Rogue

by Robyn Wideman

  Raiya couldn’t help but feel a little admiration for the man. It actually hadn’t been a bad plan, and in his shoes, she might’ve done the same. “Do you know where Rogue is?”

  “Yes. He’s on his way to Evermeir. Vernon Glaire has a trap set for the girl, but I doubt it will get Rogue.”

  “The girl?” Raiya asked with more than a pang of jealousy.

  “The princess. The last of the royal bloodline. Vernon was hired to kill them all. Your Rogue stopped them twice from killing her. She won’t survive the third time.”

  “And where is this attack supposed to take place?”

  “I’m to meet up with Vernon ten miles south of here. He’s meeting with the warriors from Chambia he hired to kill the girl. They failed the first time, so now Vernon and his best killers are going to make sure it is done right.”

  Raiya pressed him further. “When is the attack supposed to happen?”

  “Tonight, tomorrow, whenever the caravan from Riverside arrives.”

  Raiya thought about the assassin’s words. If the caravan arrived at the ambush tonight, there was nothing she could do to help. Even with her magically enhanced vision, traveling at night took time. But if the caravan hadn’t arrived, she could help save the princess. “Tell me exactly where you are meeting Vernon.”

  29

  Vernon

  Vernon Glaire spotted Tenga Kalo from a distance. Hidden from the road in a shallow valley, Kalo had picked a good spot for an ambush. One Vernon himself would have picked.

  If it hadn’t been for his ineptitude in attacking the Grant estate, he wouldn’t have needed to find a spot to ambush the girl. He could have been heading back to Chambia to resume his life of...well, whatever it was he did there for a living. Judging by the coarseness of his speech and character, Vernon decided he didn’t want to know.

  He was astride his horse on a ridge above the small area of flat land along the valley bottom. The fact that none of Kalo’s idiot guards had spotted him or his dozen companions, who were sitting on their own beasts, until they were practically in the camp didn’t fill him with confidence that this plan would have a better outcome than the plan to overwhelm the Grant estate.

  Once he’d heard Kalo’s little excursion had failed to achieve its aim, he had gathered together the most reliable men from his team and made his way there to do the job himself. The loss of gold from his kitty to pay the idiots who had failed was as much of an annoyance as the failure.

  “What do you think?” Vernon asked the men beside him.

  Bergman, a beefy bearded warrior with a thick scar across his neck and tattoos covering his entire upper body, responded. “I’ve been here before. It is a good spot for an ambush. You could fit a hundred men in that valley and no one on the road to Evermeir would ever know. And just beyond the ridge there is a creek that crosses the road. They will be almost at a dead stop when they cross it. A perfect spot to attack.”

  Vernon agreed. At least Tenga Kalo had done one thing right.

  “Kind of a rag-tag outfit,” Bergman said. “How many did they start with?”

  “Over fifty, if Tenga wasn’t lying,” said Richard.

  Vernon looked over at his two lieutenants. Both were showing the same dismissive opinion of the group of Chambian mercenaries that he felt. It was hard to find good villains. “Come on, let’s get down there,” he said with a resigned sigh. “How they haven’t managed to get themselves all killed is beyond me. Richard, have one of our scouts go ahead and see where that caravan is. I don’t want any more mistakes on this job.”

  The two men chuckled, then clicked their tongues and dug their heels into the sides of their mounts. Vernon watched as Richard signaled one of the men using just hand signs. The rider nodded and took off. These were well-trained men, not the rabble that Tenga Kalo had brought up from Chambia. Perhaps they were tough fighting men, but what he saw on the ridge didn’t inspire confidence.

  ...

  “Tenga, tell me what happened at the Grant estate,” Vernon Glaire said.

  Tenga stared at him. “I lost a lot of good men, that is what happened. Your information about the Estate was all wrong. They had half a dozen real fighting men, and they were ready for us. Was that your plan all along? To have my men die at the hands of those warriors so your men could sweep in and have the glory? If it was, it didn’t work. We killed everyone there, but the girl was gone. One of those warriors they had at the estate snuck her out at the first sign of attack. Then they met up with the soldiers from Evermeir.”

