The Dragons' Graveyard

by James E. Wisher

  As was always the way on a mission, he’d deal with any problems when they popped up. Until then he’d focus on the task of finding the Dark Sages’ headquarters. According to Priscilla he needed to travel a good ways northeast of the border while still keeping south of the freeholds to find them. She didn’t offer the most precise directions, but hopefully he could find some locals to question. Most likely after they attempted to rob him.

  Speaking of locals… He sniffed and caught a hint of smoke in the air. No one would build a homestead this close to the border, not after so many wars. Midday hadn’t even arrived yet so it shouldn’t be a camp. Moz shrugged and followed his nose. Maybe he’d find someone to talk to sooner than he thought.

  Half an hour later he eased up to the source of the smoke, the remains of a merchant wagon lying on its side and smoldering. Arrows stuck from the boards and a pair of bodies stripped of anything valuable lay on the ground nearby.

  Bandits for sure.

  Moz dismounted and tied his horse to a handy pine sapling. Drawing his swords, he slipped out of the forest’s edge out into the open. He felt exposed, but there didn’t seem to be anyone nearby. He often sensed hostile gazes watching him and at the moment he was alone.

  Nothing attacked him for a full minute. Feeling reasonably safe, Moz sheathed his blades and studied the site. Given how little remained of the wagon, the attack must have happened late yesterday, probably when the unlucky merchants stopped for the night to make camp.

  He toed the bodies over. A man and a woman about the same age, probably a husband and wife. But what were merchants doing out here in the borderland? There were no settlements or border crossings so who did they hope to trade with?

  A quick search of the churned-up ground revealed six sets of tracks leading east. That would be the bandits. The wagon came from the north. Now that he looked closer, there was a clear, if rough, wagon trail carved through the forest running north to southeast. He overlaid the wagon’s general bearing on a mental map of the area. Assuming it didn’t make any sharp turns, another day of travel would bring the merchants to the Rend border. Could they have been trading with one of the forts?

  He shook his head. It didn’t make sense, but he had his own mission. Carttoom could deal with their own bandits. Then again, the tracks did lead in the general direction of no man’s land. He could follow them for a while and if he happened to run into a band of murderers, well, it wouldn’t be much of a problem to deal with such a group. Carttoom or Rend, innocent people didn’t deserve to end up dead at the hands of animals like these.

  His mind made up, Moz collected his horse and set out after the bandits. Who could say, maybe they’d seen the Dark Sages’ base in their travels? Couldn’t hurt to ask.

  Less than an hour of light remained when Moz spotted a trickle of smoke a few miles ahead. He had been following the bandits’ tracks for most of the day, not hurrying, not wanting to walk into a trap. The trail was so clear a first-year scout could’ve followed it. The bandits obviously expected no trouble. And why would they? This was the middle of nowhere. Neither Rend nor Carttoom would be foolish enough to build anything of value this close to the enemy’s border. Anyone living nearby might as well hang a sign that said “kill me in the next war” on their cabin.

  Which dragged his thoughts back to the merchant wagon and what in the world brought it out here. He shook his head and reined in beside a clump of maple saplings. Soon enough the bandits would provide his answers, one way or another.

  He dismounted and tied his horse to the biggest tree. In another half an hour it would be dark enough to make sneaking up on his prey easier. He pulled a strip of jerky out of his saddle bag and started gnawing. He hated hunting on an empty stomach.

  Moz snuck through the purple sunset towards the bandit camp. They’d chosen a hidden clearing in the midst of a stand of maple. Every once in a while, he’d catch a flash of their fire and a whiff of their stew. A hundred yards out he heard people laughing.

  He eased around a tree trunk and stopped.

  “You’d think they’d take a hint,” a deep male voice said. “How many supply wagons have we burned this summer? Ten, fifteen? If the settlers had a brain in their heads they’d move on.”

