They filed out of the town guard’s watch post, following Sniffer into the streets.

  “The tax collectors are coming down the road. The mayor would like to ask for you to be there,” Sniffer said.

  “Then you’ll have to tell him to wait. We should head back to the inn and collect all our weapons.”

  Sniffer turned to Yshnim. “You’re expecting a fight?”

  “I’m expecting to scare them, if there is need.”

  For a few paces, their guard fell silent. Then he said, “Shouldn’t take long, but come to the main square after you’re ready. And thank you.”

  At a nod from Yshnim, Sniffer went on ahead. The Armsmasters turned a corner to head back to their inn, picking up their pace. They found Trystan along the way, helping some workers unload a wagon.

  The people of Shallow Pit moved about in a hurry, paying the Armsmaster’s no extra attention on their way to houses and shops. Aien had been expecting it to happen since their talk with the mayor a couple days past, but if they were this worried about it, then there was a chance things would get messy. They probably had in the past.

  Aien slid into his chainmail shirt and strapped the dagger to his belt — he had already been wearing the gambeson and the sword — then went downstairs to wait for the others.

  Trystan had his shield hanging from his back. Wearing it on his arm would probably be too much, but both him and Igbol carried their spears. Ren had also already been armed and only downed the chainmail.

  Yshnim looked more battle-ready than everyone else, despite the usual weapons. One-handed sword on her left, the whip-sword coiled around her waist and a dagger on her right. Unlike the usual, the iron half helmet Aien had only seen her use to scoop up water was now under one arm.

  She gave the impression of a soldier, not a sellsword. Aien wondered if that was because she had once been one.

  A crowd had gathered in the main square. The people of Shallow Pit stood around the center while the newcomers on their carts — four of them, pulled by two horses each and mostly empty — were closer to the edge.

  The mayor was easy to spot in his dark-red robe. Boros was leaning against his walking stick, talking to a man who stood a few paces in front of a half-dozen others, all armed and armored.

  An armored man turned first at seeing them, followed by Boros, who gestured with an arm for them to approach, an easy smile on his face.

  “These are my guests, the Armsmasters Yshnim Tram and Igbol, as well as their recruits. Armsmasters, this is—”

  “Frassar,” the man introduced himself. His face was worryingly gaunt, the cheeks sucked in, and his grey hair thin and shaved back. “I am Viscount Card’s Master of Patrol, here bearing the authority of his name to collect this town’s monthly taxes.”

  “And as I was saying, I would like to discuss this,” Boros said.

  Frassar stared from the mayor to Yshnim, only now seeming to realize the implicit threat.

  Not a fast thinker, this one.

  “I would like to invite Armsmaster Yshnim to discuss with us,” Boros pushed.

  “You didn’t take you for such a fool, Boros. What do you think the Viscount is going to order us to do when I report to him that you threatened us to keep your coin?”

  Boros put a hand to his chest. “No one is threatening you, Frassar. I am asking to discuss this. Please, allow me to show you my hospitality,” he gestured away from the square.

  “I decline, mayor. Where do you live, Armsmaster?”

  “I have a house in Farhill.”

  “That means you are not a citizen under the Viscount’s rule and therefore doesn’t need to pay the taxes. This has nothing to do with you.”

  Yshnim spoke, “That is hardly the point, Frassar. Mayor Boros is inviting us to discuss matters that affect the people of Shallow Pit’s living. As a town under Viscount Card’s rule, his officials are expected to hear their compints in the Viscount’s absence.”

  Frassar grinned. “If you know the w, then you know that if the Viscount has not issued any order regarding the fees, then the previous order still applies. We will collect the taxes as per Viscount Card’s orders, and you are free to come to the keep and discuss matters with the Viscount, mayor.”

  “I am crippled,” Boros pointed out.

  “Has Shallow Pit run out of wagons? Ah, sorry for giving you false hopes. I’m afraid the Viscount won’t have much time for you with the Duke around.”

  “A compromise, then,” Yshnim suggested, “We will go in Mayor Boros’ stead. I believe the Viscount will have time to hear Armsmasters.”

  “Viscount Card might, but you are not citizens here.”

  “What if we pay the taxes?”

  Frassar stared at Yshnim for a long quiet moment before shrugging.

  What does this man think he’s going to get out of doing this in front of everyone? Aien asked himself.

  “I’m gd we’re making progress, but I would like to add to that,” Boros said. “We will fill your carts with the usual grain, of course, but I would like to suggest that we keep the coin.”

  Frassar wheezed a ugh.

  “The previous fees then, from before they were raised. And if the Viscount orders the rest delivered, the Armsmasters will let us know and we will send the rest back.”

  “Everything goes into the cart, mayor,” Frassar said, venom in his voice. “If the Viscount entertains you, your Armsmasters can bring the coin back. And if they decide to run away with your coin, then we have nothing to do with it.” Frassar raised his voice for everyone else to hear, “All citizens of Shallow Piss are to bring their fees before twilight. Mayor Boros is responsible for the grain. We leave by first sunlight.”

