The fire had real wood in it, the flames flickering against the cold of a steppe night. Around them, from the camp and beyond it, voices went across the shadows at various distances, laughter and discussion at other fires, other arbans talking through their own versions of the battle, the camp marking this night in its own way.
Gal's fire had four, as others moved nearby in celebration.
Nasan had been looking at the fire for a while before he said it. "Some coins, three horses, two bolts of linen, a piece of amber and a servant. That's my total take from the whole campaign."
"Is the amber worth anything?" Chaqu said.
"Less than what I wanted."
He turned the stick he'd been using in the coals. "You know what I heard? Düriget's arban came out of the merchant district with horse loads. Full loads. Silver, bronze work, strongboxes. Where's the plunder? Why nothing came to daddy here."
"The distribution is based on rank and merit," Gal said.
"I know, I'm just saying."
