Simeon, the second in charge, does not have the affinity for deciphering the clues to track. “Where are they headed, Bonaveer?”
“South, along the River Rhine. They have some in their aid. “
“How many?”
“At least a couple, perhaps as many as six but no more. They’ve only been gone for a couple hours at most. I believe that we should follow slowly and intercept them at the bottom of the Siemen Valley, away from the prying eyes of this small town.”
“I suspect we will kill them as well if the situation demands.”
Bonaveer looks at Simeon contemptuously as if he is a stupid child. “That creates more complications. If we can’t avoid killing others, then we will. But we will avoid that if we can. Herod is not a man keen on complications. Do you know who he is?”
“Ai. Know of him but never met him.”
“Trust me. A fool like you don’t want to tempt the devil. Be the death of you, it will. Now shut your piehole, before I shut it for you.”
Simeon is not completely without wits. He knows better than to argue with Bonaveer. The man has a fiery and capricious temper. And what he heard of Herod was not good. The man is said to be ruthless and does not tolerate failure under any circumstances.
Bonaveer mounts his reindeer and turns the massive animal gracefully on an arc. Despite their massive size, reindeer are highly maneuverable. Wild by nature and not nearly as docile as horses, they are difficult to train. Only the most resilient and patient of men can train them. Bonaveer is one such man. He once boasted he spent four years in the training of the confederate knighthood, only to be eliminated when his temperament did not measure up to the Brotherhood’s standards.
Simeon suspects it is an embellishment and it was probably less. Still, the man’s formidable gifts cannot be denied. He is an intelligent and elite killer. Nor will he tolerate lip service from the likes of the lowly Simeon.
(2)
After several hours on the road, Arkin finally convinces Latimer to decrease his speed. They are making good time, but the horses cannot maintain such speeds for long. Latimer relents. The exhilaration he initially felt at the beginning of the ordeal has waned and overdue fatigue sets in. If they can make it to the bottom of the Siemen Valley, there will be many directions they can go and it will be more difficult for trackers to ascertain their whereabouts.
The large town of Khatul will give them options for escape. The large shipping hub of Corith is only a couple days away. Even Arkin, as ignorant as he is in the matters of warfare, knows they are vulnerable on these roads.
They must see to their guests. Arkin opens up the Silverwood doors to the wagon’s interior and walks in. Despite the roominess of the interior wagon, the family is huddled together in a small group. Both of the children are laying on their mother, who has her arms wrapped around them. They are sleeping peacefully, for the time being. Mitz stands sentry at their feet, his big ears pricking up as Arkin walks in. Once he determines that Arkin is no threat, he lays back down but continues his vigilance.
“How are you doing Mais?” asks Arkin.
“As well as can be expected.” She smiles but it is forced. Her irises are blood-shot and puffy. Arkin’s heart goes out to her. In addition to her unparalleled beauty, she possesses an indefatigable spirit and a pure heart, a true rarity. Arkin doubts he will be able to mount much of a defense himself, but in this moment, he knows he would give up his life to protect her and her family. Without hesitation.
“You saw my husband last, did you not?”
“I did Mais.”
“What did he say? Any indication of why he had to leave so abruptly?” asks Sophia.
“No. But it was not his decision. He was forced to leave, so he was. His only concern was for you and the children. He loved you very much.” The tears building in her eyes and threatening a torrential downpour finally give way. She awkwardly wipes them away.
Arkin does his best to assuage her. “Latimer may be an old Mais, but he is quite able bodied. The man is a formidable speed shooter as well as swordsman of some repute. I rather feel down pour for the unlikely fellas that try and tassel with the likes of him.” She smiles at him.
“You know I learned how to fire the piece myself.”
“Did you now?”
“Ai. Ain’t too bad either. Lucian taught me. Can hit a cup-pence from a hundred yards out, so I can.”
“Well, do believe our pursuers may be outmatched.” He smiles at her and embraces her. The smile he gives her is forced and she knows it; but she appreciates the gesture nonetheless.
