A Circle of Iron

Chapter 5

When the sun dropped behind the trees, the crew packed up and followed the scavs out of the ruins. Other than the narrowly averted row between Quinix and Blind Tom, they hadn’t done much except spin the iron on the scrying tablet to see if any wights came close enough to kill. They hadn’t, in Thorn’s judgment, so there’d been plenty of time to enjoy the sunshine and get used to being in the ruins. When they got back to the town, they made straightaway for the Duck, and Quinix came with them.

Thorn sat at one end of their table with the wizard across from him. He noticed the scavs that had retained their services were in the same place as well. The expressions on their faces didn’t seem too happy.

“Our employers are giving us the stink eye,” said Thorn.

Quinix leaned over, his belly spilling over the surface of the old table. “Perhaps we showed insufficient industry to meet their expectations.”

“If you mean they think we’re lazy, I expect you’re right. Still, I guess they all came back with their blood where it’s supposed to be, and it didn’t even cost them anything.”

Quinix fidgeted with his cup. “Do you think there will be fighting tomorrow?”

“With any luck,” said Thorn. “I guess we need to start killing wights if we expect to get paid.”

“Have you been in a lot of fights?”

“More than I’d like.” He looked up and squinted at the wizard. “I guess you haven’t done a lot of it yourself.”

Quinix shook his head. “Never…not since I was a young lad, anyway, and I wasn’t any good at it even then.”

“Well, you’ve never been in a real fight, then. The scuffles you were in as a boy, they don’t count for anything seeing how you always had a choice about it. Anyone right in the head, he has a choice he’ll choose not to fight. Easier to walk away or even take a beating than it is to fight.”

“I’ll bet you weren’t right in the head, when you were a boy.”

Thorn snorted. “No, I never was right in the head. But you’ll find a fight to the death is another matter. Choice ain’t got nothing to do with it. When someone’s trying to kill you, even if it’s a wight, you do what you got to do without even thinking about it.”

“I’m afraid.”

Thorn nodded. “Your fear don’t go away. Everything else does, until your fear’s all that’s left. You’re so damned scared you might piss yourself. You’re so damned scared you can’t think, and that’s usually a good thing. Your fear is the part of you that wants to survive and you’ll be real surprised what it’ll do when you let it.”

“How long have you been hunting wights?”

“Long enough, I guess. More than five years, with this crew. Not all of it in Eldernost—we worked the timber camps before.”

“Were you a soldier?”

“A long time ago. But I guess they haven’t changed the rules since then.”

Quinix was quiet for a while. Finally, he whispered, “Are you and Mara…”

Thorn looked up at the wizard, then over to where Mara was sawing a chicken leg with her knife. “No, we ain’t. We hunt together, so there ain’t much room for anything else.” Not to mention, she’d probably rather kiss a wight than a scarred, used-up old killer like me.

“She’s beautiful,” Quinix said. His voice was low, but Thorn saw his eyes light up. “I don’t understand why she does this, hunts wights I mean.”