  Interesting, thought Vernon. The estate was supposed to have only a few men, and no one worthy of being called a warrior. “Calm down, Tenga. The information I gave you was correct. Someone must have brought in warriors to help the Grants. Was there a tall dark-haired man there? A real dangerous looking fellow.”

  “Not that I saw, but he could be one of the dead,” Tenga Kalo said.

  “Not likely,” Vernon replied. “Well, what is done is done. Where are we now?”

  “My scouts have been tracking the caravan from Riverside. They will be coming this way, so we can ambush the caravan with the princess in it. The road is on the other side of that low ridge,” he said, pointing away into the distance. “We have a good ambush spot there.”

  “Right, but you didn’t think to post a proper guard.”

  “Well, we have scouts on duty and we are protected by the hills. If anybody approaches—”

  “We sat on the ridge behind your camp without being spotted. I would have a quiet word in your lookouts’ ears if you want to end the day without your throat slit.”

  Kalo looked around at the ridges quickly, then turned and glared at two of the men who were supposed to be on lookout. One was resting against a large rock, eyes closed, sucking peacefully on a pipe of leaf. The other was busily mopping out the remains of a bowl of food with a hunk of bread.

  Glaire could see the annoyance sweep across Kalo’s face, then the realization of fear at what Glaire was likely to say—or worse, do—about it.

  “Can I interest you or your companions in some food, Vernon?”

  Vernon Glaire dismounted his horse, tied it to a scrubby bush, then took one step forward to stand in front of Kalo.

  “It’s Mr. Glaire to you, you oaf.” He grabbed Kalo by the front of his jacket and yanked the gibbering man toward him. The two men locked eyes for a millisecond before Kalo lowered his in defeat.

  Glaire pushed Kalo away once he knew he had made his point—and made it so that all of Kalo’s men knew exactly who was in charge now.

  “Do you have a scout on the road?”

  Kalo shook his head.

  “Then how will you know when to mount your ambush?” Glaire looked around the camp. Although it was rag-tag, it was well-equipped. He was glad to see the gold coin he had spent mounting the raid had been used on at least one useful thing.

  Kalo glanced down at the floor like a child being told off for fighting his siblings.

  “I suggest,” Glaire said quietly, “that you might like to do that now?” He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “Right, yes.” Kalo looked around at his crew. Vernon assumed it was to try and find even one of them who was partly competent. In the end, he pointed at a young man who had been cooking the food.

  “You, boy. Climb to the top of that ridge and watch the road. As soon as you see any sign of activity, make a sign.”

  “Yes, Tenga.” The young man scratched his head. “What sign?”

  “Any sign. Shout, holler. Jump—”

  “No, no, no, in the name of the gods, Kalo. Don’t you think the king’s men will be scouting ahead of the caravan? If he does any of that he’ll just alert them. Young man,” Glaire said, turning to the boy, who was by this time looking even more confused than he had been before. Glaire snapped his fingers until he finally had the boy’s undivided attention.

  “Young man, go lie down on the ridge and stay out of sight. If you see anything, slither down until you a
re out of sight from the road and then take off like the wind and get back down here to tell what you have seen. Do that and you’ll be the hero of the day. Understand?”

  The boy nodded, puffing out his chest at the very idea he might be a hero, then took off full pelt.

  “You need to learn to motivate people, Kalo. See how the young man is running to his spot?” Glaire watched as the boy, who was steadily receding into the distance, tripped over something and fell on the ground in a heap, throwing up a large cloud of dust and scaring a flock of birds high into the air from the nearby trees.

  He slapped his hand across his eyes and shook his head sadly. Thank the gods he’d sent a proper scout ahead already.

  When he remembered who had told him Kalo and his gang of halfwits were the best mercenaries in all of Chambia, he would be having sharp words indeed. He also didn’t rate highly Chambia’s chances of surviving an invasion if this was the best they could muster as warriors. When this job is all over, he thought, maybe that’s what I should do. Go to Chambia, kill the king, and install myself on the throne.

