Swords & Dark Magic Read Online Free PDF Page A

pig.”
    Dullbreath nodded. “That too. Anyway, it should do us fine. Nice and quiet.”
    “For a change.”
    Skint stirred. “One more round for the lot,” she said, “and then we ride on up.”
    Wither rose. “I’ll tell Huggs t’get on with it, then. Boys that age it’s short but often—she’ll just have to settle with that.”

    The Broken Moon dragged its pieces above the horizon, throwing smudged shadows on the empty street, as the troop dragged themselves back into their saddles and set off for the ruin.
    Graves stood in the gloom between two gutted houses and watched them pass, his shoulders hunched against the night air. He heard a noise behind him and turned. Herribut the blind cobbler edged closer, and behind him was a half-dozen villagers—most of the population, in fact.
    “Y’think?” Herribut asked.
    Graves scowled. “Ya, the usual. First pick’s mine, as always.”
    Herribut nodded. “Lots drawn on after ya. I won.” He grinned toothlessly. “Imagine that! I never had a touch of luck in my whole life, not once! But I won tonight!”
    “Happy for ya, cobbler. Now, alla you, go get some sleep, and be sure to stopper your ears. Nobody’s fault but your own if you’re all grainy-eyed and slow come the morning pickings.”
    They shuffled off, chattering amongst themselves.
    Exciting times in Glory, and how often could anyone say that without a bitter spit into the dust and then a sour smile? Graves stepped out into the street. The soldiers had reached the base of the hill, where they had paused to stare up at the black, brooding fortification.
    “Go on,” Graves whispered. “It’s quiet. It’s perfect. Go on, damn you.”
    And then they did, and he sagged in relief.
    Nobody invited any of this, so nobody was to blame, not for anything. Just came down to making a living, that’s all. People got the right to that, he figured. It wasn’t a rule or anything like it, not some kingly law or natural truth. It was just one of those ideas people said aloud as often as they could, to make it more real and more true than it really was. When the fact was, people got no rights to anything. Not a single thing, not air to breathe, food to eat, ale to drink. Not the sweet smile between the legs, not a warm body beside you at night. Not land to own, not even a place to stand. But it made it easier, didn’t it, saying that people got the right to a living, and honest hard work, like digging graves and carving capstones, well, that earned just rewards because that’s how things should be.
    The boy came out from the bar, weaving his way into the street. The woman had gotten him drunk besides stained in the crotch.
    Graves set out to collect Snotty and take him to his solitary shack close to his own house. Couldn’t be nice, he imagined, to end up just being abandoned by his ma and da when they were all passing through, and left to survive on his own. That was three years back, and Graves knew the boy had latched on to him to fill the holes in his growing up, and that was all right. To be expected. The boy would be in no shape for anything come the morning, but Graves would pluck a thing or two for him anyway. It was the least he could do.

    The cobbled ramp climbed the hillside in three sharp switchbacks that would have cramped any supply wagon and likely made a mess of stocking the keep. The path was overgrown and cluttered with chunks of masonry, but otherwise picked clean.
    Sergeant Flapp shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as his horse clumped up the sharp incline. That whore still had teeth, damn her, and that ring had been way too small. His snake felt strangled. He noticed, in passing, that all the anchor rings on the walls to either side had been dug out and carried off, leaving rusty-ringed holes. “They stripped this place right down,” he said. “Doubt we’ll find a single door, a single hinge or fitting. And now they’ll probably sneak up and try and rob us tonight.”
    “They