The area directly behind the gate consisted of a collection of tents, a stable, and other buildings surrounding a packed-gravel road. Pickets built in ten-foot sections were stacked up by the wall, ready to be quickly deployed in the event of an attack. About fifty yards deeper into the kingdom, another low wooden wall had been built, no doubt to keep random people from entering the compound. The whole setup was professional and of the highest standards. Yaz certainly wouldn’t have wanted to attack their position. His people should be safe here.
Speaking of Tonia, she and an older man in a dark-blue uniform were headed his way. That had to be the unit commander. Yaz looked quickly around for Brigid and Silas, but both were busy looking after people. Well, Brigid was. Silas had collapsed among them and was sipping a mug of whatever the soldiers brought. Looked like he was on his own.
When they arrived, Tonia gave him a quick hug. “Glad you made it through safely. Was there any trouble?”
“One stray guard escaped Silas’s spell, but other than that not really.”
“What did you do with the guard?” the man asked.
He was in his midfifties, weathered and craggy, with short gray hair and a scar on his left cheek. He looked like the sort of man that would have gotten on well with Yaz’s father.
“Yaz, this is General Rend, the king’s uncle,” Tonia said. “He’s in charge of the entire border patrol. It was pure chance that he was inspecting this post when I arrived.”
“My pleasure, sir. Or is it Highness? I’ve never met someone of royal blood.” Yaz bowed.
“Sir is fine,” General Rend said. “Now answer my question.”
“I had to kill him, I’m afraid. Couldn’t risk one of my people getting hurt.”
The general nodded. “Good. Tonia told me your story. You won’t accomplish your goal without determination and the strength to do what’s needed.”
Yaz hesitated for a moment then said, “Do I understand you to mean that you approve of my goal?”
“I do. Slavery is an abomination. And while my nephew will do nothing directly to aid you lest Carttoom take it as an act of war, I can assure you that anyone you can get across the border will be safe and well cared for. And I mean anyone. Don’t feel you need to only rescue your family and villagers. Any slave that reaches Rend will be kept safe. You have my word on that.”
“Thank you, General. Tonia offered me reassurances, but to hear it from a member of the royal family directly is a great comfort. If there’s anything we can do to thank you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
General Rend nodded and they shook hands. The general turned and marched back toward the largest of the tents, leaving Yaz and Tonia alone.
“What will you do now?” she asked.
“The same thing I planned to do all along. In the morning we’ll sneak back across the border and begin seeking out the rest of our people. I’d like to finish this before the worst of the winter weather sets in. Though I’ll work through the snow if I have to.”
“I wish I could offer you more help,” Tonia said. “But I need to report to my superiors and as the general said, Rend can do nothing directly to help your cause, worthy though it is.”
Yaz hadn’t expected anything else. Despite being inside Carttoom’s borders, the lack of a noble patron meant Dragonspire Village had always stood alone. This would be no different. One way or another he’d see everyone free.
Chapter 2
Moz loved fall in the Kingdom of Rend. He breathed deep of the damp morning air. The worst of the horrid summer heat and humidity had vanished, leaving behind pleasant days and cool evenings. Despite having his horse stolen by that son of a bitch Rondo back at the ruined city, he’d made good time returning to the kingdom. After resupplying at the border settlement, he’d crossed back into Rend yesterday. Of course the settlers hadn’t had a horse to spare, in fact they only had two mules and a donkey.
Bernard had offered him one of the mules, but Moz declined. The settlement had little enough, no way was he going to take one of their plow beasts. Besides, he could requisition a mount from a kingdom fort as soon as he reached one. Even former rangers retained considerable authority for that kind of thing.
The wilderness separating Rend from Carttoom was some of the nicest country he’d ever traveled. The hardwood trees were just starting to show color and were spaced far enough apart to allow easy movement.