He walks back out into the seat bucket. Latimer’s two large sheps see him and turn in his direction, their ears perked and ready to pick up any nuance, no matter how minuscule.
“How doeth they fare, Sage?”
“As fortune would have it, the children are sleeping. She is doing as well as expected, but worried much.
“Do fear we may get into some hard business, so I do. You ever been in a fight, Sage? A real tussle and not one as a pube in the schoolyard?”
“No. I am no stranger to the martial arts, but I ain’t never shot a gun.”
“I’ve been in many fights. Close dog fights, sword fights and heavy caliber skirmishes. I’ve seen it all. Allay my fears, friend. I don’t have to worry about you turning high tail and running scamp, do I?”
“Never.” Determination radiates in those eyes and something else-truth.
“I do believe you. Hard truth in your words. If we must meet our end, such an end we will give them. You ken?”
“Ai. You are the General. Declare to me and set watch and warrant, I’ll follow the best I can. If I can only offer my body as a shield, then I’ll do that much. “
“And your body would serve as a hefty shield, no doubt.” He smiles as he says this, making light of Arkin’s portly frame. I ken you could serve as shield for the wagon, if need be.” Arkin smiles at Latimer and erupts in laughter. Latimer joins in and then affectionately pats him on the leg. It felt good to break the tension and suffocating anxiety. They both reckon that it could very well be their last chance at humor for some time, if ever at all.
Chapter 6: An Act of Subterfuge
Bonaveer catches up with the wagon. He pulls out his hyper-oculars and peers through them. A large portly man is sitting stern-side while an older gentleman drives the reigns. As the wagon rounds the next corner, Bonaveer can to get a better look at the older one. He is wearing military smocks and has two hard caliber revolvers, one on each side. On the left side of his tool belt, he also notices a sword.
From this distance, Bonaveer notices the sword has a gold emblem on it, indicating it is military, but more so high-ranking military.
The man had to be at least a Commander, perhaps a General. Judging by the age of the gentleman, he could very well be retired. Still, he is not one to easily dismiss. And his movements are not akin to one who is of a decrepit nature. He appears to be stout, full of his faculties and the way he looks around hints he is observant.
This one must be eliminated immediately. He is simply too much of a threat. Two large sheps sit next to him, further indicating a military position. Civilians would have difficulty acquiring one of the breeds, let alone two.
Observing the other gentleman, Bonaveer determines he is not military. He is much too portly to be active military. And his camisole smock suggests he works in the Courts in some administrative capacity, whether currently or in the past. His rotund face makes it difficult to guess his age at this distance. Bonaveer believes he will prove little in the way of a viable threat.
Bonaveer looks into the windows of the fort wagon. Detailed features cannot easily be discerned from such a distance, but she does appear to be beautiful. She has two children, one boy and a girl, a large mastiff by their side. He will be the most viable threat of the family once the military man has been dispatched.
Bonaveer motions his crew down towards a ridgeline where they will be able to ambush the
wagon.
(2)
“We’re being followed, Arkin. Prepare yourself for a confrontation,” warns Latimer.
“How do you know for sure?”
“Something is reflecting the light and there is an unusual glare, which can only be explained if someone were using some sort of telescopic device. Also, I observed minute movement in those trees. A large animal has made it and its progress is mirroring our own. Wild animals don’t track large wagons. They would perceive it as an unlikely prey. They are riding large McKenzas at the least, perhaps reindeer. Their movements are swift and sure-footed. Take heed.”
Latimer looks at him with fierce determination, his jaw set as rigid as a stone statue. “Follow my lead and be ready to act quickly.”
Arkin’s eyes dilate to nearly twice their size and he is unable to swallow. “Ai.”
(3)
Bonaveer does not want to take any chance with the military man. He sends Simeon up ahead of the wagon to flank and surprise them. Simeon is a crack shot with the arrow and deadly accurate at long distances.
Simeon gallops on ahead of the wagon and finds the perfect place in which to ambush them- a thicket. Sharp thorns prove to be cumbersome, but with much painstaking work, he can remove the largest thorns and climb inside. It is a good vantage point. He can see the wagon approaching over the ridge and coming into view.
