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ENLISTING AID

The congregation of so many grawligs worried Sir Dar and Bardon.

“Who’s bringing them together?” asked Sir Bardon as they sat in their headquarters tent. “And why?”

“We need a spy.” Dar cocked an eyebrow at Bardon.

“You’re thinking of Leetu’s friend, aren’t you?”

Sir Dar’s ears twitched.

Bardon tapped the papers he held in one hand on the side of the table. “These are notes from the far reaches of Amara. They all say the bisonbecks are becoming outrageous in their defiance of district laws. Their troops openly mock Paladin’s authority.”

“Leetu has known Latho for two years.”

“I don’t trust him.” He tossed the papers on his mentor’s desk.

Dar didn’t move to pick them up. “He can’t fool Regidor, you know.”

“That should be reassuring, but trusting a bisonbeck is like putting your head in a mountain cat’s mouth and saying, ‘Don’t bite.’ It’s against the cat’s nature not to bite.”

“You are leaving Wulder out of the equation.”

Bardon shrugged. “Wulder rarely changes a bentleaf tree into a fruit tree.”

“Ah, but He could if He wanted to. And He changes caterpillars into butterflies all the time. Thousands, millions, billions of butterflies, and they all started as lumpy worms.”

Bardon shifted his lower jaw to one side, then let it ease back into a normal position. “Wulder planned for caterpillars and tadpoles and grip-pets to change.”

Dar nodded. “And you don’t think that He might have planned for one measly bisonbeck to change?”

Bardon stood, arched his back, rolled his shoulders, and picked up the papers he’d tossed on the table. “A principle: ‘It is generous to believe your enemy capable of doing good, and prudent to watch his actions.’”

“So we use him to spy on this collection of grawligs?”

Blowing out a stream of pent-up air, Bardon scowled. “I don’t like it, but you’re in charge.”

Dar’s eyes twinkled, and he twisted his lips into a wry grin. “There is that.”


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The ride into town on Greer’s wide back lifted Bardon’s spirits. He left the dragon in a field of sweetgrass while he searched for Leetu Bends and Latho. He found them walking back from the docks. The big bisonbeck’s head drooped, and his slumped shoulders added to his air of dejection.

“Did you find out about Latho’s brother?” Bardon asked Leetu Bends.

She bit her lower lip. “Yes, he was lost at sea during the quiss fiasco.”

Bardon looked at the forlorn man by her side. Latho didn’t wear leather armor, but a cloth suit with a pale yellow shirt and brown tie. He didn’t wear boots, but laced-up leather shoes. He didn’t glare at Bardon with haughty scorn but shuffled his feet in the dusty street and studied the ground.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Latho.” Bardon wondered what else to say. “I’m afraid our attack on the quiss caused the uninjured quiss to go berserk.”

The bisonbeck didn’t look up. “If my brother had crossed your path in battle, you would most likely be dead.” He took a deep breath and released it. “My sorrow is that my people live by hate. When they die, they will live in the same condition. Anger builds in them, and they release it by hurting something or someone. After death, I believe the same rage will boil but be contained, burning and devouring the one who is angry.”

Leetu patted the big man’s arm. “It does not sound to me like a pleasant way to spend your existence.”

Bardon waited, wondering if the man would further unburden his grief, or if Leetu Bends would offer words of comfort or encouragement. Neither spoke.

“Well.” Bardon searched for something to say. “Were you going somewhere?”

Leetu Bends pointed up the street. “To that hotel.”

“I have something I need to talk to you about. Something that should not be overheard.”

“Then we will go to The End of the Day,” said Latho.

Bardon guessed, “A tavern?”

“No, the place where the ashes of the dead are hurled into the air. In this town it’s overlooking the bay.”

He started walking, and Bardon fell into step beside him, stretching his stride to keep up. Leetu Bends trotted along on the other side of her bisonbeck friend. Bardon had never heard of The End of the Day. In The Hall he’d learned more about the bisonbeck’s military tactics than their cultural habits.

“Why do you call it The End of the Day?” he asked.

For a moment he thought he had offended Latho. The merchant’s face grew grim. He answered after they’d traveled a few yards farther up the road. “It is the point where one leaves this existence and enters the night.” He grunted. “Most bisonbecks believe there is no morning after this night. But Leetu revealed the truth to me. It is hard to adjust one’s thinking. I am fortunate that Wulder stretched out His hand and pulled me into His dominion.”

When they reached a cliff overlooking the choppy waters, Latho stopped. Leetu Bends sat on a large boulder to catch her breath.

