Rakel snapped her attention back to the dam and sealed it off. A few of the Chosen soldiers remained on the Verglas side of the pass—one of them the strange man who had shielded her.
As if sensing her eyes on him, the soldier turned around and dropped his shield. “Good afternoon.” He raised his hands into the air to show he had no weapons. That was all he got out before a resistance fighter tackled him, shoving him face-first into a snow bank.
Unlike the other soldiers, he didn’t struggle. “That’s cold,” he yelped. Eydìs used her ropes to tie him up, and the resistance fighter holding him in place with a knee hauled him upright and scowled in his face. The Chosen mercenary shivered and shed loose flakes of snow.
Rakel, keeping a firm grasp on her magic so she wouldn’t fall unconscious, eyed the odd man. Now that she was closer, she could see he had a beaky nose and an infectious smile. “Why did you shield me from that arrow?”
“You saved my life. A life for a life—that’s my motto. And it’s fair, no?” He wore a cheerful smile that seemed at odds with his rope bindings.
“But you belong to the Allegiance of the Chosen Army,” Rakel said.
The soldier squinted up at her. “Belong is a strong word—particularly for us mercenaries—if you’ll excuse me for saying so, Your Highness.”
Phile threw her arms around Rakel and crushed her in a side hug. “That was well done, Little Wolf. I hoped we would be able to seal those raiders off, but I didn’t have much faith that we would actually accomplish it. What luck! Oh, who is your friend?” Phile peered at the strange mercenary.
“Cronius Winderbag, at your service—though most folks just call me Crow.” The mercenary graced Rakel and Phile with a wobbly bow, unable to keep his balance with his arms tied to his sides.
“Winderbag—that’s an odd surname. What country are you from?” Phile asked.
“Torrens, oh-beautiful-maiden.” He bowed again.
Phile idly twirled Foedus. “Ooh, I like you. But Torrens? How did you crawl out of that backwoods place and end up here in beautiful—and exhilaratinglycold—Verglas?”
“Phile, you do know he is a prisoner and not a guest, yes?” Rakel asked her friend.
“Nonsense. I saw him save you—he’s going to be a bosom companion. I just know it,” Phile said.
“Why, thank you,” Crow laughed. “Though I’m ’fraid I haven’t much of a bosom.”
General Halvor cleared his throat, making Phile freeze with her smile in place. “I thought I made it clear after you released Farrin Graydim in Glowma that I did not want you consorting with prisoners of war,” he said.
“But Crow shouldn’t be a prisoner of war,” Phile protested. “He saved Rakel from an enemy arrow.”
General Halvor shifted his eyes to Rakel for confirmation.
“It is true,” she said. “Though I have my doubts about his motive.”
“I would be happy to swear fealty to you,” Crow offered.
General Halvor scowled. “You are a mercenary. Fealty means nothing to you.”
“Well, yes. Most the time,” Crow agreed, surprisingly practical. “But I’m not really with The Chosen by choice. My mercenary group, The Flock, was—how do you say it?—forcibly conscripted when we wandered a tad too close to one of their recruitment camps in Sarthe.”
General Halvor raised an eyebrow. “And you would abandon the rest of your band?”
Crow’s smile dimmed. “Well, there’re none left to abandon.”
“I beg your pardon?” Rakel asked.
Crow stared at his feet. “They all died in the Battle of Gaula when Tenebris took out two Verglas armies.”
Rakel took a step closer to him. “You’ve met Tenebris.”
“No, but I’ve seen him, and that was more than enough for me,” Crow said grimly.
Rakel hesitated, torn by the pain in his voice.
When he looked up, his intelligent, brown eyes met hers, and he shook himself like a bird ruffling its feathers. “But that’s a different mess, yeah? So, how can I help you chaps?” he asked.
