Scourge of the Betrayer by Jeff Salyards Read Free Book Online

but dung, Hornling, but I welcome you to try.”
    Scolin, who for mysterious reasons was called Red despite the light locks, looked down at the unconscious soldier. A small puddle of blood was pooling around his head, mixing with the ale. Red Scolin nudged the man with his foot, and he moaned. Red Scolin sighed. “Lunter’s as big an ass as you’ll find when he’s got ale in his belly. Truth is, you done us a favor by shutting him up.” He sheathed his sword and took a step forward. “But you see these surcoats now, stranger, and you’ll mind that tongue of yours, or I’ll have it out and fry it with our morning bacon. You hear?”
    Braylar chose his next words carefully. “No doubt it would be finer than anything Hobbins has planned for us, but I’m rather fond of my tongue and would hate to see it in a pan. So I’ll mind myself, particularly when addressing those bearing horns. At least, so long as they aren’t musicians, who are naught but scoundrels.”
    Red Scolin laughed, and though the other soldiers didn’t, they reluctantly put their blades away. Braylar slid the mug handle in his belt. “Unarmed and amiable again, you see? In fact, I’d do even more to make amends for my uncouth behavior.” He turned to Hobbins. “Two pitchers for the Hornmen, innkeeper, and one for myself, yes?”
    Hobbins looked at Braylar and back to the soldiers. He licked his lips and left to fetch the ale. The other soldiers moved back to their chairs, but the ropy-haired soldier was still peevish. “That it, Red? Lunt’s bleeding like a, like a butchered hog, and all you gonna do is warn him?”
    Red Scolin sat back down at the table. “No. I’m going to drink his ale and be glad to hear no more from Lunt tonight. Take him upstairs.”
    “The dungeater?”
    “Lunter, you ass. Take Lunter upstairs. Clean him up, put him in bed.”
    “You ought not to let him go like that.”
    Red Scolin asked, smiling, “Lunter?”
    Ropy-hair looked confused. “The dungeater, Red. He struck a Hornman. We all saw. Struck him in the face, and in the head. He hit him with his mug, across the face and mug. I mean head. He—”
    “Right enough. Struck him with his mug. Right after Lunter tried to stab him.”
    “But the dungeater, he drew blade first, he—”
    “Enough. I gave an order, soldier. Get him upstairs, now, or maybe it’ll be you seeing the inside of a stockade, you hear me?”
    Ropy-hair gave Braylar a hateful look before bending down and sliding his hands under Lunter’s armpits. “Give me a hand here, Looris.”
    Another soldier started to rise, but Red Scolin replied, “Just you, Barlin. Don’t forget to clean him up, neither. Basin’s by the bed. I want to see it full o’ red when we come up later. No blood on Lunter, no blood on the bed. You got that? Clean him good before you come back down. Go.”
    Barlin cursed. He hefted Lunter up, almost slipping in the puddle of blood, grunting with exertion. “Lunter… you sack of guts… nothing but a…” but the rest of his declaration was unintelligible. Barlin slung the larger man over his shoulders. He wobbled as he walked, from the ale and the weight, and he tottered dangerously up the stairs, swearing the entire time. I expected the two to come rolling back down at any moment in a wild tangle of limbs—but somehow he completed his task and disappeared down the hallway.
    The conversation resumed in the room, hushed at first, but gradually regaining its boisterous volume. Ale makes for short memories.
    Braylar nodded to Red Scolin and returned to our table. Mulldoos laughed. “Got a real special way with people, you do, Cap. Should have been an emissary, diplomat maybe.”
    “We all have talents.”
    Syrie brought a pitcher and new mug and filled it for Braylar.
    When she finished, he lifted it to his lips and drained it top to bottom. He tapped the brim and she filled it again. “We try to keep him in back, my brother. Easier that way. For everyone, but