If someone emerged from the smoke near one of his attackers, they had to try and determine if they were friend or foe. At least two men were cut down by panicking members of the ambush squad.
Within a minute of the smoke bombs erupting, six men lay impaled and dead on the surface of the road, each one surrounded by vivid splashes of blood.
A man from within the plumes of smoke yelled at the top of his voice. “Stop fighting! Stop fighting. Come to my voice, we can still get him if we stay close to each other. Head toward me.”
So that was what Rogue did, and the bandit’s plan would have worked perfectly if someone else hadn’t beaten him to it. When he saw the shouting man, Rogue slashed out with his dagger, slashing the man’s throat and spewing cascades of blood pumping out from the man’s neck to hit the ground with a splash.
The man who had already reached his colleague lashed out in a panic and caught Rogue across the forearm, slicing through his clothes and biting deep into his flesh but not doing any permanent damage. The man’s screams of fear echoed in the gully as he ran away, only to be stopped by someone else heading toward him with his sword outstretched, skewering the screamer through the middle.
With only four men left and a wound on his arm, Rogue decided that the time was nigh to slip out of the fray and leave them to blindly grapple around in the smoke until it finally dissipated.
He walked away from the shouts, emerging from the smoke into a sunlit evening landscape where the air was as clear as the gully had been smoke-bound.
The roan stood, patiently nibbling the close-cropped turf by the side of the road.
When he heard steps and turned his head to see who was coming, he tossed his mane and whinnied, almost like he was asking Rogue what took so long.
Rogue mounted up and said, “Well, there were twelve of them,” to the horse’s neck.
The roan flicked its head up, snorted, then set off at a trot. Once he had ridden for a while, Rogue pulled over. His face was swelling and his arm had started to ache, but he still had a ways to go, so he rolled up his sleeve to see the damage. The wound still bled, making his grip on the reins slick. From his belt he pulled out a small pot. He took off the lid, scooped a fingerful of magical healing salve out, and spread it into and around the wound, then spread the rest of the salve over his face. Almost immediately he could feel it taking effect, and by the time he had replaced the empty pot and rolled down his sleeve, the soreness had already been replaced by a fizzing buzz that he knew would continue for a few hours.
“Thank you, Zeke,” he said aloud, his voice withering away to nothing over the open plains on either side of him. The ambushers had picked a good spot and he had tried to warn them. He felt no guilt for how he had left them.
19
Vernon
As he rode down the path, Vernon was annoyed. The contract was mostly completed, with the notable exception of that damn girl in Riverside. He’d lost two of his best men, and even worse, the king now knew she was a target and had men en route to protect her. Now he was walking into another meeting with his employers, who were less than pleased with the lack of results.
It was ludicrous. He’d killed the prince and taken out all the other names in perfect form. That alone should’ve been enough to buy him the time he needed to finish the job. But no, they wanted an update. He’d give them an update, alright.
When he reached the rendezvous destination, Vernon looked around. The land was dead. A fire had swept through this part of the forest years ago, and only hints of new growth were starting to show up. It was a desolate and barren place, but it was also perfect for a meeting. The chances of a hunter or traveler coming here were almost none.
From the north, a rider approached. Like the last meeting, the man was wearing a long, hooded robe. He pulled his horse up a few feet short of Vernon’s. “Is it done yet?”
Vernon shook his head. “No. The situation in Riverside is problematic, but I’ve made arrangements.”
“Why is one young girl causing you such grief?”
Vernon leaned over on his saddle and stared at the man. “Why don’t you tell me? It was one of your countrymen who killed my men and saved the girl.”
The man sat rigid in his saddle. “What do you mean?”
“I mean the last time we met, you didn’t bother changing your footwear. Men from Oshva don’t wear the same style boots as men here in Mara. Did you think I wouldn’t research my employers on a job of this magnitude? Killing a prince was no small thing. I had to know it wasn’t a trap.”
The man pulled down his hood, revealing a mane of thick silver hair and a pair of gray eyes that looked like iron. “I don’t care as much. It was my companions who felt the need for complete secrecy. Personally, I knew once we took the meeting with you our fates were tied together for better or worse. Now, tell me about this countryman of mine.”
“He’s been living on lands belonging to the Grant family for years. He spends most of his time in Vaton attacking tax wagons. They call him Rogue.”
The silver-haired man frowned. “I’ve never heard this name before.”
Vernon nodded. “I thought that might be the case, so I did some more digging. Cost me a pretty penny, but I found out more about this man Rogue. Before he went to work for the Grant family he was a hired mercenary for Vaton working in Deytar. When the old king of Vaton wanted the war to end, he gave up this man and his companions. They were captured and sent back to Oshva—the ones that lived, that is. This one was thought dead.”
The man from Oshva ran his hands through his hair, suddenly looking nervous. “Did you get a name? A real name?”
“Mendris Fox.” Vernon watched the man’s eyes, and there was definitely fear.
“He’s not one of my countrymen. He’s from the Paulan Province. This is troublesome news.”
Vernon said nothing. He could see his employer was mulling over the news.