  A crazy thought, maybe, but worth considering. With the money he’d make killing the girl and Rogue, he could probably pull it off.

  “Now, Kalo. Are your men all ready to move at a moment’s notice?” Glaire looked around the camp, eyeing up men who were asleep, lying down, idly eating food, or in one case surreptitiously trying to pick out the contents of his nose. Sure, they’d ridden from Chambia and had been in what might’ve been a very exhausting fight at the Grant estate, but the casual way they sat around was not how one prepared for an ambush. They needed to be prepared to strike at any second.

  “I’ll get them organized.”

  “That would be a good idea. And don’t take long. My guess is the caravan will be along shortly.” Vernon raised his voice slightly so Kalo’s men would hear him. “I expect your men will look like warriors during the ambush. If they don’t carry their own weight...” Vernon didn’t finish the sentence. They would get his meaning. Useless mercenaries ended up dead mercenaries.

  Tenga Kalo left in a hurry, shouting at his men to get themselves equipped and supplied in short order, kicking the men on the ground into action and slapping the man’s hand away from his nose.

  Glaire rolled his eyes in exasperation and stepped over to where a large pot of something was boiling over the fire pit. The smell of it was as horrid as the look, so he decided to give that a miss and satisfy himself with a meal of dried meat from his saddlebags and a slake of water from his canteen, happy that at least he knew what was in them.

  His men satisfied themselves by going around the camp checking weapons and equipment and making sure each man was ready before going on to the next one.

  By the time he had chewed his way through the meat, they had returned, nodding at his unasked question. They were ready. That was a good thing.

  By his reckoning and the height of the sun in the sky, the caravan would not be far away now. At least now, having established some kind of order to the camp, he was confident they would be able to move in quickly. Ideally, he would have liked the men split into two groups so one could block the caravan while the other attacked from behind. But given what he had to work with and Kalo’s evident lack of leadership, he figured he’d best keep everyone together and hit the caravan as it passed.

  Vernon spotted the rider Richard had sent ahead to scout. He signaled the man to come forward. Richard and Bergman were already on their way to him. They knew it was almost time.

  “The caravan is almost here,” the scout said once he was in front of Vernon. “One carriage and three wagons. Twenty soldiers, a dozen on horseback. The rest are archers sitting on the carriage or the wagons.”

  Vernon nodded. Between Kalo’s men and his, they outnumbered the soldiers. And with a surprise attack, they would increase their advantage. With the new information, Vernon reconsidered his plan and barked out new orders. “Bergman, take your best ten archers into the trees. The rest of us will split into two groups. Richard, you take Kalo and his men. Loop around behind them so they can’t retreat. I’ll take the rest of the men and attack from the front. We’ll pin them in at the creek. Any questions?”

  Both men shook their heads.

  Vernon yelled to the men in the camp. “Mount up!”

  As the men gathered their weapons and horses, Kalo joined the leadership group. Bergman was already grabbing men from both groups and leading them over the ridge.

  Vernon, Richard, and Kalo stood in front of the rest of the men who were mounted. Vernon had to admit even Kalo’s men looked ready for battle. He addressed the horde of mercenaries. “They will be here soon. Kalo, you and your men follow Richard down the valley. We’ll pin them in at the creek. Everyone pick a man to attack and don’t stop until one of you is dead.” He noticed several men gulp at that idea.

  How had it come to this? How had his reputation as an expert assassin led him to command a mismatched bunch of farmers and country boys into battle against the king’s men and whatever guards they had brought with them?

  He only hoped they fought better than they looked, and that the guards were still weary from a night’s carousing at the Wretched Wench. His own men he trusted, but they were going against what he assumed was an elite squadron of the king’s best soldiers. Men that wouldn’t flinch or panic during an attack. It wasn’t the type of work he liked to do, leaving so much to chance and the skill of men he didn’t know. But his employer wanted the girl dead before she could arrive at the capital and all his previous efforts had been foiled. He was now desperate. He looked over at Richard and gave him a nod.

