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stumps were a dark brown. Blade would have wagered that the man was a rogue, a
thief or worse. This did not bother him. Such men had their uses. There was
something about the man that he liked even on such short acquaintance an
independent spirit, a blithe "go to hell" attitude that appealed. And the man
was shrewd. Blade found that out now.
The question came in a hoarse half-whisper. The black eye patch, it was over
the left eye, glinted at
Blade as Nob spoke without turning his head. Nor did his lips seem, to move.
"Who might you be, sir? What do you do in Thyrne in a uniform three sizes too
small for your heft? I
aided ye back yonder, but now I begin to have second thoughts. And I warn
ye if ye be Samostan I'll set about you and do your business the same as ye
did the sergeant. So speak to old Nob. Who be ye?"
By his way of speaking he had served time in jail. This rather pleased Blade.
The man might make a staunch subordinate if he could win him over. And
remember not to trust him.
"I'll answer all your questions in time," Blade said. "You answer me one
now why do you call me
'sir'?"
"Because ye'll never be a common soldier. I've but one good eye and I saw that
at first glance. It lies in your manner that you are no commoner, sir. And in
your act when the sergeant struck you aye, that was the real giveaway. A
common soldier would have taken the blow and grumbled about it might even have
gotten his dagger into the sergeant some dark night. But you followed your
nature, sir, and that nature was to strike back then and there."
The man was observant, Blade thought. And certainly shrewd. But sometimes
shrewdness could be a mask for cunning. He must go carefully with this fellow.
And above all he must establish their relationship, if there was to be one,
from the outset.
So he smiled at Nob and said, "You are right in some matters. I am a stranger
in this land. I am no
Thyrnian and certainly no Samostan. I came into the midst of this battle by
accident and, since beggars do not have choices, I go along with this
raggle-taggle army until my mind is clearer about matters. In that, Nob, you
may be able to help me. If so, and all goes well, you will not be the loser by
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it. That is all I
can promise now, for you know the chanciness of events as well as I do."
They tramped along in silence while Nob considered Blade's words. They were
winding through a maze of poor streets franked by deserted hovels. The smoke
pall here was lighter and there was a stink of feces and garbage in the
smudged air. Blade wrinkled his nose, and was again reminded of Nob's
sharpness, for that worthy laughed and said, "Another sign that ye are
gentleman, sir. Your nose is too good for the smell hereabout. Not that I
blames you, mind. Faugh! I could never bide it myself. And I
born not a street from here. Look ye when we pass this next turn. Sharply now,
sir, for 'tis only an alley and easy to miss. But for the stink. There you
see?"
It was a dark hole, shoulder-wide and leading back between the
shabby houses. It was cobble-floored and in the middle was a tunnel of
filth of every description; the stench it emitted was distinctive even in the
surrounding fetid atmosphere. Blade had time for a glance and they were past
it. It occurred to him that he was no longer in much danger from the army of
Samosta they would be in no hurry to occupy these slums.
Nob laughed, not a pleasant sound. "Me birthplace, that. No secret about where
come from, sir."
I
Blade, ignoring the probe, said, "Your home was back there? Your family?"
This time there was a trace of genuine mirth in Nob's laugh. He roared and
slapped his hand against his thigh. Men just ahead of them turned to stare.
"Home, ye say? Home was it? Aye, a home I had. In the shit ditch ye just saw.
I was dropped like any foal in the field, only my mother did not stay to lick
me dry and give me the tit. She bore me and tossed me in the ditch to perish.
Aye, I had a home if ye call it that!"
Blade believed the man. He said, "Yet you lived. How was this?"
The eye patch swiveled toward him. Nob scowled. "I know what I was told when I
came of age to understand. Nothing more. The story goes that I was picked up
by a drab, some poor poxy whore, and taken into a brothel to live." The scowl
vanished. Nob grinned and spat. " 'Tis like to be true, for certainly
I was raised in a brothel. I have no memory of the poor lass who found me and
was my second mother. I
was told she died of pox nearly afore I was weaned. You can see, my master,
that I have had a chancy life and so death, when it comes, will be no great
surprise. Yet I am in no hurry to search it out. Look yonder across Beggar's
Square the north gate! May be that old Gongor will get us out of this yet."
The detail of wounded stragglers, of which Blade was a part, came last into
the great square. There was a little drifting smoke, no fire, and the last of
the moon limned the cobbles and an inner square of booths and stalls that must
be, in normal times, a sort of thieves' market. Gongor and the Captain were
aligning their men to one side of these stalls. Beyond, on the distant side of
the square, Blade saw a high stone wall into which was set a wooden gate. The
gate was closed but not barred. Blade was instantly uneasy. His keen eyes
sought the bars that should have been in the slots and could not find them. As
he stared he thought he saw the gate move.
Blade did not like it. He had nothing to go on but his instinct, yet his sense
of vague disquiet grew with each passing second. That gate should have been
barred. Where were the bars?
Another sergeant, a long-nosed, narrow-eyed man, came back to sort out those
able to fight and integrate them into the front ranks. Gongor knew there might
be Samostan cavalry lurking outside the city he had said as much and they
might sortie straight into a trap. The salt marshes, and freedom, were not yet
won. Blade long accustomed to command, could understand Gongor's problems.
Blade let his glance roam around the huge square. He counted six streets,
mostly narrow lanes, leading into it. They dodged abruptly away from the
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