“We’ll double the contract if you kill him as well.”
Vernon raised an eyebrow. “That is an interesting proposition. I’ll accept it as long as you tell me what I’m dealing with here.”
The man nodded. “In the Paulan Province of Oshva there are villages of Ingla. They are all a’kil. You know the term?”
Vernon nodded. “Yes, I’m familiar with it. Magic users.”
“Yes, they are all magic users, and their warriors train in the use of battle magic. They are called shadow warriors. They use potions to increase their strength, speed, and gods know what other powers. There was a time when these shadow warriors were very prevalent in the Paulan Province; however, with time and a lack of enemies, their numbers have decreased. Many of the young shadow warriors started traveling abroad as mercenaries. My king realized how few shadow warriors remained in the territory and took the opportunity to seize the province. Not all the villages accepted our rule, and some fled to the Toran province, a very inhospitable land.”
“Sure, I’ve heard of it. The Dark Forest, home of elves and bogvals.”
“Yes. Elves, bogvals, and now renegade villages of Ingla and their shadow warriors. A very dangerous combination.”
“And this Rogue, or Mendris Fox fellow, he’s one of them...”
“Yes. Of all the mercenaries who went abroad, the most famous are the Shadow Brigade. They’ve fought in Creyta, Droll, and finally in Mara. It is said that the Shadow Brigade almost single-handedly forced Deytar to accept a peace deal with Vaton, despite having won several large battles and having the upper hand in strength and strategic position.”
“I’d heard all sorts of rumors about the peace treaty. So it was true that Vaton had foreign mercenaries causing havoc all over Deytar?”
“Yes, and those mercenaries were the Shadow Brigade. Most returned home after the war ended. When my king took over the province, we targeted the Shadow Brigade, killing them first, before anyone knew we were making a move. It was a brilliant move, and without their most famed warriors to lead them, the rest of the shadow w
arriors fled to the Dark Forest.”
“And if this Rogue decided to return to Oshva?
“It could be the spark that lights a revolution. He must be dealt with.”
“I will kill him. I’ve dealt with mages before,” Vernon said.
The man shook his head. “Not like this, you haven’t. Do not underestimate how dangerous this man is.”
“I won’t. He and the girl will both die. I’ve made arrangements for the girl. If he doesn’t die during that attack, I’ll lead the next one myself. Mendris Fox is a dead man walking.”
“For your sake, I hope this is true,” said the silver-haired man. “Failure isn’t an option.”
Vernon laughed. “Save your threats. I’ve no intentions of failing, and if I do I’ll be dead. Nothing you can do to me if that happens.”
“Don’t be too sure of that,” said one of the other men.
Vernon’s brow furrowed as he studied the man. He was tempted to say something else, but pissing off his employers wouldn’t get him anything. The money they were offering was enough to buy a small country. He could put up with a lot for that kind of money. “Good day, gentlemen. Make sure you have that money ready. I’ll be along to collect it in a few days.” He then turned his horse and rode away. The longer they talked, the greater the chance of being caught. Too much was at stake for mistakes now. All he had to do was kill the girl and this Rogue and he’d be rich beyond his wildest dreams.
20
Rogue
As he rode home through the mountains separating Vaton from Deytar, Rogue contemplated his visit to Golrog, potentially his final visit to Vaton. It had been over five years since the end of the war, and in that time, he’d made dozens of trips into the kingdom to rob the king or destroy his property. In the first year after the war, he’d barely gone into Vaton. Instead, he’d spent his time grieving over his lost love and the life of his brother. But as time went on and his grief dissipated, anger set in, and he decided to make the old king’s life as miserable as possible. During that phase, he attacked Vaton frequently, often traveling deep into all three provinces that would eventually become the three kingdoms.
At one point he’d even dared to go into King Leach’s castle and had the old man’s throat in his hands. During the dark of night, he’d snuck into his private chambers, intent on ending the King’s life, only to spare it. When Rogue had decided to murder the man, Horace Leach had already had one foot in the grave. And when Horace’s eyes opened to find Rogue standing there with his hands around his neck, the king showed no fear, only acceptance. In fact, the king had seemed relieved, as if he’d spent more time dreading Rogue’s arrival than the actual event. Angry and frustrated, Rogue refused to finish him off. Instead, he vowed to harass the king’s sons instead, vowing he’d destroy everything the old man had built.
After that, Rogue had started his targeting of the king’s gold. Sometimes Rogue gave the gold to Vaton’s poorest; other times he squirreled it away; the majority of the time he sent it to his old village of Grimhaven. By now, his father was either the richest man in the Paulan Province, or he’d spread the funds out to the poorest families. Perhaps he’d used the money to build the Paulan Province into a proper kingdom instead of a disjointed territory. The territory had many rich families that owned the majority of the land, but none strong enough to make a claim of leadership. And the rich families had so many ongoing feuds and grudges that no meaningful alliances were ever made. Poor families either worked for the rich or belonged to the clans of Ingla warriors who trained in the arts of war. Ansgar, Rogue’s father, was a great shadow warrior in his day, but as age and injuries piled up he took to farming and raising his own family. Rogue and his brothers had been trained as warriors from the time he was knee-high.