  Richard turned to Kalo. “Let’s go.”

  Kalo mounted his horse and signaled his men to follow. Vernon smirked at the adept way Richard had handled the situation. He’d given Richard command over Kalo and his men, but instead of belittling Kalo, he’d let the man lead his own troops. If Richard survived the attack, he’d be given more responsibility. Perhaps he should be sent to Chambia to see if taking over the kingdom was truly an option.

  “Mr. Glaire, look,” one of the men shouted. “Young Tarquin is on his way back.”

  “Who?” Glaire said.

  The man pointed. “Tarquin. The lad you sent to spy on the road.”

  Glaire shielded his eyes from the sun and saw that, indeed, the young cook was sprinting hell for leather back toward the ambush party. It only took him a couple of minutes to get back, but he was panting so hard he couldn’t find the breath to speak.

  Glaire tapped the fingers of one hand impatiently on the horn of his saddle, holding the reins of his horse with the other. Eventually he lost patience.

  “Come on, lad. Tell me what you saw.” He already knew that the caravan was approaching, but perhaps the boy had more information. It never hurt to check.

  “Huge...cloud...dust,” he said, pointing back where he came from. “Two...scouts...ahead.”

  “Perfect. Now get on a horse, grab a sword, and catch us up. Everyone else, get on the move but stay off the path. We don’t want our own dust cloud to warn them.” Vernon led the men up the valley. They would double back and come down the road while Richard and Kalo came from the other side.

  Within minutes, Vernon and his group of mercenaries were on the move. They stopped at a spot that was just out of sight of the creek where the ambush would occur. The whole group waited. The only noises were the stomping of hooves, the snorting of the horses, and the light rustle of leaves as the trees on the other side of the road caught the gentle breeze that blew along the open country.

  Vernon waited impatiently. This whole job was becoming almost not worth doing. He would have to seriously think about how he intended to spend his time once it was finally over. He turned to the scout Richard had sent earlier to watch the road. “Take one man and kill their scouts once they are past the creek. Pull the bodies into the woods.”

  The scout looked back at the other riders and nodded towards another of Vernon�
�s men, Bradcliff This one Vernon knew well. Bradcliff was an excellent choice. He was an old hand when it came to sneaking up on people and sticking a knife in their backs. He watched as the scout and Bradcliff slipped off their horses and handed the reins to the boy, Tarquin, and silently stalked into the woods to hunt their prey.

  Vernon waited another minute before he heard the sounds of two men jogging up the road. The scouts had arrived.

  They emerged from the trees at the perfect moment for Vernon to watch his men silently cut their throats and drag their bodies over to the woods and out of sight before the main caravan arrived. Even Vernon had been surprised by the ambush of the two scouts; it had happened so fast. He’d have to get the name of the man with Bradcliff He was an adept killer and a good scout. He could use a man like that while trying to take over a kingdom.

  Before long, the trundle of wheels and the sound of a large group of horses approached. They slowed down as they approached the creek bed. It was shallow but bumpy. Vernon waited until the first wagon was past the creek and the carriage was crossing before giving the signal.

  Glaire yelled, “Now!” at the top of his voice. The archers, hidden in the trees, started firing into the men on the wagons and carriage while he and his men charged forward.

  30

  Rogue

  Rogue stood beside the hammerhead roan. He’d caught up to the caravan ten miles back, but instead of joining them he’d swung around and was scouting for ambush spots. He’d taken to high ground to get a better view and had spotted several locations that would make great ambush sites. Yosef had several good scouts with him, but they were sticking to the road. It only allowed them a view of immediate danger. From where Rogue sat, he could see for miles.

  The caravan was now in a section of woods where he couldn’t see them, but he could still see the three spots he’d suspected would be used for an ambush. He would ride down to the first spot and inspect it, and if it was clear he’d move on. He hoped to sniff out the attack before it could happen. A movement at the top of the first ridge hinted that he was wrong.