Free Scourge of the Betrayer by Jeff Salyards Page A

that was pulled tight across the frames was dyed blue. Four horses pulling, with his other two tethered to the side, as before.
    The other Syldoon were mounted near the front of the wagon. As I approached, I heard Braylar addressing Mulldoos, “I’ve heard your reservations, weighed them, and found them too slight to burden me just now.”
    Mulldoos looked about as pleased as a man who rolled around in rashleaf. “Course you did, Cap. That’s what you do. But it’s not just me thinking this here. The gray goat, the other two, we all of us think the same. Maybe you didn’t need guard detail coming to Rivermost—though, when it comes to it, I’m sure you did there too—but you sure as shit need detail going out.”
    Braylar shook his head. “We’ve discussed this. And now we’re done discussing. You ride ahead. Lloi will accompany me. We’ll take a different route. No detail is necessary. You’re needed ahead. I must get there undetected. It isn’t so very complicated.”
    “Me and Hew can handle what’s ahead. At least keep Ven and Gless with you. Not much, but you get in a scrap, even two more—”
    “I need stealth. You need speed. Every moment you delay puts the entire enterprise at risk. This discussion is over. Ride out.”
    Mulldoos spit in the dirt. “Going on record—this idea stinks worse than a dead leper whore.”
    “So noted. We’ll meet up in five days time at the Grieving Dog.”
    Mulldoos looked ready to argue or spit some more, but spun his horse in a circle instead and spurred it off to the street. Vendurro and Glesswik followed. Hewspear rode over to the bench and looked at Braylar. “You know it pains me to say it, but Mulldoos might have the right of it on this point. Traveling with a scribe and crippled girl for protection isn’t especially safe.” He lowered his voice. “Not with the cargo you carry.”
    Captain Killcoin watched the others head out of the yard. “I value your input, Lieutenant, as always. Now safe journeys to you as well. Five days time.” He nodded, and Hewspear did the same, though with a small smile playing on his lips.
    After Hewspear rode off, Braylar looked down at me and arched a dark eyebrow. “You don’t look particularly well rested.”
    I replied, “It wasn’t the most restful night.”
    “At least your belly is full, yes?”
    I said, “It was fine, if you like a little peas and grain with your oil.”
    “There’s a basket of plums behind your seat. They’re a very nice plum color, although not having tried one I can’t vouch for their taste. Beside the basket there’s some dried goatmeat, and beside the goat, flasks of coppery water and watery wine. They’re indistinguishable. Flasks and taste.”
    Balancing my satchel as best I could, I climbed up into the back of the wagon and made my way inside. I wasn’t certain how long our journey was going to be, but if the supplies were any indication, it was meant to last half of forever. There was what passed for a narrow path between miscellaneous boxes, barrels, buckets, sacks of grain, and a large chest. Hanging from a variety of hooks, large and small, were copper pots, a shovel and a hand axe, as well as several curious bunches of dried herbs and plants that smelled of mint and lemons. I wondered if they were for cooking or keeping insects at bay.
    I set my satchel and bedroll alongside a barrel and was about to settle down when the wagon started forward and I nearly fell on my face. I regained my balance, moved to the front, pulled the flap aside, and took my seat alongside him, just as we came to a stop again. Syrie’s brother Martiss was standing below us and Braylar said, “You kept your face intact. You must have done something right.”
    The boy patted the flank of one of the harnessed horses. “That one tethered, nasty as could be, just like you said, but after a time she and me worked something out. Others were easy enough.”
    Braylar opened his pouch. “You can be sure