Moz slipped among them like a ghost, silent and nearly invisible. So sure were his movements that he barely rustled a fallen leaf. He did it more out of habit than any fear of what he might encounter in the area. It wasn’t like this was no man’s land. The dangerous, magical beasts in Rend had been hunted down and eliminated centuries ago. A stray axe beak or saber cat might wander across the border now and then, but it was rare. Like once-a-decade rare.
That was why when Moz felt someone watching him it came as a surprise. He didn’t pause or even break stride, but he knew for sure that someone was out there. Someone that meant him no good. In his line of work, you learned quickly to trust your instincts. Those who didn’t tended to die young.
As he continued on toward the nearest border fort, Moz debated whether to try and force his stalker out into the open now or let them make the first move. Fighting in the woods was natural for him, so this would be advantageous terrain if he had to draw steel. On the other hand, having an entire fort’s worth of soldiers at his side would be an even bigger advantage.
Exhaustion made the decision for him. Moz needed a good night’s rest after walking for days. If his stalker decided to make a move while he was at the fort, fine. If not, at least Moz would be well rested when he left and had to make his stand.
He kept up his steady pace, trying his best to give no indication that he was aware of whoever was out there. For his stalker’s part, whoever it was kept well back, but their presence never vanished entirely. Moz almost felt mocked by whoever was following him. Like they were so confident they could take him any time they wanted they didn’t need to hide their presence.
Moz hated being mocked, but he was happy to take advantage of his foe’s arrogance. Plenty of his enemies had died from that failing over the years. He’d be happy to add one more to the list.
The border fort appeared through the trees around midafternoon. It was a simple wooden motte and bailey. Towers spaced around the perimeter gave archers an excellent vantage point to watch for approaching people and, if necessary, to put arrows into them.
The fort was designed to provide the best protection possible for a minimal cost. Everyone understood that if war broke out again, the fort’s task would be to delay any attack as long as possible before they fell. It wasn’t pretty, but what about war was? The young men and officers assigned to these posts were all single and had no children. They knew as well as anyone what was expected of them.
Most considered it an honor.
Moz considered it a waste. Not that anyone asked his opinion.
Stepping out of the forest and into the kill zone, Moz walked slowly toward the fort, hands at his sides and well away from his sword hilts. He’d barely taken three steps when the first archer spotted him. An alarm bell in the tower rang out and soon the wall was lined with soldiers glaring out over the tops of the sharp logs that made up the outer wall.
Moz kept going, slow and steady. He knew the procedure for approaching one of these forts; he’d helped train the first batch of border guards assigned out here after the last war.
Twenty yards from the gate, right on schedule, the fort commander, a blond man with a thick beard, shouted, “Stand and be recognized!”
Moz stopped in his tracks. “I’m Moz of the ranger corps. In the king’s name I need shelter for the night, supplies, and a horse.”
“Come ahead and welcome to Fort Tedious.”
Moz grinned and continued on toward the gate. Trust the border guards to come up with a name like that for their fort. He hoped it would live up to its name for many years to come.
The fort’s commander met Moz just inside the gate with a smile and firm handshake. The lieutenant was younger than Moz expected for a commanding officer, maybe twenty-five. Not that it was unusual for a new officer to do a rotation through the border forts. The man stood a good hand taller than Moz and his uniform strained to contain the mass of his chest.
“Congratulations,” the lieutenant said. “You’re our first ranger. I’m Gordy and as I’m sure you guessed I command this fort. If it’s not a secret, may I ask what brings you to our humble home?”
“Long story. I’ll share what I can, but some of it is secret. I also want to warn you. Someone was trailing me through the forest. I didn’t get a look at them, but their intent was certainly hostile.”
Gordy chuckled. “I hardly think a single person is apt to take on an entire fort of soldiers. But I appreciate the warning. I’ll warn the patrols to be on the lookout. Shall we continue this conversation in my office? There’s a bottle in my drawer that might take the edge off.”
Moz grinned. He was going to like Lieutenant Gordy.