  “Don’t complain,” a different man said. “This is the easiest job we’ve had in years. They’re either too poor or too stupid to hire guards. Makes the job that much safer. Better than hitting caravans on the main trade routes.”

  There were murmurs of agreement. Settlers and supplies made it sound like a new town was being built. Even as out of the loop as Moz was, he’d have heard about a new settlement going up on the border. He shook his head and inched closer.

  Seven figures sat around a blazing fire. Either they had a guard they’d left behind or he’d gotten their numbers wrong. He couldn’t make out many details given how the shadows constantly shifted, but from what he could see they looked like your typical motley assortment of bandits. Lots of weapons and scars, mismatched armor – he’d fought enough of the bastards that the scene before him was familiar. On the opposite end of the clearing from the fire, horses snorted and cropped grass.

  “Why are they so determined?” a bandit asked. “They should’ve quit long before now.”

  One of the bandits shifted so Moz could see the patch covering his left eye. “Rumor I heard was this settlement is being built by people from Rend and Carttoom that lost family in the last war. They’re hoping to show the two countries can live in peace so there won’t be another battle. Sounds like nothing short of death will stop them.”

  “Then they’re going to die.” An eighth man stepped out of the darkness. How many had he missed? “The masters want this settlement dealt with. Peace between Rend and Carttoom doesn’t suit their plans.”

  “They don’t expect us to take an entire settlement on our own, do they, Boss?” The first hint of nerves came through in the bandit’s shaky voice.

  “Hardly,” the eighth man said. “You don’t think we’re the only group hunting out here, do you? When the time comes, we’ll meet up with the others and attack together. Burn the place to the ground. Don’t know when the orders’ll come, but they will come. And when they do, there will be blood on both sides. Zealots don’t fall easy.”

  The men turned quiet and began filling their bowls. Moz kept watch in the darkness, his mind racing. If there really was a group trying to end the cycle of hate and war, he’d do everything he could to help them. Starting with killing these butchers.

  Moz waited until they settled in, bellies full, to dream of murder, before moving in. Just to be safe he waited until the moon was high overhead and snores filled the clearing.

  His swords didn’t make a sound as they cleared their sheaths. Where some might hesitate to kill sleeping, helpless men, Moz just grit his teeth and silently entered the clearing. He’d done far worse to far better men during the war.

  The first three bandits died with barely a gurgle. When his blade fell for the fourth time the bandit shifted in his sleep and the edge bit deep into the side of his neck but missed his windpipe.

  The bandit roared in pain as he bled out. The survivors woke and scrambled for their weapons.

  No need for stealth now.

  Moz’s blades slashed an X and the fifth bandit’s head fell from his neck.

  He spun away from the sixth’s sword straight into the seventh. The fine steel of Moz’s swords drove through the bandit’s leather breastplate and both lungs.

  That left two, the man whose sword he dodged and the leader who carried a double-bitted axe. Two against one was bad odds for them.

  “I don’t know who you are,” the leader said. “But tonight is the last night of your life.”

  Moz flashed a smile. If that was meant to be intimidating, he should have said it before six of his men had fallen.

  The swordsman shifted left while the leader went right. For all his bravado, the leader wasn’t foolish enough to charge in.

&nb
sp; Moz feinted toward the leader and when he flinched, spun and parried the swordsman’s thrust. As the bandit stumbled past, Moz slashed across the back of his neck, severing his spine and sending him tumbling to the ground.

  Instinct prompted Moz to dive right, a hair’s breadth ahead of the leader’s descending axe.

  Moz rolled to his feet and stood facing his opponent. There was no hope for the bandit. The man was big and strong, but his skill was little to nothing. He would live as long as Moz wished and not a second longer.

  “Who do you work for?” Moz asked.

  The bandit leader roared and charged, his axe weaving a path of death ahead of him.

  Moz dodged the powerful strikes easily. The axe had too much momentum to allow for a quick back cut. Still, the bandit put on an impressive display.