Despite sending so much gold home, Rogue never inquired as to how his family was doing. It was better if they all thought he’d died in Mara instead of living such a pathetic life. It was why he’d gladly let his old name die. For over five years, Mendris Fox had been a ghost, a forgotten memory of better times, but now it seemed he’d finally turned a corner. He had thought more about his homeland and his old life in the last few weeks than he had in all the rest of the time he’d been away. Before, the memories had been too painful, but now he wondered if he’d made a terrible error in judgment.
Distracted by his own musings, Rogue almost missed the arrow coming towards him. As it was, he spotted it too late to avoid being hit. He turned just in time to prevent the arrow from striking his heart. Instead, it went deep into his shoulder.
Diving to the ground, Rogue was almost struck by a second arrow coming from the other side of the trail. This one hit the leather saddle, puncturing it and wounding the roan. Rogue knew the thick leather had taken the majority of the damage, but he hated the fact that the roan was now in the crossfire.
“Go, boy, head home,” Rogue yelled at the horse as he ran towards the second archer. He didn’t want the roan being struck in the crossfire.
In the trees, Rogue spotted the second archer. He was already firing a second arrow. Rogue ducked down and he could hear the zing of the arrow slicing through the air above his head. These two archers were skilled. Neither he nor the roan had spotted them before the attack, and their aim was exceptional.
The second archer, a tall pale man with a thick black beard, dropped his bow and picked up a sword as Rogue approached.
Zigzagging forward, Rogue felt a second arrow cut into his leg. The archer on the other side of the path was now directly behind him and trying to take him out before he could reach the man’s partner.
As Rogue approached the bearded assassin, he pulled the arrow out of his arm and drew one of his curved daggers from his belt. He kept the arrow in his hand as a second weapon. When he was within striking distance, Rogue kept running forward and then dove under the sword of the bearded man. He then barrel-rolled until the bearded man was between him and the second archer.
The bearded assassin turned on his heels, bringing his sword around in an overhand swing. Rogue blocked the attack, but before he could counter, the bearded assassin took a step back.
Behind the bearded assassin, the second attacker had dropped his bow and pulled out a small axe and a wicked-looking spiked club. He started to flank Rogue while the bearded assassin feinted another attack. Rogue couldn’t help but smile despite the situation. These two assassins were the most skilled warriors he’d fought since the war. Someone had finally been willing to put up some real coin for his death. Even the large horde of men he’d faced earlier was less dangerous than these two.
Beard attacked. His sword flashed in a series of swings that put Rogue on the defensive. And simultaneously the second assassin swooped in with a quick attack, using his small axe to strike Rogue from the side. Rogue was sliced across the leg before he was able to turn his body to avoid the club.
The two assassins stepped back at the same time. Rogue knew exactly what they were up to. They would attack in unison, forcing him to choose which blows to defend and land small strikes like the one on his leg. Alone, each strike would be nothing fatal, but as the fight went on and he lost more and more blood, his vitality would be drained and then he’d be too weak to defeat anyone. At that point, they’d press him until they could land the killing blow. It was like two wolves fighting a bear.
Instead of waiting for the two assassins to initiate another attack, Rogue attacked. He started by feinting towards the second assassin, then lunging towards the bearded assassin. As he’d hoped, the second assassin had stepped back, leaving Rogue an extra half-second to attack the bearded assassin. As he lunged forward, Rogue brought his dagger toward beard’s side, forcing the warrior to block low with his sword. As his dagger was blocked, Rogue kept moving forward until his body was right against Beard’s. Beard tried to push Rogue away and create separation, but Rogue was stronger and pushed his body forward while using his dagger to keep Beard’s sword at his side. Rogue brought the arrow he’d been h
olding up and jammed it into the throat of Beard.
Beard’s eyes went wide, and he dropped his sword, bringing both hands to his neck. Rogue grabbed Beard by the arm and spun him, once again putting him between Rogue and the second attacker.
The second attacker, having realized his mistake, was trying to strike Rogue from behind as he killed Beard, and when Rouge spun Beard, the assassin’s axe missed Rogue and struck Beard in the chest. The second assassin’s club did strike Rogue on the arm.
As Beard fell to the ground, the second assassin was forced to take a step back as the dying man’s body almost fell on him. He glared at Rogue, the first sign of emotion he’d seen out of either man, except the look of surprise on Beard’s face as the arrow struck his throat.
“You’ll pay for that,” the assassin said with a snarl as he circled around the body of his dead companion.
“Perhaps,” Rogue said. “But not today.” As he studied his opponent, Rogue tested his arm. He could barely lift it. It didn’t feel broken, but something was damaged. He had his sword in its sheath, but with only one arm, the long, curved dagger was just as effective.
“You should’ve stayed dead, Mendris.”
Rogue’s brow furrowed as he studied the man. Long hair pulled back into a ponytail, he had brown eyes, a hooked nose, and thin lips. He was not as tall as his bearded companion had been, but he had wide shoulders and narrow hips and moved well. “You know me?”
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