The Iron Wolves by Andy Remic Read Free Book Online

gleaming. And what for? All so the cavalry can put their bloody horses back in there to stamp their hooves and shit on everything. It was a disgrace, it was.”
    “So I see,” grinned Jagan, and patted his friend’s arm. “But come on, it’s not that bad. You have good company to while away the hours, and a good solid Vagan-built stone fortress between you and any possible enemy!”
    “Pah! Enemy? What enemy? I don’t see no enemy, and I’m not just talking about the darkness of the storm. We’ve been hearing these rumours for months, mud-orc this, mud-orc that, as if they want another bloody War of Zakora. Lots of would-be heroes in the making, frothing at the mouth for a taste of warfare when in reality, they wouldn’t know what to do with a fucking mud-orc if it shoved a spear in their belly. I tell you, it’s all a lot of hot air and nonsense, and the King himself says it’s all good. If Yoon says it, then that’s good enough for me.”
    “Those merchants who passed through last week seemed pretty twitched. Telling stories of being hunted by some kind of monster in the dark. It scared them bad.”
    “Rubbish! Little girls frightened by their own shadows.”
    Jagan shrugged, sending a cascade of water onto the coals, which hissed and spat. Lowering his voice, he leaned a little closer to Reegez. “Some say the King is the one who doesn’t know his backside from his elbow, and that downsizing the army was the wrong thing to do. And when, if, an enemy were to attack then we’d surely be overrun in a matter of hours. The walls are just too long.”
    “Shh,” warned Reegez, his eyes narrowing. “That’s the sort of talk gets a man intimate with the noose.”
    “Ah. Oh. I wasn’t thinking…”
    “Who was it you heard?”
    “Captain Torquata and Captain Elmagesh. I was fetching water from the Kubosa well, they were sheltering from the wind which blows down the pass. They didn’t see me.”
    Reegez’s eyes went even narrower, so they were slits in the glow from the coals. A few wisps of smoke rose from the brazier, and for a moment he really did look to Jagan as if he were some terrible bleak demon escaped from the Furnace.
    “I’m not a clever man,” said Reegez, slowly. He rubbed at his stubbled chin. “I never claimed to be and, if I’m brutally honest, I’m glad it’s that way. Politics are for those people who have a crazy love of themselves and a need to control other people. And teacherin, well that’s something I’ll never understand or want a part of. But what I do know is what’s right and what’s wrong, and what I do know is when somebody’s talking dangerous, talking dangerous to the extent of losing their life.” He met Jagan’s stare. “You keep away from people like that, Jagan. Keep away from them like your life depends on it, for surely it does. Now forget you ever heard the conversation and we’ll both forget we ever had this one. I don’t know whether the mud-orcs are coming or not, and I don’t rightly care at this moment in time. But whatever the outcome, I’d rather not dance a jig on the end of a bloody noose. I like my neck fine, just the way it is. You get me?”
    “I understand,” said Jagan, quietly, hands out to the coals. “Let’s talk about something pleasant. If the mud-orcs are coming, I’d hate my last days on these walls in the storm to be filled with talk about hanging and an insane king.”
    “Yeah,” grinned Reegez, and slapped his friend on the back. “Let’s talk about how I’m going to cream you at knuckle-dice at the tournament tomorrow!”
     
     
     
     
     

BORDERLANDS
    The sun hung low in the sky, a bloated orange eye. The rolling grasslands hissed, grass dancing like a million tiny soldiers, as a cold wind skimmed the hills and howled mournfully through shallow valleys filled with large, angular boulders. These were the borderlands south of the deserts of Zakora, inhabited by the Kreell, tribes of hardened riders who lived wild