Roland's Path

by R J Hanson

  Something prophetic? He thought. He had never been trained in magic and had never had a talent for it. What was this weird vision?

  Two of these dark figures drew short blades and closed with Roland quickly. They operated under the assumption that this big dumb warrior was maybe not so dumb after all. Maybe he saw their man at the arms shop. Maybe he had been lying in wait for them. The third ignored the whole situation. He went straight to Roland’s gear and began searching it with practiced fingers. He knew his part of the job.

  They had accounted for Roland’s size, but not for his speed or for him standing at the ready with a Shrou-Hayn in his hands. The joining of combat shook Roland from his daze. Their sure attacks were parried swiftly and the one on Roland’s right found his ribs cracked by the cross piece of the Shrou-Hayn.

  Roland assumed these worthies were here to distract him while Yorketh or Dawn finished him from a dark corner. While parrying and striking his eyes flitted to the empty spaces in the room searching for the ambush. His division of attention cost him.

  He was reminded of another lesson when one of the blades he faced slipped past his own and drew a thin red line of blood across the inside of his arm near the elbow. The assassin’s blade missed its mark, he was sure, but it was close. Roland knew the attack. If one could slice the tendon there near the elbow the hand would lose function. If one missed, then there was always the gathering of blood vessels there. Perhaps he wouldn’t bleed enough for it to slow him, certainly not enough to kill him, but it would soon make his hand slick with blood. It would make his weapon, or anything else for that matter, hard to hold.

  He remembered another lesson as well. Fight the foes before you first. Be aware of your surroundings, but not at the cost of the danger at your throat. Even now he heard his father’s voice.

  Forced into tight quarters by the two assassins and their four blades that he faced, Roland fought with both ends of the Shrou-Hayn. A quick block with the cross piece of his sword where it joined the edge caught two blades while he quickly rolled the axis of the Shrou-Hayn and forced himself close to the assassin on his right. The edge of the cross piece gouged into the assassin’s brow tearing the flesh in a bloody path that led deep into the jelly of his eye.

  A howl burst from him as he stumbled back. He let go another howl as he happened upon another wayward caltrop on the floor.

  The assassin to Roland’s left worked hard to get in close so Roland couldn’t use the long reach of his arm or his blade against him. Roland had a moment to think that no one had taught this fellow as he had been taught. Watch the weapon but, fight the man.

  As the assassin jabbed and thrusted forcing Roland to parry with the cross piece and fore guard, Roland waited for the position to be right. His back would be to the thief going through his things, but hopefully for only a short time.

  The time came. Roland again managed to catch both of the assassin’s nimble blades, if only briefly, in one cross body block. Roland let go of the Great sword with his right hand and struck hard at the assassin’s chest just over his heart with his hand open, palm forward.

  The blow was hard enough to knock the assassin back yards but he traveled only a short distance when the back of his head struck the stone wall behind him. Between the heart-strike, which disrupted his heart beat, and the clash of his head against stone the quiet killer sagged as he nearly lost his grasp on the world.

  Roland seized his slight frame quickly by the collar of his leather jerkin and hurled him without art into the first man to discover the caltrops. As he was attempting to regain some semblance of his wits, his compatriot crashed into him with tremendous force. The clatter of bone against bone could be easily heard.

  Suddenly light shown into the room as Roland’s door opened onto the landing going into the tavern. The thief, clear in his goal, was on his way out. To Roland’s horror, the thief was on his way with Roland’s black glass axe.

  New riches in hand, the thief looked back once to make sure he was out of the reach of the Great Man. That look would cause him to miss the fact that he was headed directly toward another.

  Eldryn stepped forward hard slamming his helm clad forehead into the ear of the thief. Most likely knocked unconscious by that blow, the thief’s head was certainly escorted to the halls of shadow when it rebounded against the doorframe.

  Roland turned his attention back to the other three. Three? There had been three. Now he only found the two that were still in a tangle together amid the caltrops. In the chancy light he saw an arm protrude from their pile, he couldn’t be certain which of them it belonged to, produce a dagger seemingly out of thin air. That arm cocked to throw as Roland plunged Swift Blood through them both. The arm fell to the floor.

