Free The Wanderer's Tale by David Bilsborough Page A

plug from the floor of Wintus Hall. Within just ten minutes the company were staring at an audience of no more than thirty men. As the last Peladane stormed out of the hall, he yelled back at the Warlord: ‘How can you allow this infidel to speak thus?’ Artibulus stared expressionlessly at the man, who quickly continued his exit. Soon, all that could be heard of the departing Peladane were his echoing footfalls, and then were all gone. Finwald’s grandiose plans went out of the door with them.
    The remainder sat uncomfortably on the desolate benches, each with an embarrassingly large empty space to either side of him. Gapp noted with displeasure that the grim-faced mercenary with the crow’s feathers sticking out of his hood still showed no signs of leaving.
    There was a profound silence in the chamber, interrupted only by the occasional cough from one of the diminished audience. Nibulus began drumming his fingers on the table-top; Gapp wanted to bury his head in his hands.
    ‘Well,’ announced Finwald, ‘as I was saying—’
    ‘I wouldn’t say anything,’ Nibulus interrupted. ‘We’ve lost enough of them as it is.’
    Finwald frowned and lowered the brim of his hat to cover his eyes.
    Then Appa spoke up coldly, ‘Well, what are you lot waiting for? If none of you believes this is any more than fairytale nonsense, why don’t you just leave too?’ There was a distinct note of challenge above the defeat in his voice.
    Methuselech, perhaps feeling sorry for his friends at the table, stood up and replied simply: ‘Because we don’t believe this is nonsense.’
    ‘No,’ interjected another. ‘The Wintus family has too great a reputation to risk throwing it away on the dreamed-up fantasy of some upstart mage-priest.’ He then stood down, happy with himself for managing to insult both Finwald and the Wintuses in one statement. But at least it seemed their scanty audience was willing to hear more.
    Nibulus stood up and tried a different tack, one which he knew was more likely to win them over than any sense of obligation, and that was pay ! Warlord Artibulus did, after all, control exceedingly large amounts of money.
    Ah , now you’re talking. Artibulus nodded in approval.
    Terms and conditions of service, estimated duration, individual precedence, all these Nibulus outlined as briefly as possible, and left till the end the thorny subject of finally destroying the rawgr-lord Drauglir, assuming he was even still alive. But before he could expand on that, he was interrupted by one of the remaining soldiers.
    ‘We don’t know if that thing is still alive, and to be honest I couldn’t give a damn any more. So long as we get properly paid, that’s all I’m bothered about, but we still have to work out how to kill him before we get there. If he’s still about, there’s no way then I’m going to stand around while you lot are still bickering about how to destroy him.’
    Nibulus sighed. ‘Look, if it pleases you, we can use every method suggested to us: pierce the heart and brain with silver, and also with a magical blade; set the bugger alight, drown him in gravy, stick a billhook up his backside, whatever . . . I can pass round a sheet of parchment right now and you can all write down any method you want. That way everyone should be satisfied, so long as we’re properly equipped beforehand. Finwald . . . ?’
    ‘My method,’ Finwald replied, holding up a silver shortsword. ‘I possess no magical blade, so have had this one made.’
    ‘This is all very well,’ butted in the last soldier irritably, ‘but according to my count we’ve listed no less than eleven different ways to kill the bastard. Exactly how long is it going to take to complete all of those, and just what is Drauglir going to be up to while we’re doing all this to him?’
    ‘Twelve ways,’ corrected Appa, and all heads turned towards him.
    ‘Oh yes,’ Nibulus said, ‘I was wondering when we’d get round to Bolldhe.’
    The