  For half a minute the axe head never slowed and no opening for a counterstrike appeared.

  He couldn’t keep it up.

  No one could.

  The axe gradually slowed until Moz saw his opening. The blade swished past his head close enough for Moz to count the notches. As soon as it passed, he lunged in and made a cross slash.

  The axe went flying along with the hand holding it.

  The bandit collapsed and clutched his bleeding stump. “Who are you?”

  “Moz, of the Alteran Rangers.”

  “I don’t feel so bad about losing now. Aren’t you on the wrong side of the border?”

  “Just passing through.” Moz stuck the dead bandit’s sword in the still-hot coals. “Who do you work for?”

  “No one you’d know.”

  “You’d be surprised. Don’t suppose it was the Dark Sages?”

  He flinched, confirming Moz’s guess. “Thought maybe. What I can’t figure is why they’d care about some little settlement out in the middle of nowhere.”

  The bandit shrugged and winced. “Beats me. I just kill who I’m told to kill.”

  “That’s a very professional attitude. Have you been to their headquarters?” Moz pulled the now glowing sword from the coals.

  “Once, when I got the job. I went with five other guys who run small crews. They made us an offer, a generous offer, and we took it.”

  “Hold still.”

  The bandit gritted his teeth and held his bleeding stump out. Moz slapped the hot steel to it. It spoke to his toughness that the bandit neither screamed or passed out. He panted and cradled the seared wound to his chest.

  “Gods’ blood that hurts.”

  “I’ll bet.” Moz tossed the sword aside. “Why didn’t you just attack the settlement in the first place?”

  The bandit shrugged. “Don’t know. The one that hired me said to stop the supply wagons passing through this part of the country. So that’s what I did.”

  Moz nodded. “Well, you’re not bleeding anymore. If you want to continue not bleeding, you’re going to guide me to this settlement then the Dark Sages’ base. What’s your name anyway?”

  “Alva. I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

  “No,” Moz said. “You don’t.”

  Chapter 4

  The maps in Yaz’s mental library were far from fully detailed, so when the Wallowing River turned into a swamp three days after leaving Roval, it came as a considerable surprise. A few of the other passengers muttered about it, but most seemed to know it was in their path and had resigned themselves. At least the waterways were open enough to allow the barge to pass with minimal difficulty.

  Willows hung over the river, shading them and making the humid air a fraction more tolerable. Ahead of them a beaver slapped the water with its broad tail and dove under the surface. They were, no doubt, at least some of the cause of this swamp. The beavers must have built a large dam somewhere downstream which flooded the low-lying ground. Pity he didn’t have his bow. There was good money in beaver pelts.

  “This smells almost as bad as the sewers,” Brigid said. At least the swamp took her mind off leaving Cal behind, for the moment anyway.

  She stood in the front of the barge with Yaz as the vessel made its slow, slogging way through the swamp. The smell she was complaining about came from rotting vegetation floating in the barely moving water. After this journey, assuming he made it home in one piece, Yaz swore he’d never complain about the stink from the aviary again.

  “It’s a different stench, but I agree, it is just as bad. Hopefully we can leave it behind before too long.”

  “Afraid not.” A man in his fifties with a handkerchief pressed firmly to his nose joined them at the rail. “I make this trip every year. Takes a full day to get out of the swamp. I told the barge company they ought to hire some hunters to kill the beavers, but they won’t listen to me.”

  “Why not?” Brigid asked.

  He shrugged. “Damned if I know. A faster current would make it easier on them too. Maybe they begrudge the money.”

  Yaz doubted that. If anything, hunters should be in here just for the furs. No one would have to pay them. Something stank beyond the swamp.

  “What is it?” Brigid asked.

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve got that look. The one you get when your brain is whirling a mile a minute. You’re never thinking about anything good when you get that look.”

  Guess he had some tells of his own. He’d have to work on that. “It’s probably nothing, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this swamp than meets the eye. A resource like this should have hunters and fishermen fighting over access. Instead it’s empty save for critters and us.”