  Eldryn started across the room toward the window which must have been the escape route the one with a gouged eye had taken. Roland shouted.

  “Hold!” Roland said. “Caltrops. Bring a light.”

  Eldryn returned quickly with a lamp from the bannister and Roland met him at the door with a torch from his pack. They swept the caltrops aside and surveyed the window and then the alleyway beyond. There was no sign of their quarry.

  “These two are dead,” Roland said examining the pile of assassins he had thrust his Shrou-Hayn through. “That one?”

  “He’s breathing,” Eldryn said pulling his hand back from the man’s nose. “His head may be broken though. I thought to take him prisoner. I didn’t want to use my sword unless I had to. You know I wouldn’t head butt a man otherwise.”

  “Your Code is safe,” Roland said. “It was wise. We need to know what he knows.”

  “Where did you get the caltrops?”

  “I borrowed them from your pack,” Roland said. “It seemed like a good idea. As I said, I was making preparations for our other guests.”

  “Well buy your own,” Eldryn said. “I want those back.”

  “As you say,” Roland said. “Shall I wake the shop keep now, or will you rouse the town guard while I wrap the wound on this arm?”

  Eldryn did not reply. He turned and headed down the bannister.

  “Perhaps some pants first,” Roland said calling after him. “You look a bit silly in a night shirt and a helmet.”

  Roland tore a bit of sheet from the bed and wrapped the cut on his arm. Then he cut a short length of rope from his store and used it to tie the thief’s hands and feet. He had never had a head for remembering the many knots that his father had taught him, but those to bind a man he knew well.

  Then he gathered the caltrops and restored the furniture that had been shoved around to its original positions. He then turned his attention to the two dead assassins.

  These two seemed well equipped for the trade. He found a small leather kit about the size of a pint wine skin. Unfolding it he found small pockets lining its interior, each held a thin metal tool of one sort or another. Lock picks. He found several daggers, two short swords, and a choking chain of fine links, all make of steel.

  His most interesting find was a parchment with his name, a decent sketch of him, and an even better sketch of the dwarven axe. He also noticed that, although in different places, one on the inside wrist and the other behind the left ear, each man had a tattoo of a small black fly. He had a moment to think that the first man he had seen, the first time he had seen it, had the black fly tattoo on the web of his hand. However, this fellow had the tattoo, although of the same design, on the inside of his wrist instead.

  The town guard arrived shortly. In areas further from cities, towns and seats of power the Shire’s Reeve and his deputies carried a variety of duties. They were responsible for everything from patrolling the lord’s lands, to fire watch, to the apprehension of cut purses and horse thieves, and adjudication in most matters not concerning the lord, or lady, themselves. However, in cities such as Dolloth, the Reeve’s duties were focused more on the lord’s house and politics. The Reeve of these lands had appointed a Magistrate, Lord High Inquisitor, and Captain of the Wa
tch to Dolloth. Those three stations would have their own officers to carry out what was required. In this case the Captain of the Watch was responsible for the enforcement of the lord’s laws, apprehension of any and all criminals found within the walls of Dolloth, and the jailing of same.

  Roland knew he would be speaking with someone from the Inquisitor’s office some time soon. Perhaps tomorrow. However, for now, it would be the town guard under the Captain of the Watch that would take custody of the remaining assailant and assess the situation. No need to call an Inquisitor every time someone was killed over a wager, or a woman.

  The two fellows were young but, who was he to think such a thing? So much had happened he had a hard time remembering he had probably been in this world less time that either of them. They were of the more common man races that populated much of the central regions of Lethanor. They sported matching leather jerkins and maces that bore the seal of Lord Jessup.

  “You’re the Roland this man told us of?” one asked as he jerked a thumb toward Eldryn.

  “Yes,” Roland said. “It looks like they were trying to steal the axe.”

  Roland showed them the parchment.

