MERCS:

  Wade | Twerk | The Bowman | Greenblade | Usa | Izil | Auntie | Mila | The Explorer | Bletcher | The Hoffmeister | Pecs | Fortune

  The Rotten Apples had suddenly grown in size. No doubt Stiff was pleased. But Ashlyn didn’t like it.

  Three of the new recruits were ex-Blades. When the thirteen of them left Avolo, they immediately kept company with Usa and Izil. It was natural enough, she supposed. But immediately, the squad felt divided. She found herself wondering who would win if it came to a fight.

  Usa and Izil she didn’t mind. They had encouraged her to fight with a spear, as part of a shieldwall. But beyond that, they were too reserved to get close to. When the two brothers spoke with their old comrades, it wasn’t long before they were glancing at Greenblade at her belt. She didn’t think they were plotting to kill her and dump her in a ditch. At the same time, if she ended up in said ditch, she doubted they would care very much, except to take her sword for themselves.

  She and Christoph were close now. Femke, of course, was on their side. Christoph’s aunt was, in turn, close with the thief, Wade. Mila and Jaelin she considered friends. Though she noticed the girl casting appreciative looks at the big man, named Pecs of all things. She and Twerk had never really hit it off. But she sensed that he was also uncomfortable with the situation. He swung between giving everyone orders, and sulking when he was ignored.

  Stiff hadn’t put anyone in charge. He’d just sent them all off to the barrow The Explorer had found. Being the only one who knew the location did give Jaelin a certain amount of authority.

  When they stopped for the first night’s rest, she resolved to talk with the other newcomer. Bizarrely, Stiff had him bathed before they set off. Cleaned up, he looked her age, which made him more approachable.

  ‘Bletcher, isn’t it?’ she asked him.

  ‘Probably not. I answer to it,’ he said. He sat cross-legged, the staff Stiff had given him laid across his legs. ‘But the gods took my name. Most likely, at the same time when they took my arm.’

  Ashlyn struggled to make sense of that. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. If the gods choose you, it’s a wondrous thing.’

  ‘I suppose.’ She eyed his staff. ‘That means you have magic? Spells, and the like?’

  ‘Spells?’ he repeated, as if scoffing at the idea. ‘I have no spells. I have sight beyond sight, and knowledge beyond knowledge.’

  ‘How does that work then?’

  He screwed his eyes at her, as if trying to figure her out. ‘You ask all the wrong questions.’ He dipped his one arm into his cloak and retrieved an odd looking item.

  It had been made from straw—some strands used to tie it together and shape the object. It showed some skill, especially if Bletcher had made it with only one hand. But while she could appreciate that some skill had gone into it, she had no idea what it was supposed to be. And it looked spooky.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A gift.’

  ‘Oh.’ She took it from him. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He held out his hand. ‘Tuppence, please.’

  ‘But you just said it was a gift.’

  ‘A gift I took great care over.’

  ‘That’s not how gifts work.’ She placed it on the ground between them. ‘Either it’s a gift, freely given, or an item you wish to sell. It can’t be both.’

  He screwed his eyes at her. ‘You see the world all wrong. An object can be two things. Just like people.’

  The thing—it still didn’t have a name—lay there, demanding a response. Take me, or leave me? It asked. Pay him, or don’t pay him? It was a trick; a trap; and whatever she did might be wrong.

  She took it, refused to pay, and left.

  Reaching Eisenberg reminded her of Manslayer, and a sense of loss ate at her. Still, the town seemed to be thriving. They were invited into the smithy, where Henrik had been busy since they were last there. There was a choice of weapons; even more useful, pieces of armour with which they could upgrade their current setup. Ashlyn stuck with her leather jerkin and trews, since it offered her the best combination of protection and weight. But the others said goodbye to their cheap gambesons, substituting them for leather or metal. The only one who kept their padded armour was Bletcher, and she had no desire to consider what reasons he might have for the decision.

  Henrik looked Pecs up and down with a wry smile. No doubt the smith only rarely met men who made him feel small. ‘Nothing to fit you, I’m afraid,’ he told him. ‘But I can take your measurements, and work on something. I’d see it as something of a challenge.’

  ‘I would be most grateful for your efforts,’ the big man rumbled.

  He seemed humble enough, and Ashlyn supposed there was a chance he was alright.

  They dined at the Pig and Iron. Femke caught Ashlyn looking across at the table where the ex-Blades had finished their meal. Fortune and Pecs were drinking; the other three weren’t.

  ‘You don’t trust them?’

  ‘It’s that obvious?’

  ‘Young people tend not to hide their thoughts as much as old maids like me.’

  ‘Huh. You’re not old.’

  ‘Why don’t you go over and speak to them?’

  Ashlyn’s natural instinct was to refuse. But she didn’t like the idea of ducking a challenge. She picked up her spear and strode over.

  ‘These two have been trying to teach me the spear,’ she said, indicating the Alinko brothers. ‘I still suck.’

  ‘May I say,’ said The Hoffmeister, ‘that is because you have selected very poor teachers. Let me instruct you.’

  ‘You’re no better than me,’ Usa responded.

  ‘The mistake,’ said Fortune, ‘is less with the teacher than the choice of weapon. Why waste your time on spear lessons when you could have that beautiful sword in your hand?’

  There was a scraping sound as Pecs stood from the table, and claimed his pike, which he had leaned against the wall of the inn. He brandished it with a grin. ‘Call that a spear?’

  He had a point. His weapon was at least twice the length.

  More scraping of chairs, and the lot of them were grabbing weapons and shields, then bowling outside to the dusty courtyard.

  They began to practise, as one emphasised the importance of a well aimed riposte; another the integrity of the shieldwall; while Fortune decried the use of such weapons as beneath him.

  The rest of the Apples, and a good number of the inn’s customers, came out to watch them go at it.

  Before long, Ashlyn had a smile on her face.