Simeon has his own pair of hyper-oculars, but will use it only when necessary, to avoid a give-away glare. At one yard away, it will be difficult to see Simeon, unless he knows exactly where to look. At that distance, Simeon can launch several kill shots. He is accurate to over five hundred yards away.
(4)
Latimer has been in this situation before. Nothing completely prepares a man for the moment of hard action. Some men piss in their pants at the pivotal moment and some turn high tail. Peering into Arkin’s eyes, he does not believe the man will do either. Arkin’s heart beats precipitously faster and yet, simultaneously, he feels a razor-sharp focus grip his mind. He is ready. Perhaps for the last time in his life.
As if to prove his point, several pistol shots ring out behind him. A couple of the shots ricochet off the side of the wagon, but none are accurate. They appear to be aimless. Latimer surmises this assault is merely a diversion. More than likely, a group of pursuers are going to flank him from the head in order to catch him unawares. Latimer used such maneuvers himself.
In response, he ignores the shots from behind, sends the horses into full gallop, and veers slightly off to the right. As he is veering off, an arrow inexplicably materializes in the shoulder of Arkin. The man lets out an earth-shattering scream reverberates in his eardrums painfully.
And almost as quickly, another large arrow sails into the fortwagon, missing Latimer by mere inches. Arkin continues his high-pitched screams. Another arrow makes its way into the wagon, nearly decapitating Larkin.
He must act now. From this distance, he cannot see the bowman. In an effort to thwart the hale of arrows, Latimer pulls his iron and fires several bullets into the direction of the shooter. And he turns to Arkin. He has a look of terror on his face but his eyes resonate staunch determination. He will take orders. He is pinned and does not possess the strength to remove the arrow himself, nor the leverage even if he had.
“Arkin, I am going to remove the arrow from your shoulder. You must take over the reins. You ken?”
Despite the excruciating pain he is in, the man appears to be resolute. “Ai. Do it and be done. I’ll fight.” Latimer reaches behind the man, noticing the thick, viscous blood already present on his smock. He takes the arrow and breaks it off, sending torrents of pain throughout Arkin. He tries in vain to stifle a howl but emits a sharp squeal.
He takes the other side of the arrow and breaks it off, careful to minimize the pressure on Arkin. The man is sweating profusely and has probably lost a fair amount of blood in the process. “Can you move your shoulder?
“Ai. Can move it but the pain is fierce.”
“I hope you are a lefty?”
“I am ambidextrous. Have been all my life. “
Latimer produces the hard caliber shooter Sophia gave him. “Take it. And the reigns to boot. I’m asking a lot of you, tis true.”
A lump forms in Arkin’s throat and he is momentarily unable to swallow. “I’ll fight.”
Latimer smiles. “Ai. Know you will. We’ll give them a fight, so we will. I need to go.”
As if to emphasize this point, another arrow lodges into the wagon, penetrating into the wagon a full eight inches, at least. Latimer and Arkin look at each other frantically. There is only five inches of oak separating the driver’s seat from the inside of the wagon. As to be expected the family lets out a brief scream, punctuated with much sobbing. It doesn’t sound like anyone has been pierced. “Are you alright back there? Anyone hit?”
Sophia yells back. “No, we are not hit.”
As nimbly as a man half his age, Latimer gets up and positions himself outside and jumps onto the first horse, Chanticlere. She momentarily resists the uninvited intrusion on her backside. The wagon veers off in the other direction dangerously. Arkin is quick to counter the move and direct the horses back the other way.
Latimer hoists himself off the horse and jumps on the lead horse, Trale, a powerful, fast Stallion Buck of royal lineage. Once on Trale, he unclips him from the brigant and sends him into a full gallop ahead.
As he gallops ahead, he directs the horse in a zig-zag manner to make a difficult target of himself. Two arrows zing past him, precariously close. He looks in that direction and barely discerns a figure in the thickets.
