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swing in her hips as she went. At his side Sour gave a heavy sigh.
    ‘They just go on and on …’ he murmured.
    Irritated that this sweaty, unwashed, bow-legged fellow should be giving voice to his own thoughts, Murk elbowed him none too gently. ‘Let’s go.’
    They waited until the launch was completely loaded then climbed down a rope and wood ladder. Sour carried down a chicken in a wicker basket that he handed to a sailor. ‘There you go.’
    The man grabbed it from him while mouthing something under his breath. The two lay down on rolled tent canvas near the bows, crossed their arms, and shut their eyes. The sailors and mercenaries readied the oars.
    As the bows ground up on the beach a light misting rain began to drift over them. Murk and Sour jumped down to the wet sands and walked up the steep shore. More of the crew of mercenaries, who numbered about fifty in all, wandered down to help unload. Yusen appeared and waved the two over to him. When they reached the man in his leather and mail hauberk, mail skirting, iron greaves and vambraces, helmet under his arm, Murk fought an urge to salute.
    He looked them up and down with barely concealed distaste on his lined mouth and in his slate-blue eyes. ‘What do you two think you’re doing?’
    ‘Reconnoitring,’ Murk supplied.
    ‘I have scouts out.’
    Sour made a show of touching a finger to the side of his nose. ‘Not like us.’
    The man rolled his eyes to the thick cloud cover; then, peering about, he allowed, grudgingly, ‘Well, from the looks of this place I’d be right careful, if I were you.’
    Murk almost saluted at that, murmuring instead, ‘Our thanks … Cap’n.’
    The man’s gaze hardened and he dismissed them with a jerk of his head. ‘Get going.’
    ‘Oh, aye aye.’
    They left the sands behind to enter a forest of trees the likes of which Murk had never seen before: some held wide leaves almost as broad as shields, others thick waxy ones like hard bullets. ‘What d’ya think?’ Sour asked as they walked. ‘Fourth Army?’
    ‘Naw. Seventh.’
    ‘Maybe. Long as he weren’t Fifth. Anyways …’ Sour sniffed the air. ‘What d’ya think?’ he repeated.
    Murk shrugged, wiped the misted rain from his face. ‘Hardly anyone. Just a few fisherfolk.’
    ‘Yeah … I think so.’ Sour sat against the base of a tree and stretched out his legs. ‘Is it noon?’
    Murk eyed the other forest just to the north: a forest of grey pillars, dolmens, darkening in the gathering rain. ‘See the ruins when we came in?’
    Sour’s eyes were shut. ‘Yeah. Damned big city.’ His eyes popped open. ‘Say! Think there’s treasure ’n’ such there? Maybe we should have a poke around.’
    Murk favoured his partner with his most scornful glare. ‘There’s no treasure lying around ruined cities. All that’s just silly troubadour’s songs. Naw – it’s all gone. Just dust and rot and dead spiders.’
    Sour shuddered. ‘Gods, spiders. Did you hafta mention spiders? I got feeling all shivery when you said that. Don’t like it at all.’
    Murk’s attention had remained on the dolmens. ‘I know what you mean.’
    Sour cocked his head, one eye screwed up shut. ‘But maybe there’s tombs ’n’ such. Buried loot. How ’bout that?’
    ‘Buried?’ Murk continued to study the maze of stone pillars. ‘Yeah. That would be a whole ’nother question, wouldn’t it …’
    Sour’s gaze followed his partner’s. ‘Aw, for the love of …’ The crab-like fellow gave a great shiver. ‘Bad news that. Knew it the moment I clapped eyes on it.’ He bit at a dirty fingernail. ‘Has to be it , though, don’t it? Any other place and I’d jump right in. But there … what a damned shame.’
    Murk spat aside. ‘Aye. Gonna be keep-your-bags-packed scary.’
    ‘You’re startin’ to sound like me,’ Sour complained.
    Murk grimaced.
Great gods, now there’s reason enough for me to jump right in
.
    It was dusk when Murk tapped a snoring Sour to wake