things you need or want to know lad, but not things like that.” Turning, the big sergeant fixed Quintillian with a direct glance. “You want to know about the captain, you’ll have to ask him . And I’d recommend you get to know him a lot better first. D’you drink?”
Quintillian smiled. “I’ve been known to have a few glasses of wine after lunch.”
“Hah. Well never mind.” Athas grinned and proffered a flask. The boy took it curiously, unplugged the lid, and sniffed delicately at the contents. He recoiled in horror.
“What in the name of … What is that?”
The sergeant grinned.
“It’s something they make in the northlands” he laughed. “The captain introduced me to it many years ago. It tastes like someone scraping their boot on your tongue, but it grows on you and there’s nothing better for hiding the smell of fresh carnage and the taste of bile.”
Quintillian took a slight pull at the tip of the flask and the look of horror intensified. He made a hollow throaty noise, reminiscent of his earlier retching.
“That’s foul!”
“Isn’t it though?” Athas beamed. “Have more. It’ll do you good.”
The sergeant glanced down once more at the scene below the wall.
“Come on” he sighed. “Let’s get back to the house.”
The two of them wandered along the farmyard until they reached the front gate, where Athas collared Brendan.
“Can you take someone and dispose of the mess below the wall. I don’t think we want the kind of attention that brings. Let’s not leave a trail for anyone to follow.”
Brendan rubbed his shaved head unhappily, but nodded nonetheless.
“Aye” he said reluctantly. “S’right. We’ll sort it sarge.”
Kiva wandered back in through the gate as two of the soldiers left to deal with the mess. He eyed Athas and the boy thoughtfully.
“They were pretty good shots” he said to the boy. “Care to get up in one of those windows and keep watch for us? Four of Celio’s men were looking for our unit, so I’d bet there’ll be more out there.”
Quintillian looked up at Athas questioningly, and the sergeant nodded. The boy frowned.
“I don’t mind keeping watch sir, but I’m not sure I’m the right man for shooting people. I’ve never shot anything animate before other than rabbits and birds. I’m not really sure how I feel about what I’ve just done.”
Kiva narrowed his eyes.
“What you just did helped save the company” he replied, his voice firm but understanding. “Get used to it. There’ll be times in your life when you’ll need to be capable of acts of brutality.”
His frown deepened as his thoughts raced and the monologue continued inside his head ‘…and your family carry the most brutal of all madnesses.’
Instead, he forced a smile and slapped Athas on the shoulder.
“You’d best go with him and talk” he added. “You’re the sensitive sort. I just border on ‘don’t give a shit!’”
As Kiva wandered off to sit in the shade of an old haywain, Athas escorted the young man up the staircase to the top floor of the farmhouse. The wide balcony let in a great deal of light, though the window on the far wall stood shuttered, blocking the worst glare of the sun. Athas gestured to the balcony and the two chairs that sat there. The pair wandered over and made themselves comfortable, the sergeant with his feet up on the worryingly rickety balcony. He shifted his weight and dust and fragments of worm-eaten wood drifted down into the farmyard.
Quintillian glanced out of the corner of his eye at the now relaxed-looking sergeant. Athas rubbed his nose and then drew out his flask of brew. Taking a slug, he recorked it and returned it to its accustomed place on his belt.
The young man cleared his throat nervously and Athas realised another difficult question was looming over him.
“What now?”
Quintillian sat up straighter in the chair and turned to face the older man.
“Your flask” he said, “has some engraving on
Quintillian smiled. “I’ve been known to have a few glasses of wine after lunch.”
“Hah. Well never mind.” Athas grinned and proffered a flask. The boy took it curiously, unplugged the lid, and sniffed delicately at the contents. He recoiled in horror.
“What in the name of … What is that?”
The sergeant grinned.
“It’s something they make in the northlands” he laughed. “The captain introduced me to it many years ago. It tastes like someone scraping their boot on your tongue, but it grows on you and there’s nothing better for hiding the smell of fresh carnage and the taste of bile.”
Quintillian took a slight pull at the tip of the flask and the look of horror intensified. He made a hollow throaty noise, reminiscent of his earlier retching.
“That’s foul!”
“Isn’t it though?” Athas beamed. “Have more. It’ll do you good.”
The sergeant glanced down once more at the scene below the wall.
“Come on” he sighed. “Let’s get back to the house.”
The two of them wandered along the farmyard until they reached the front gate, where Athas collared Brendan.
“Can you take someone and dispose of the mess below the wall. I don’t think we want the kind of attention that brings. Let’s not leave a trail for anyone to follow.”
Brendan rubbed his shaved head unhappily, but nodded nonetheless.
“Aye” he said reluctantly. “S’right. We’ll sort it sarge.”
Kiva wandered back in through the gate as two of the soldiers left to deal with the mess. He eyed Athas and the boy thoughtfully.
“They were pretty good shots” he said to the boy. “Care to get up in one of those windows and keep watch for us? Four of Celio’s men were looking for our unit, so I’d bet there’ll be more out there.”
Quintillian looked up at Athas questioningly, and the sergeant nodded. The boy frowned.
“I don’t mind keeping watch sir, but I’m not sure I’m the right man for shooting people. I’ve never shot anything animate before other than rabbits and birds. I’m not really sure how I feel about what I’ve just done.”
Kiva narrowed his eyes.
“What you just did helped save the company” he replied, his voice firm but understanding. “Get used to it. There’ll be times in your life when you’ll need to be capable of acts of brutality.”
His frown deepened as his thoughts raced and the monologue continued inside his head ‘…and your family carry the most brutal of all madnesses.’
Instead, he forced a smile and slapped Athas on the shoulder.
“You’d best go with him and talk” he added. “You’re the sensitive sort. I just border on ‘don’t give a shit!’”
As Kiva wandered off to sit in the shade of an old haywain, Athas escorted the young man up the staircase to the top floor of the farmhouse. The wide balcony let in a great deal of light, though the window on the far wall stood shuttered, blocking the worst glare of the sun. Athas gestured to the balcony and the two chairs that sat there. The pair wandered over and made themselves comfortable, the sergeant with his feet up on the worryingly rickety balcony. He shifted his weight and dust and fragments of worm-eaten wood drifted down into the farmyard.
Quintillian glanced out of the corner of his eye at the now relaxed-looking sergeant. Athas rubbed his nose and then drew out his flask of brew. Taking a slug, he recorked it and returned it to its accustomed place on his belt.
The young man cleared his throat nervously and Athas realised another difficult question was looming over him.
“What now?”
Quintillian sat up straighter in the chair and turned to face the older man.
“Your flask” he said, “has some engraving on
Similar Books