They crossed the yard together, many of the soldiers pausing on their way back to their posts to stare at the passing ranger. It happened every time he visited one of the smaller posts. It was the ranger reputation more than Moz himself that drew their gazes. Or maybe it was his dragonscale armor and mahogany skin. Either way he offered a polite nod here and there and soon enough they reached the main keep.
The guard at the door saluted Gordy and opened up for them. The inside was nothing fancy. Plain, rough-sawn lumber on the walls and floor. No decorations to speak of beyond a Carttoom blade probably seized in battle before most of these kids were born. A narrow flight of steps led to the second floor and Gordy’s closet-sized office. There was a desk, two chairs, and just enough space left over to breathe.
Gordy gestured at the spare chair and Moz sat. A bottle of amber liquor was produced and they drank out of dented tin cups. The drink went down smoother than he expected anything found out here to.
When he finished, Moz set his cup on the corner of the desk. “Bernard and Ella send their best.”
He flinched. “They told you I’ve been helping?”
Moz nodded.
“You won’t say anything? What they’re doing is a good thing.”
“I agree,” Moz said. “That’s why I helped them fend off a bandit raid. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. As for my mission, I went scouting for a dangerous enemy’s base. I can’t say much, but what I learned needs to get back to my superiors as quickly as possible. All I need is a hot meal, a cot for the night, rations for a week, and a fast horse.”
“That’s no problem. We’re provided with ten horses despite the fact that it’s easier to patrol these woods on foot. I’ve noted that in my reports a dozen times, but no one pays any attention to a lieutenant with only three years’ experience.”
Moz grinned. “When I was active full time, they only listened to about half of my suggestions so don’t feel bad. Now, how about another drink?”
Gordy filled both cups and raised his in a toast. “To the ignored masses. May all those in charge continue to forget about us.”
Moz clinked cups with him. That was a toast he was happy to drink to.
Moz shifted and pulled his thin blanket up. The fort barracks didn’t have a cot to spare so he was sleeping on the floor of Gordy’s office. It was quiet, but cramped, even with the guest chair sitting on top of the desk. He’d slept in worse places, so it wasn’t the hard floor that kept him awake. No, the problem was, Moz couldn’t stop thinking about the presence he’d sensed out in the forest. He could count on one hand the number of people skilled enough to hide from him and he’d trained most of them. Whoever was stalking him was that good.
He’d have to deal with them sooner or later. Maybe he should just ride a mile or two down the road and call whoever it was out. Moz assumed it was an assassin and not a spy since no one would be interested in spying on him.
“Ah, hell.” Moz tossed the blanket aside and got up. Maybe a slug from the lieutenant’s bottle would help him get to sleep.
It was too bloody dark to see. He groped around and found the door handle. When he jerked it open, light from the hall poured in.
He froze. It was too quiet outside. A fort had a certain rhythm and was never silent. Something was wrong.
While his eyes adjusted to the light, Moz buckled on his gear and pulled on his boots. With his equipment in place, he set out to investigate. Hopefully it was nothing, but he didn’t believe that for a moment.
He’d barely stepped out into the hall when he stopped again. There was a faint, distant sound he couldn’t place. Whatever it was, it didn’t fit in. More convinced than ever that something bad was happening, Moz drew his blades. The heft made him feel better at once. Nothing like cold steel in your hands to steady your nerves.
At the top of the steps he looked down into the main portion of the keep. The wood of the floors took on a dull, orange glow from the lanterns. No shadows intruded on his view. Even at night there should have been a man on duty.
Keeping close to the wall, Moz worked his way down to the ground floor. The complete silence was eerie. The wood didn’t even creak when he stepped on it. Curious now, Moz gently rapped his hilt against the wall. The dull thud brought a sigh of relief. At least there wasn’t some magic messing with his senses.
