“And you are?” asked Cosca. “We’re a band,” the nearest said. “And has your band a name?” They looked at each other. “No. Why would it?” “Your own names, then, if you please, and your specialities both as entertainer and fighter.” “My name’s Solter. I play the drum, and the mace.” Flicking his greasy coat back to show the dull glint of iron. “I’m better with the mace, if I’m honest.” “I’m Morc,” said the next in line. “Pipe, and cutlass.” “Olopin. Horn, and hammer.” “Olopin, as well.” Jerking a thumb sideways. “Brother to this article. Fiddle, and blades.” Whipping a pair of long knives from
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