  “And you killed those two there?” the other asked.

  “Yes,” Roland said. “There was a fourth that escaped. Any idea where I might search for him?”

  “Anywhere outside Dolloth,” the first replied. “Any searching done here is done by the Capt’n or them ‘quisitors. You’ll be around tomorrow.”

  “Certainly,” Roland said. “We can be found here.”

  “I wasn’t askin’,” the first said. “I was tellin’. One of the ‘quisitors ‘ill be by tomorrow.”

  Eldryn moved quickly to intervene when he saw the color of Roland’s face darken.

  “We’ll be here,” Eldryn said. “You’ll be taking the bodies?”

  “Yep.”

  The two guards drug all three out to the bannister where the corpses and the prisoner were piled onto a tarp to be hauled down the stairs and away.

  “I think we’ll be taking that axe for, um…evidence,” the second said.

  “The only way you’ll get this axe will be to take it,” Roland said. “You can tell that to your ‘quisitor’ too!”

  It seemed that for the first time these two actually took in the size of Roland, and what he had accomplished on his own, in the dark, and against several assailants. They left without another word.

  “Such slovenly, goat-headed, dung-healed…” Roland began.

  “Can you imagine Tolbert walking in on this scene?” Eldryn asked.

  “What!?”

  “I was just thinking of your father’s deputy, Tolbert. Can you imagine his response to walking in on this scene? Two men dead, an assassin escaped, and a prisoner to jail that’s as dangerous as that one likely is.”

  “I take your point,” Roland said.

  The next morning as they were finishing breakfast, on the house and in private dining as a form of apology from the inn keeper for the attempted theft from the night before, a short man of stout build dressed in black silk trousers and a white cotton shirt approached them. He was being shown the way by their waitress.

  “I am Scurlough,” the short man said. “I am an inquisitor here. I hope I have not caught you at a bad time.”

  To be fair Scurlough was taller than Ashcliff, much closer to six feet in height. He was of the common blood of men, with combed back brown hair and eyes that matched. At first look he would appear fat to the casual eye, but Roland noted the calloused hands and strong shoulders of a man accustomed to work. A man gets fat in his gut and his ass, Roland thought, not in his shoulders. Roland put his age at perhaps forty.

  “Not at all,” Eldryn said. “Please, join us.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Scurlough said nodding to a waitress. “You have a familiar bearing,” Scurlough said looking at Roland.

  “I suppose many of the Great Man race do,” Roland said looking down and away.

  Scurlough saw right away one thing and thought a second. One, this Roland was no good at lying, and two, men on the run were unusually much better liars. Either this Roland was stupid, or he was honest. Although there was a third possibility. He might be both.

  Roland knew that Velryk often received dispatches from Ostbier about matters concerning the front, or criminals that had eluded capture. If Scurlough put together who his father was then he would likely include what he learned in his next letter east. Velryk would know a good deal more about his son, and much faster, than Roland had intended.

  “I take it you were raised to be a warrior?” Scurlough said. “A lord’s son?”

  “No,” Roland said, not sure if he was lying. “Our fathers served together. Eldryn’s father died in battle. My father thought we should be prepared for the trouble with Tarborat.”

  “And your father is?” Scurlough asked.

  “Possibly dead,” Eldryn cut in. “He still serves and we have not had word from him for some time.” It’s really not quite a lie, Eldryn thought.

  “I see,” Scurlough said. “Perhaps to the matter at hand. Do you know why the thieves targeted you?”

  “No,” Roland said. “I assume one of their number spotted the axe. I take it this isn’t a common occurrence in Dolloth, or in this inn anyway. Otherwise, I doubt the hospitality would have been so generous by the innkeeper.”

  “You are correct in that it is not common,” Scurlough said. “This axe then, is it of particular value?”

  Roland produced it from his belt and removed the lamb skin cover from it. He had taken to covering it the way he ‘concealed’ Swift Blood. He handed it across to Scurlough.