At the bottom of the stairs he looked left and right for any sign of the guards that should have been on duty. He might as well have been the only living person in the world. He turned down the right-hand passage toward the barracks. Gordy bunked with his men, so if he was going to find someone, that’s where they’d be.
The walk took only seconds. Outside the barracks door Moz sniffed the air. A faint, coppery odor filled the hall. He’d know that smell anywhere.
Moz reared back and kicked the door in. It slammed against the wall with a satisfying crash. But what he found waiting didn’t satisfy him at all. The soldiers were all in their bunks lying in pools of blood. Two rows of cots holding thirty men, all killed without a sound or anyone putting up a fight. For all his skill, Moz doubted he could do something like this.
He walked along, checking each man as he went. They all lay in whatever position they’d been sleeping when the killer struck. Even if they hadn’t seen it coming, surely they would have thrashed around before bleeding out. Something didn’t add up.
When Moz reached Gordy’s cot he crouched beside the dead man and looked him over closer. The edges of the wound were discolored. Some kind of poison had been used in combination with the blade that struck the fatal blow. A paralytic would explain the lack of thrashing.
Instinct made Moz leap to his right. An instant later a blade flashed where he’d been standing. A figure swathed in loose black cloth spun to face him. A cowl and mask covered their face and the flowing fabric made it impossible to tell if he faced a man or a woman. Either way, this was an opponent of lethal skill.
“I’m impressed.” The soft voice was neither especially deep or high. “Not one in a thousand could avoid my silent strike without taking a wound.”
“You’re the one who was following me in the forest.”
“That’s right. Your woodcraft is outstanding.” The assassin shifted left, settling into a low crouch, a curved dagger held in a reverse grip and partially hidden by the flowing robe.
Moz shifted right, matching the assassin and maintaining his distance. “If you wanted to kill me, why wait until I reached the fort? Why kill these innocent men?”
“The challenge. Taking out an old, broken-down ranger would have been too easy. But sneaking into a border fort, killing all the soldiers without raising an alarm, and then claiming my target – that was a challenge worthy of my skills.”
“You’re crazy. Let me guess, the Dark Sages sent you after me. They seem to have a liking for lunatics.”
Moz and the assassin continued to move and circ
le, constantly on the lookout for an opening. Despite the shorter weapon, his opponent never left the slightest gap in his guard. As dangerous as El-Kalim had been, the giant warrior relied on his unnatural abilities to win a fight. This assassin was a warrior of a different caliber.
“You should be honored. Lord Black doesn’t dispatch me to slay just anyone.”
Moz’s lips twisted in distaste. “Thanks.”
They could keep this dance up all night. If Moz wanted an opening, he was going to have to make his own.
He feinted a slash with his left blade and stabbed with his right.
The assassin saw through his attack, easily avoiding the thrust and countering with a left-to-right slash that Moz barely deflected.
They ended up back in their original positions, weapons raised and ready for round two.
The assassin leapt at Moz.
He countered with a double slash that hit nothing but cloth.
Moz ducked and dove.
The assassin’s blade scraped along the back of his dragonscale armor.
Moz rolled to his feet just in time to dodge a lightning thrust that would have pierced his left eye. Too fast to count, the curved blade darted in.
Moz didn’t think, only reacted, his years of experience keeping him alive.
When the opening appeared, he nearly missed it.
On the last thrust, the assassin over-extended a fraction. Moz counterslashed, opening a long gash in the exposed arm.
The assassin hissed and leapt back, blood dripping. “You are worthier prey than I’d dared hope. This will be a glorious hunt.”
The assassin flung his hand in Moz’s direction. Expecting a knife, Moz twisted to take the attack on his breastplate. Instead a small sphere exploded, filling the air with darkness.
The blow he anticipated never came. When the darkness cleared, Moz was alone with the dead. The blood trail disappeared ten feet from the barracks. He searched every corner of the fort, finding more bodies, but no assassin. Wherever the assassin had gone, he or she wasn’t in the fort.
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