job.

“Who is your master?” I asked into the outlaw’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

“He lies,” Kreeg said.

“Perhaps not,” I replied to the ex-fighting slave, though I didn’t take my eyes off the black-clad reiver. “Whoever is hiring these men seems not to want us knowing quite yet who it is that tasks us. But there are surely other things this one does know.

“Where were you hired?” I asked.

“I see no reason to answer.”

I reached out then, and touched a finger lightly to the braid at the left side of Graye’s face. It was, perhaps, six inches long, tightly wound. He jerked his head away and his lips tightened to white with anger.

“I prefer not to be touched,” he said.

“I am sure.”

I stood up. “Kreeg,” I called. “Cut off this braid with your axe.”

“Nay!” The mercenary who called himself Diken Graye was on his feet. He was prepared to attack me I saw, though he was weaponless and with his hands bound. I held up my own hand to Kreeg, stopping the big man as he started forward.

“You have lied to us,” I said to the prisoner. “A crime in my eyes and in yours.”

“I have not lied. I do not choose to answer. It is not the same.”

“You told me your name was Diken Graye. That is a lie.”

The mercenary’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

“A man new to Talera reads much,” I said. “Perhaps he reads of distant peoples who he might one day meet. He reads of history and customs. The war-braids of the Thorn Nomads are widely known. And it is said that Thorn warriors do not lie, on pain of having their hair shorn. By what name are you known among the nomads?”

The mercenary’s face would have made stony ground look inviting. His eyes were dark and savage. Only the scar at his chin revealed an emotion, one deeper than anger. It had flushed with blood.

“My name among the people was Chay-el Vayne,” he grated out.

“Was?”

“I am no longer that man. You see now that I did not lie to you. My name is Diken Graye. It is one that I have chosen.”

I would not ask him why. Such things were private and I doubted that he would answer anyway. Instead, I spoke to him of something else.

“This barge that you are on. These people. This river and the sky above. They are my world and you have endangered it. Whether you believe it or not, I know of honor. I would not ask you for anything you cannot give. But the questions I ask are important to me in a way that they cannot be to you. Answering them puts no stain on your service.”

Diken Graye, once known as Chay-el Vayne of the Thorn Nomads, considered for a moment. I could see him weighing thoughts of his hire against the request that I had made. Too, I thought from his demeanor, that perhaps he rather liked those of us here aboard this ship. He had seen our easy camaraderie, our willingness to sacrifice ourselves for each other. He must have felt the sense of purpose that animated our actions. These were things that he understood but must have seldom experienced since leaving his people.

“I was hired in Trazull,” he said after a moment. “On the Roshjavik Peninsula.”

“I have heard of it,” I said. “A free port where many such bargains are made. Did you know, when you attacked our airship, that the Princess of Nyshphal was aboard?”

Diken glanced at Rannon. I do not believe he could have pretended to the surprise he showed.

“No,” he said, looking back at me. “We were told to attack an airship near the Capital. Yours was the first one we found. Other than military craft there seem to be few vessels about.”

“As a result of your kind’s predations,” Rannon snapped.

Graye shrugged. “Mercenaries are paid to fight,” he said. “Most of us are decent men only trying to earn our hire.”

I could see from Rannon’s face that she did not accept the decency of most mercenaries. Yet, I believed myself that it was true.

“Have there been more of the explosive quarrels used in your attacks?” I asked.

“I heard much talk of magic weapons, but saw none until the quarrels were given to