  “This is a fine weapon indeed,” Scurlough said. “Not just of rare material but rendered by a skilled hand as well. These symbols along the haft are interesting. Have you spoken to any of the churches about its origin, or perhaps a shop about selling it?”

  “We did speak to a tradesman at the armorer’s just down the street,” Roland said.

  “I see. He didn’t offer a fair price?”

  “It’s not for sale,” Roland said. “I was just curious as to what he could tell me about it.”

  “Ah, well, in that case I can be of some help. I know a monk here of the Church of Bolvii. He is well read on the subject of rare weapons and has studied many languages. I can make arrangements for you to meet with him in a day or two I’m sure, if you like.”

  Scurlough handed the axe back to Roland. Roland noted that Scurlough carried what appeared to be no more than a decorative dagger but, this man knew how to handle a real weapon as well.

  “I don’t think that will be necessary,” Roland said.

  “Who did you get it from?” Scurlough asked.

  “From no one,” Roland said. “We discovered it.”

  “Ah,” Scurlough said. “That makes more sense. Where did you discover it?”

  “The mountains to the north,” Eldryn said. “We were traveling and happened upon a scene of battle from long ago. There were many broken weapons and other articles vanquished by the weather and time. The axe Roland found, however, was in very good condition.”

  Scurlough did not miss that when it came time for a lie, this one chimed in. Furthermore, the fact that this one didn’t exactly lie was not lost on him. He had interrogated many who knew how to leave holes in the right places in their tale and he had the truth out of all of them. However, this was not supposed to be an interrogation.

  “The Black Fly,” Scurlough went in another direction, “have you had dealings with them before?”

  “Never heard of them before,” Roland said. “I assume that was the reason for the tattoos?”

  “Many that we have discovered have had them,” Scurlough said.

  “Discovered?” Eldryn asked.

  “We have never taken one into custody before,” Scurlough said. “We have found their bodies from time to time and reports of them or their criminal acts. You have never crossed them or any o
ther thief or assassin before?”

  “By crossed, you mean had a conflict with?” Roland asked.

  Scurlough thought that he would need to know a lot more about these two Great Men. They had the trappings of lords, or their close kin, yet had known or transacted with thieves or assassins before. They appeared to be between their twentieth and thirtieth years but, he had never heard their names before. He was confident, if the bigger one had been involved in anything significant or sinister, that at the very least a description of his size would have given him away. However, Scurlough had never heard of them and that troubled him.

  “Yes,” Scurlough answered. “Have you wronged, or been wronged by, anyone of that ilk?”

  “No,” Roland said.

  Eldryn wasn’t as certain as Roland. He hated himself for it but, he could not avoid the thought that Ash might have double crossed them.

  “Well then, I would say that it was a robbery, plain and simple,” Scurlough said.

  “What else would it be?” Roland asked.

  “The Black Fly aren’t known for plain and simple,” Scurlough said. “They are dangerous. You would do well to be wary of them. Inquisitors are not sent to investigate thefts. However, do to the fact that the Black Fly was involved I am investigating.”

  “Has the prisoner told you anything?” Roland asked.

  “He has told me much,” Scurlough said. “Thanks to him I have discovered two of our guards that were working in league with them. I have also discovered that they possess at least one copy of a key to our inner chambers and cells. You see, the prisoner was murdered last night before anyone could question him.”

  Scurlough waited for a reaction from them. After seeing none he continued.

  “If you haven’t crossed this sort before,” Scurlough said, “then you have now. Watch for them for I assure you they will be watching for you.”

  That evening Roland and Eldryn drank in the tavern with a colorful group of mismatched and misled travelers. They sat in on a game of cards with a tracker, a fur trader, two mercenaries, and a dwarven warrior. The tracker and fur trader, both women, worked with one of the sell-swords along the rivers and lake south of Dolloth and were happy to tell of that area and their finds. The other mercenary worked as a guard for a caravan from Modins and had a few tales, clearly borrowed from others, about the seas, pirates, and distant lands. The dwarf mainly grumbled to himself about the luck of men as his pile of coins dwindled.