Free Dreams of Steel (Chronicle of the Black Company) by Glen Cook

had a stomach strong enough to let them take a close look. Blade, though, seemed to have no sense of smell.
    He returned. Swan said, “You look green around the gills.”
    “Not much but bones left. Been a while. Two hundred, three hundred men. Hard to tell now. Animals been at them. One thing. No heads.”
    “Eh?”
    “No heads. Somebody cut them off.”
    Smoke moaned, then chucked his breakfast. His mount shied.
    “No heads?” Swan asked. “I don’t get it.”
    Mather said, “I’ve got an idea. Come on.” He rode south, toward where crows circled, dipped, and squabbled.
    They found the heads.
    Blade asked, “Want to get a count?” He chuckled.
    “No. Let’s drop in on our friends.”
    Smoke made protesting noises.
    Cordy asked, “You still hot to trot with your proud beauty?”
    Swan couldn’t think of a flip answer. “Maybe I’m starting to see Smoke’s viewpoint. Don’t let me get on her bad side.”
    Blade said, “Only a mile to their camp straight up the road.”
    Swan snorted. “We’ll go around, thank you.”
    After they crossed the game ford, Mather suggested, “Suppose we go up the road a ways and come down like we don’t know nothing about back there? See what they say if they think we just rode in.”
    “Stop whining, Smoke,” Swan said. “Go with it. You got no choice. You’re right, Cordy. It’ll give us a clue if she’s going to play games.”
    They rode north till they were behind a rise, turned west to the road, then turned south. They were almost back to the crest when Mather, in the lead, yelled, “Yo! Look out!”

Chapter Fourteen
    We crossed the creek into the wood, walking our mounts behind Sindhu, who had scouted till he knew every leaf and twig of the surrounding terrain. He led us along a meandering game trail which paralleled the creek going westward. I wondered what had become of the game. We hadn’t seen anything bigger than a squirrel. A few native deer might have eased the food problem, though neither Gunni nor Shadar touch meat.
    It was a long walk. My companions grumbled and bickered.
    The watching presence centered on a grove on a knoll whence it would be possible to observe events in our camp. I’d lapsed. I’d been thinking too far ahead. If I’d had the sense of a goose I’d have had a squad posted there. The outlying pickets were too scattered to spot everything moving in the area, even if people weren’t sneaking around. Fugitives slipped through all the time. They left their traces.
    I had a good idea what I’d find on that knoll. Somebody from up north who’d heard rumors and had gotten worried that I might be trouble. I meant to be a lot, for the Shadowmasters and anybody who got between us.
    We crossed the creek a few miles downstream, out of sight of the knoll, moved back to the east, and discovered that there was no way to approach the grove unseen the last third of a mile. I told the men, “All we can do is ride straight at it. Let’s do it without getting in a hurry. Maybe they won’t run till we’re so close they can’t get away.”
    I didn’t know if they could control themselves. The excitement had them again. They were pumped up, scared and eager.
    “Let’s go.”
    We’d covered half the open ground when the watchers flushed like quail. “Shadar,” somebody noted.
    Yes. Mounted Shadar, in uniform, cavalry equipped. “Jahamaraj Jah’s men!” I snapped.
    The men cursed. Even those who were Shadar.
    Jah was the leading Shadar priest in Taglios. Croaker’s doing. Jah’s concession to his debt hadn’t lasted through the fighting at Dejagore. He and his cavalry had abandoned the field while the outcome was in question. Most of the men had seen them run, or had heard. I’d been pushing the idea that the battle would’ve been ours had Jah stood his ground.
    It could be true. Jah had contributed nothing when a feather’s weight might have tilted the balance.
    I thought he’d run because he’d suffered an opportunistic