Janos could not afford wine。 Very well。 I called the steward over and made certain there would be no offense to the customs。 In a few moments the head steward announced to the room that the wine this evening was a humble offering from Amalric Antero； in honor of being a guest of such noble soldiers。 Goblets were filled and I was toasted。 I caught a sidelong glance from Janos； but only a momentary one。
We ate after another round； far better than I thought soldiers ever dined。 I thought of the sergeants and spearmen in the barracks outside； and remembered that once before I'd bought viands for the regiment。 A dish of meat for the mon soldiery； which suggested that normally they ate as moners did。 This was wrong…Father told me a trader either ate what his clerks did； or else dined privately at home。 No one loved ostentation from a rich man…or military officer…unless it was shared with all。
Meal plete； the high officers excused themselves。 Now the evening would belong to the lower ranks； grain； and grape。 More wine was drunk。 Wine and brandy。 The evening promised nothing but boring befuddlement and a thick head on the morrow。 I was trying to pace myself； not wishing to shame my family by crashing nose first into the sweet tray。 Others； however； were taking no precautions。 Voices were getting louder； jests were growing cruder； laughter was more boisterous。 Then I heard； in a momentary lull； the clear statement； 〃Of course； half…breeds aren't pletely worthless。 Their women are sometimes spectacular； like mongrels can be。 And their soldiers can be brave； although I suspect they run just as fast from a battle as to it。〃
There was the silence of the crypt。 Everyone looked at Janos： his face was pale against his waxed； curled beard； a hard death mask。 The officer who had spoken wore the stylized shoulder cops of a captain。 Someone tried to break the silence with the beginnings of a jest； three words from his mouth and he stopped。
Janos beckoned to a servitor。 He took the silver serving tray from the man's hands and drew his dagger。 He put it on the tray so that its hilt faced out。 Then he beckoned to a subaltern。 〃Convey this to Captain Herron。 Tell him that it has a sister； which belongs to Captain Janos Kether Greycloak； of Kostroma and Orissa。 They belong together。 In one hour； at the butts。〃
I knew this challenge would not result in a duel to the pinking； as had mine。 There would be at least one corpse in the sand this night。 The young officer； as pale as Janos； walked to the other captain； extended the plate holding the dagger； and repeated Janos' words。 Herron did not take the dagger。 Instead； he flushed； and； staring down at the ground； muttered； 〃It was but a joke。〃
〃Inform the honorable captain I failed to see its humor。 Perhaps our meeting outside will educate me。 Or perhaps the captain would like to apologize；〃 Janos said； slightly bending the protocol of an affair of honor by speaking to； no matter if indirectly； the offending party。
Again； leaden stillness。 Finally； Herron spoke； still mumbling； 〃I wish to apologize for any offense my chance remark may have caused Captain Greycloak。〃
Janos took three deep breaths。 〃I accept；〃 he said。 〃And the matter is forgotten。 The invitation is withdrawn； Herron。〃 I noticed； as did everyone else in the room as the dagger was returned and sheathed； that Janos had deliberately neglected to call Herron by his rank； or to refer to him as a brother in arms； equal； or whatever term would suggest true forgiveness。 Herron's cowardice would be remembered for a long time。 Or so I thought his behavior to be back then； when my blood ran as red as my hair。 Now I know what grounds a man fights on and what soil a fool can blithely choose for bis own killing floor。
Janos began to reach for another wine goblet； then caught my eye。 〃Perhaps；〃 he said； his voice low； 〃you would care to walk out with me？ The air here has bee thick。〃 Without waiting for a response； he moved toward the cloakroom。 I followed。 Outside； he pulled his cloak over his shoulders and looked down at the lighted barracks windows below us。
〃You see how it is；〃 he said； as much to himself as me。 〃If I continue in this cage； pacing； snarling； and measuring the strength of my bars； sooner or later there will be a death。 Perhaps that of a boor like Herron； perhaps my own。 This city and this parade…ground emptiness cannot hold me much longer。 e on！〃 He started down the hill； and I went after him。
〃Where are we going？〃
〃Who knows；〃 Janos said。 〃I need the pany of men； not popinjays。 Men 。。。 and women。 Perhaps the riverfront。〃
I shrugged。 Why not？ I； too； had been bored by the formalities in the mess； and thought them just as empty as any of my fathers' guild banquets。
Our path led us past one of the city's gates。 As usual； except in times of great danger； the reinforced portals of ironwood were open； only the elaborately wrought iron of the twin gates of the outer sally port were barred。 Through them we could see； not far off in a field； the roar of flames from a fire reflecting off the canvas of many tents。 We could hear shouts； laughter； the whine of flutes； and the thudding of drums。
〃Guard；〃 Janos challenged one of the sentries。 〃Who lies beyond？〃
〃A tribe of Ifora； Captain。 They cannot enter the city at night because…〃
〃I am aware of the reasons； soldier。 Open the gates。 Their pany suits me well tonight。〃
I knew as well as Janos why the tribesmen were not permitted into the city。 They were one of the many dangers a trader must accept； and so my father had explained their barbaric culture quite thoroughly。 The Ifora were nomads； wandering tribesmen from the southern deserts。 They were known as cunning thieves able to slip past the guards of any caravan that entered their territory and remove what they willed。 Or； if their numbers were great or the caravan's masters stupid； they would massacre all of the men and absorb the women into their own tribes。 They were also noted for bravery； implacability to their enemies； and for rare talents as torturers。 They came north into civilized grounds infrequently； and then only to trade their elaborately woven rugs； fine woolen cloth from their goats； and exotically worked silver jewelry。 No city would allow them inside its gates： the Ifora considered it their sacred duty to relieve people like us； whom they considered sickly weaklings； of whatever possessions they desired； and by whatever means…be it by stealth or by sword…and with no regard for subsequent events such as arrest and trial。
I thought of saying something to Janos： So he'd missed his chance to risk his neck in a duel； did he have to find another opportunity for a severed weasand？ But being young and too timid to chance anything that might smack of that very timidity； I said nothing。 Besides； all these tales of piled skulls and screaming women being carried off into the bowels of the desert…I was curious as to exactly what monsters the Ifora were。 I loosened my rapier in its sheath； sorry that I hadn't brought a dagger and a mail shirt under my formal garb to acpany it。 I also wished I'd reminded Janos when he strode forth that he was only carrying the traditional short sword of his unit； instead of the double…edged razor he preferred。
A great bulk of a man loomed out of the shadows as we drew near die encampment。 〃Orissans 。。。 no。 Not e。 Not wele。 Be hurt。 Get kill。〃 Janos spoke to him in a fluid torrent of words。 The hulk growled and answered him in what sounded to be the same tongue。 So this was another of Janos' acplishments…he was familiar with the Ifora。 I should have guessed…although somehow I sensed this night he might have been just as willing to walk into their den if they'd been deadly strangers。 The two of them rattled back and forth。 The monster laughed； as a bear might。 Janos turned； indicating me。 More words。 A grunt。 Janos frowned； then spoke again。 The brute laughed once more。
〃Take out your sword；〃 Janos said。 〃Press it to your forehead and give it to him。〃 I hesitated； but obeyed。 The man accepted the weapon； turned； and bellowed something into the encampment。 A moment later； a tall； imposing man wearing rich robes came toward us。 His skin gleamed in the firel