  Saying that, Frassar turned to walk back to his men.

  “Shallow Pit,” Boros gritted between his teeth.

  “We will join you on the road,” Yshnim said to Frassar’s back.

  “You are free to do so, as long as you bring your own food and don’t slow us down.”

  “He’s just saying whatever he wants,” Ren said to Aien’s side, keeping her voice low.

  As the mayor walked away, Locen, the messenger, stepped in to ask him something.

  Yshnim turned back to them.

  “Trystan, you’re out of patrolling tonight. I want you with me on the road.”

  “Only Trystan?” Aien asked.

  “Igbol will stay behind with you and Ren.”

  “I don’t like that,” Ren said.

  “No harm will come our way. No matter his words, this Frassar won’t be foolish enough to try something. The Viscount will receive us like any other petitioner.”

  “If it’s just two of us, they can’t compin about being threatened without looking weak,” Trystan added.

  “That as well. I am not expecting any trouble, but if anything happens while I’m out, I want you to take them away.”

  “Where?” Igbol asked.

  “Wherever you deem safest.”

  Igbol nodded.

  “Trystan. With me. I would like to ask the mayor some questions.”

  Aien, Ren and Igbol stood around the square for a long time, watching as people handed their taxes to the collectors, who would check the contents and write it off in a wax tablet, before exchanging gnces with the Armsmasters. It seemed they were as unworried of any danger as Yshnim had been.

  It sted for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Aien recognized plenty of faces he didn’t know the name of. Cromer came to pay his taxes and spoke with the tax collectors for longer than everyone else. Li was nowhere to be seen, and Cromer didn’t gnce their way. Sniffer was there. And Locen. Later, the grain Boros was responsible for was brought in in several burp sacks.

  When it was done, Frassar led the men away towards the mayor’s mansion. Despite everything, it seemed Boros was expected to house them.

  Ren sighed, as if she had been holding something in through all of that.

  “Men like that piss me off.”

  “I need to talk with you two,” Igbol said, ignoring her and turning away.

  Ren’s head snapped to stare at Aien. He shook his head. Ren’s gaze lingered on him; her brows furrowed.

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Yshnim?” Aien asked, stepping behind Igbol who was walking in the inn’s direction. He heard Ren following behind.

  “Yshnim is not going to leave that mansion while those men are there. She might ter, because at night they will want to go out drinking. We’ll go wherever they go and keep watch.”

  “Isn’t that too obvious?” Ren asked.

  “Obvious works, sometimes. But that is not what I wanted to talk with you about. I need to make this very clear: when Yshnim and Trystan are away, I absolutely don’t want you two getting in any trouble. No matter what happens or what you see. If anything feels too serious to ignore, come to me first. Do you understand why?”

  Behind him, Aien and Ren managed to exchange gnces without Igbol seeing.

  Does he know?

  Igbol continued without waiting for an answer. “The reason why she is separating us like this is because she’s pcing us where we will be the most useful and where we will learn the most. She expects you to honor that trust. We’ve lost people for stupid reasons in the past. Yshnim has lost the most and I don’t pn on letting it happen again.”

  “By people do you mean recruits?” Ren asked.

  “All kinds of people, recruits included. Has she told you about Urno?” Igbol looked their way, slowing his pace so they were walking side by side.

  “She hasn’t,” Ren said.

  “No,” Aien answered.

  “This was years ago. I was a First Bde then. Had earned my insignia for the spear just months before, when we pulled into a city in Rennel called Redke. We stayed there for half a year. Urno was an apprentice to a local swordsman. A troublemaker for everyone else, except when it came to his training. I met him first, and at that time he was almost as tall as you, Aien, though the boy was barely fifteen. In those six months we spent there, we became friends.

  “It was just me and Yshnim back then and we were both impressed by the boy. It was obvious he had been wanting to ask to join us for months but we were already talking about it ourselves. So Urno left Redke with us, fresh out of fifteen and having learned everything he could from his master, the boy was known around the city for walking circles around men twice his age.

  “We leave the city, and three weeks ter we’re in a roadside inn, listening to these sellswords talking about everything they’re going to do with the girls there if the innkeeper doesn’t keep the ale coming. Me and Yshnim are exchanging gnces, waiting for the men to leave so we can follow and give them a scare.

  “Urno got the wrong idea. He walked up to the men before we could say anything and for a moment we just watched. One of them pushes Urno aside, who unsheathes his sword and asks for a duel. The man stands, pulling a crossbow he was hiding under the table — small thing, but they’re close to each other — and puts a bolt in Urno’s chest before he could finish voicing his challenge.”

  For a long moment after Igbol stopped talking, they walked in silence. From the corner of his eye, Aien saw that Ren had her gaze turned to the ground.

  “What happened after that?” Aien asked.

  “Something we’re not proud of,” was all the answer Igbol would give.