If he had not followed the path of the arrows perfectly, he never would have seen him. In a jaw-dropping display of speed and marksmanship, Latimer pull his revolver from his holster and fires four shots in rapid succession.
Two of the shots ring out dangerously close to the assailant. One of the shots however, finds its mark in the side of his head, completely disintegrating the man’s ear in one gory explosion. The other shot finds its mark in the man’s collarbone, breaking it. The man reflexively drops his weapon. Although none of the shots are mortal injuries, the man is now completely incapable of firing his arrows. He gets up as quickly as possible and tries to retreat. It does him little good.
As soon as he begins his retreat, he inadvertently trips and falls face first into the thicket. He removed several of the thorns when he made his vantage point, but he did not remove them all. As he falls, the barbs penetrate his face and he screams as torrents of pain erupt from every part of his body, his piercing screams as high pitched as any girl.
His movements further give him away. Latimer can now see his assailant completely. The man has been disabled as two hits found their mark. He trips further as he makes haste and as he picks himself up. Latimer fires two quick shots. Both find their mark in his head, sending up an explosion of blood, gore and brain matter. A large cavernous hole exists for a split second where his eye and cheekbone had previously been. His knees buckle, and he falls dead.
(5)
Bonaveer observes the hale of arrows stops after the old military man untethered a horse and chased Simeon down. He can only assume the worst. Simeon has been dispatched. The old man is proving to be quite a worthy adversary.
As if to punctuate this point, the old man turns on a skillful arc with his stallion and fires several bullets in his direction. Although they are haphazard shots, some nevertheless venture too close for comfort.
“Troy, take Halley, Cuthberto and Romulin and ride ahead through the thicket and reconvene at the fortwagon. I’ll take Crass, Butcher Dan and his remaining team to dispatch this old military cunt. Tate, you go straight for the wagon, cutting him off. No matter what happens, at least one team will make it to the wagon. Go!”
(6)
Latimer rides back to the wagon. The closer he ventures in that direction, the clearer he can see the approaching riders who are traveling fast in his direction, attempting to mee
t him head on. They are about four hundred yards away from the wagon. Latimer kicks his horse into a full gallop. As he anticipates, they are riding on very large beasts of burden-reindeers.
To keep them off balance, Latimer fires numerous shots from his gun in their direction, not hoping for a direct hit, but to draw their fire in his direction. They fire several in response. One shot pierces a branch not far from his head. It does not deter him in the least. To misdirect him, the men ride in a zig-zag manner and two abruptly ride off the road and through the dense foliage of the forest.
More than likely, the riders will be splitting off to reconvene at the wagon and ensure the family is dispatched. Latimer’s fate is of little consequence to them.
As Latimer reaches the wagon, he peers into the wagon and approaches Arkin. The man’s normal ruddy pallor is ghostly white. Despite the blood loss and excruciating pain, he maintains an obstinate determination. “There is a clearing up ahead about two hundred yards away. When you reach it, veer off into the clearing. Then take the horses and unbridle them from the reigns. Stand sentry at the wagon. Meanwhile, put the family on the horses downtroddle.”
“I’ll not leave ‘em.”
“You won’t. I will reconvene with them. They are trying to outflank us. We will counter that. Either way, we are the only hope they have. We must create our own diversion.”
“Ai. Set watch and warrant it done.”
Latimer gallops off. Just as he is leaving, his sharp reflexes alert him to an approaching rider. The intruder is trying to be quiet in the dense forest, but the large beasts’ hooves are especially loud. He distinctly hears the un-holstering of a gun and the click of the hammer. With lightning quick reflexes honed over decades of gun play, Latimer turns his head, reaches for his pistol and fires off two quick, successive rounds.
One shot lodges into the man’s sternum and exits, causing massive internal hemorrhaging. The other shot lodges deep into his belly, causing him to cry out as blood seeps from the wound. Latimer ends his cries for good when he fires off another shot, hitting its mark in his head. He falls to the ground and is dead.
The Brotherhood of Merlin Page 3