  “Maybe you’re just paranoid after all the trouble we’ve had lately.”

  Yaz frowned. “Maybe. I’m going to talk with Silas and grab my staff anyway.”

  He’d barely taken a step when three narrow canoes paddled out into the channel. They’d been hiding behind the thick brush and brambles that grew wherever a spot of earth poked out of the water. Each canoe had four occupants, one with a paddle and three with crossbows.

  Yaz grabbed Brigid’s wrist and dragged her away from the rail and toward Silas. “Get our staves. Silas! Trouble!”

  Brigid darted toward their gear while Yaz ran toward the card game where Silas had leapt to his feet.

  “What is it?” the wizard asked.

  “Men in canoes with crossbows. They don’t look friendly.”

  To emphasize Yaz’s guess one of the new arrivals shouted, “Don’t resist! We only want your scale and other valuables. Cooperate and no one dies.”

  “Definitely not friendly,” Silas said.

  Brigid joined them, tossing Yaz his staff. “What’s the plan?”

  Passengers looked at each other, unclear on what to do. The barge master came running up, waving his hands. “Keep calm, everyone. I’m sure if we just do as they say everything will be fine.”

  Yaz frowned. The barge master didn’t look surprised to have armed men in canoes rowing up to rob them. “We’ve been set up.”

  “What?” Brigid just stared at him.

  “That skinny bastard knew this was going to happen,” Yaz said. He had no proof other than his feelings, but he trusted those completely. “This is why they switched barge masters in Roval, not for whatever nonsense reason he gave. I don’t plan on handing over our supplies. We’ll need them in Port Steel.”

  There was a thunk when the first canoe hit the side of the barge. They were nearly out of time.

  “Silas, you up for a fight?” Yaz asked.

  The wizard grinned. “I’m always up for a fight.”

  “Brigid?”

  She nodded with a good deal less enthusiasm.

  Yaz tightened his grip on his staff. “Let’s go.”

  The first pirate was climbing aboard on the opposite side of the barge. Yaz ran over and just as he looked up thrust his staff hard into the man’s chest. He went flying off the deck and splashed into the water.

  “What are you doing?” the barge master shouted.

  Silas muttered
and lightning gathered around his hands. He hurled a blast at the nearest canoe, sending the pirates diving into the water an instant before it exploded into splinters.

  Crossbows from the second and third canoes clacked, but a gust of wind deflected the bolts before they could strike.

  “I didn’t know you could use wind magic too,” Yaz said.

  “I can’t.” Silas hurled more lightning, sinking a second canoe.

  Yaz risked a look around. The woman he’d spoken to earlier was swirling her hands around and her lips were pursed like she was whistling. She must be some sort of wizard too. No wonder he got the feeling she was dangerous.

  Someone screamed from the opposite side of the barge.

  Yaz spun. One of the pirates must have swum around and was halfway aboard.

  “Stay with Silas!” he shouted at Brigid.

  Yaz ran toward the pirate and swung his staff. The strike came half a second too late.

  The pirate blocked it with a thick curved sword and shoved Yaz back a step. He got to his feet and bared crooked, yellow teeth.

  The other passengers rushed toward the rear of the barge, giving Yaz room to fight.

  “You should have surrendered,” the pirate said. “Now you’re all going to die.”

  “We’ve got two wizards on our side,” Yaz said. “How about you?”

  The pirate’s face twisted in an ugly grimace.

  “That’s what I figured. How about you toss that sword over the side and lie down on the deck? I promise you’ll live long enough to hang in Port Steel.”

  “That’ll be the day.”

  The pirate lunged at him and Yaz slapped the sword aside with his staff.

  Yaz swung again. The pirate raised his sword to block, but the heavy blow sent his sword flying. Yaz’s third strike crashed into the pirate’s head and sent him hard to the deck.