Barnaby the Wanderer

Chapter 46: Make it Small Bites

Barnaby stood. His face showing no miller's son pondering of what the world intended next. Setting his feet, he drew Dragontooth from its sheath. The act made no friendly greeting. In the early light the axe looked dark as the jet eyes of Plutarch's eidolon, jagged as the points of Plutarch's iron crown.

But Capitano laughed lightly, turning to his fellow soldier.

"Ah, now who is so quick to kill and smile?"

Barnaby shook his head, declining the challenge of bantering conversation.

"Go away."

"No time for friendly chat? But who were you just chattering to? The lovely ladies in their graves?"

Barnaby looked towards Mr. Quiet. But the man had vanished discreetly as his name. Probably that was wise, though Barnaby wished he'd stayed. Now he had to talk to Capitano. Who would dance clever words around him, grinning as if they were friends at the table. While readying his knife.

"I don't like you. And don't like talking to you."

Capitano started to make reply, hesitated, waved it all away.

"Fair enough, soldier. In any case I've not come to chat with a dimwit of a rural oath-breaker. No, we've higher purpose among the dead today."

Capitano reached into a pack, drew forth a helmet. Darker than bronze. Iron, perhaps. Though shaped no differently than any brass helmet upon the head of some Demetian foot-soldier.

Capitano stood in the dawn light, grinning at the brightening sky, the courtyard of gravestones

"Legend says this helmet gives the wearer 'Command of the Dead'. Perhaps, perhaps. Shall we put it to the test?"

Not awaiting answer, he placed it upon his head.

Barnaby watched, wary of tricks. This was overmuch like talking poetry with the rat Belinda. Until she'd leapt for his throat. He considered striking at Capitano first. But the second soldier stood ready, sword drawn. It would come to Barnaby fighting both.

"Feels right," Capitano said. "Yes. I can tell. It is right." Voice rising like wind before storm. "Ladies, if you would arise. And I say you must. I command it."

Capitano's purpose became clear to Barnaby then.

"Stop it," he said. Sickened; feeling a dizzying heat. Trembling, though he held the axe steady enough. He repeated the words louder. "Stop it. Now."

Capitano shook his head; smiling, drawing his own sword. By morning light the man looked fresh; happy and young. He's just a boy playing Lucif, thought Barnaby. Is that why he smiles? Because he thinks it a game?

There came sounds behind Barnaby. Cloth ripping, earth falling. Whispers.

"Well, now," said Capitano. Sounding pleased; and perhaps awed. "Well now. Look who comes to join the dance."

Barnaby recalled what his tutor in weapons advised when facing two foes. Move to the side. Put one opponent in front of the other.

But that would mean seeing behind; seeing what occurred in the fresh-dug grave. But he had his Da's advice as well.

Finish the task before you, then turn to the one behind. That would have to do.

"First order of business," said Capitano. "Ladies, feast upon this bumpkin miller. Make it small bites."

Barnaby leaped at Capitano then, axe swinging. Clearly catching the man by surprise. But reflexes brought the man's sword up to block.

Little use in that against Dragontooth. The axe swept the blade from Capitano's grasp. He cursed, stumbling back.