“I am sorry, my little friend.” The bisonbeck merchant cupped his big hand over her reddish blond head. “My mind was on something else, and I didn’t remember your short legs.”

“I’m disgusted,” wheezed Leetu Bends.

“I am sorry.”

“No, not with you. With me.” The emerlindian panted between words. “I am out of condition. I would fail the physical tests at The Hall. I used to be able to run for miles.”

Bardon smiled. “Too long sitting in houses, making polite conversation.”

“Ha!” said Leetu Bends. “I spent about five years in a dungeon—very little room for exercise. Still, I could have done my forms more conscientiously.”

Bardon’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead. “You didn’t do your forms?”

“Don’t judge me, Bardon. I know I would have done better if I had maintained the discipline. But instead, I got very good at making excuses. ‘The guards will see me. The other prisoners will wonder. I’ll do forms tonight in the dark.’ Then I fell onto my mat when night arrived and slept like a black-nosed sloth.”

“I’m not judging.”

Leetu Bends grinned. “No, the well-trained knight in service to Paladin does not judge me. It is the lonely, abandoned schoolboy underneath who does.”

Bardon started to protest, shrugged, and said, “You’ve become more perceptive during your work among the people of Creemoor.”

“There’s very little entertainment in prison. Listening to people was part of my job. Studying them became my hobby. I learned exactly where they hurt and offered the knowledge of Wulder to soothe their wounds.”

“And,” said Latho in his deep voice, “she was very good at it.” He faced Bardon. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

“I do.”

Bardon explained the necessity to discover what caused the grawligs to gather and what they were planning to do next. Latho agreed to help.

Bardon’s suspicions mushroomed. “Why do you offer to help even before I ask?”

“Being born a bisonbeck was my curse. Now that I follow Wulder, being a bisonbeck is a gift. I can go where you may not.”

“Let him do it,” urged Leetu Bends. “I keep telling him he doesn’t have to prove to Wulder that he is loyal, but he keeps doing it. He says it makes him feel good.”

“I don’t do these things to show Wulder I am His servant. I do it to show myself that I have this honorable position. I didn’t deserve it. How can it be mine?”

Leetu shrugged. “Just because Wulder wanted you.”

The bisonbeck’s frame sagged. He breathed in and out twice and then seemed to inflate. His head came up, his spine straightened, and he lifted his head. “I will do whatever He asks. He knows I will do this, and I know.”

The bisonbeck charged down the hill toward the seaport.

“Hey!” called Bardon. “Where are you going?”

“I must find who sends supplies to these grawligs.”

Bardon ran to catch up with him. “Grawligs don’t buy supplies. They scavenge from the countryside and farmers.”

Latho clamped a hand on Bardon’s shoulder and gave it a crushing, but friendly, squeeze. “This is why I am the spy. You do not know how the armies of Burner Stox and Crim Cropper work.”

Bardon rotated the arm and shoulder that had been squashed in the big merchant’s grip. “I’ve never even seen Crim Cropper’s troops.”

“That does not surprise me. He has only a token military. The evil wizard enjoys his work and isn’t pursuing ruling the world.”

“But Burner Stox is?”

“Oh yes. I think that was the root of their argument. She wanted him to come out and storm through the country, conquering all. He wanted to do one more experiment.”

“You know this?” asked Bardon, barely keeping the skepticism out of his tone.

“It is a speculation founded in multiple reports, some more trustworthy than others.”

Leetu Bends dashed up beside them. “What are you talking about?”

Latho grunted. “I am teaching your friend. He says grawligs forage food and steal from the farmers. But when you have this many of the oafs in one place, purloining can’t support them. So whichever personage gathered them will feed them. And I will deliver supplies myself to get into their camp.”

“Won’t you stick out as the only bisonbeck in a horde of grawligs?” asked Bardon.

“There will be bisonbeck soldiers there,” Latho assured him.

“No one reported bisonbeck soldiers to me.”

“Still, they will be there. Whoever gathered the grawligs, whoever feeds them, will watch them. I must get there and discover who sends them, where they are to be sent, and to what purpose.”

“I’ll go with you,” said Bardon.

“Me too,” said Leetu Bends.

The bisonbeck stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Why?”

“This situation smells of a major enemy push of some kind,” Bardon said. “It’s not something we can ignore. It may be something that must be countered immediately without the delay of reports gathered and studied. Leetu Bends and I will assess the significance on the spot.”

“And you were worried about me being conspicuous?” Latho laughed and started off for town again. “Come,” he said, “if you must. I shall disguise you as a loaf of bread, a side of beef. No, I have it—as a barrel.”