by A.R. Wise
* * *
“Where’s Saffi?” asked Ward when he reached Ebon. The noxious cloud had dissipated enough to allow him to make it through and he found the assassin on the other side on his way back to the camp.
“He took her,” said Ebon.
“Who did?”
“Dessidus. He’s one of The Scholar’s men.”
“How did he get her?” asked Ward. “I thought you were going to protect her?”
“I tried,” said Ebon.
“Not hard enough.”
“He’s headed back to New Carrington,” said Ebon. “I poisoned his horse, so he’s not going to make it the whole way. We have to try and catch up with him. Can you ride?” He knew the baker was already injured.
“I’ll figure out a way,” said Ward.
“I’m not waiting for you,” said Ebon. “You’ll just slow me down.”
“You sure you can take him alone?” asked Ward.
“No, but I’ll die before I let The Scholar have that girl.”
“I’ll find a horse and be right behind you,” said Ward.
“Get a wagon,” said Ebon as he looked down at the baker’s leg. “You won’t be able to ride horseback with that sort of wound.”
“Okay, I will. Go get my daughter, and I’ll owe you my life, stranger.”
Ebon nodded in agreement, and then ran back toward the camp. Ward limped along after him, determined to do whatever he could to save Saffi. The dark stranger seemed to disappear into the chaos ahead, but then moments later Ward saw him mounting one of the marauder’s steeds and tearing off. The battle between the riders and the marauders was still raging, but Ebon was able to avoid the conflict and disappear into the darkness.
Ward was certain he wouldn’t have the same luck, and resorted to stealing one of the prison wagons instead. He released the rope that tethered the horses, and then attached the bit, trying to be stealthy to avoid getting the attention of anyone in the camp. He got the bit into the mouth of the first horse, and then moved to the next when someone grasped his shoulder.
Ward turned with his fist raised, ready to strike, and saw that it was the Prophet who’d been in the wagon with Saffi. A strong young man was with her, carrying a wounded, pale man. “We can help,” said the woman.
“No,” said Ward. “I can’t afford the weight. Sorry, but you’re on your own.”
“I’m a Prophet,” said the woman. “You have to trust me.”
“Sorry, I’m not a believer.”
“I was put in that wagon with your daughter for a reason, Baker. I can help her, but first you have to help us.”
“I can’t,” said Ward. “I have to hurry.”
“If you leave us here, we’ll die.”
Ward knew she was right, but he couldn’t risk wasting any more time, and they would only slow him down. He answered, “No, I told you, I can’t afford the weight.”
“Those horses can pull us without a problem,” said the Prophet.
“If you don’t let us in then we’ll hang on the bars and slow you down anyways,” said the thegn. “Just let us in!”
“All right, fine,” said Ward, tired of arguing. “Hurry up already.”
The three of them went to the back of the wagon and climbed in. The Prophet moved to the front and whispered to Ward through the bars, “We’re ready.”
The Northland Marauders were focused on the Black Riders as the attackers darted into the camp, murdering any who stood in their way, and then retreated back to the hills. The Riders seemed to meld with the darkness, disappearing into the night and then returning from new positions and streaking through the campsite, slashing down at anything that moved. Ward watched and waited for them to retreat again, and then snapped the reins to cause the horses leading the wagon to move.
The horses tried to walk, but the wagon jostled up and then back down again, its progress impeded. Ward realized his error. In his haste, he’d forgotten to remove the triangular block of wood that was placed in front of the wagon’s wheels.
“What’s the matter?” asked the Prophet.
Some of the marauders had heard the escape attempt, and started to scream out for someone to kill the prisoners.
“The wheels are stuck. I forgot to pull out the blocker.”
“I’ll get it,” said the thegn.
Ward looked over at the camp, and saw that some of the marauders were headed their way. “You’d better hurry, kid.”
The thegn leapt out of the wagon and ran around the side opposite of the camp to pull away the log. A throwing axe thudded into the side of the wagon, sticking in the wood frame just behind Ward’s head and causing the Prophet to yelp in shock.
“Hurry up!” Ward screamed out to the thegn.
“I got it,” said the young man. “Go, go, go!”
Ward snapped the reins, and the horses started to move. He saw movement to his right, and realized that the thegn had been trying to climb onto the wagon when Ward had commanded the horses to move. The young man fell off, and was being left behind.
The Prophet called out to the young man, “Beynor!”
“Go without me,” said the thegn, his voice growing distant now.
Ward cursed, and then pulled on the reins to force the steeds to make a hard left turn. He wanted to go in a circle, but this path took him dreadfully close to the marauder camp. Then, to make matters worse, he saw the black riders reappearing from the night and heading back into the camp for another attack. He reached over to the axe beside his head and tore it free of the wood. He yelled out in fury as the horses followed his command and continued moving in a circle, crushing tents and supplies as Ward guided them back around to pick up the abandoned thegn.
“Here’s your axe, you son of a bitch,” said Ward as he threw the axe down at one of the marauders who’d started chasing after the wagon. The weapon found its mark in the marauder’s face, knocking him backward with enough force that Ward saw his feet fly up in front of him. The former Sixth-Sword cheered in self-congratulatory glee, once again remembering the thrill of battle that he’d all but forgotten in his years as a baker.
Beynor was quick to grab hold of the wagon, and Ward hardly needed to slow the horses down for the thegn to get on. The young man jumped up onto the seat beside Ward and said, “Let’s go.”
Ward obliged, and they headed off into the night, free of the marauders and the devils that had been set loose upon them.