Mather started down the back of the hill. "Come on, Blade. Let them bicker."
After several seconds Smoke confessed, "He's right, Swan. Let's get on with it."
Willow tossed his long golden hair, looked at Blade. Blade jerked his head toward the horses below the hill. "All right." Swan took a last look at the city and plain where the Black Company had died. "But what's right is right and what's wrong is wrong."
"And what's practical is practical and what's needful is necessary. Let's go."
Swan walked. He would remember that remark. He was determined to have the last word. "Bullshit, Smoke. That's bullshit. I seen a new side of you today. I don't like it and I don't trust it. I'm going to watch you like your conscience."
They mounted up and headed north.
Chapter Three
In those days the Company was in service to the Prahbrindrah Drah of Taglios. That prince was too easygoing to master a numerous, factious people like the Taglians. But his natural optimism and forgiving nature were offset by his sister, the Radisha Drah. A small, dark, hard woman, the Radisha had a will of sword steel and the conscience of a hurtling stone.
While the Black Company and the Shadowmasters contested possession of Dejagore, or Stormgard, the Prahbrindrah Drah held an audience three hundred miles to the north.
The prince stood five and a half feet tall. Though dark, his features were caucasic. He glowered at the priests and engineers before him. He wanted to throw them out. But in godridden Taglios no one offended the priesthoods.
He spied his sister signalling from the shadowed rear of the chamber. "Excuse me." He walked out. Bad manners they would tolerate. He joined the Radisha. "What is it?"