Abraham peered about. Let me see, I think I have this figured out. I have the Red Tunics, who don’t have horses but drive the wagons. And the Henchmen all ride on horseback. I’m the Captain. The Red Tunics guard the frights. The Henchmen guard the group. To him, they seemed like knights and squires but without all the cumbersome and gaudy armor. The arrangement seemed strange for “henchmen,” which he normally would have considered to be a bunch of labor for hire. This group, however, was different. They were stalwart and stern looking, veteran soldiers who had seen a thing or two.
Shifting in his saddle, Abraham glanced backward at a pair of Henchmen riding behind himself and Sticks. One had jet-black tangled hair with coarse hairs on his forearms. He was broad faced and tan and had a dark scowl on his face. He carried a double-bladed battle-axe, fashioned in a Viking style with smaller axe heads, unlike the big, broad blades on his beer truck. “Bearclaw,” he muttered.
Sticks leaned toward him and said, “What, Captain?”
“That’s Bearclaw,” he said.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
Abraham didn’t have any idea how he knew that, unless he’d picked up someone else saying it, but somehow he knew. He seemed to have gained not only a new body but also some of the knowledge that came with it. The other rider behind him was another man, thirtyish, tawny headed, with an aloofness about him.
“And that’s Vern?”
“Yes.”
An unsettling feeling turned his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to lose his own identity. I am Abraham Jenkins. He reached down and touched Jake’s backpack, hanging from the saddle. Don’t forget it.
As far as he could tell, the Henchmen were a mature bunch, war-torn and gritty. The Red Tunics were younger, hardworking, but not a smile among them. That was the group he was riding with now. They were soldiers, a team, on a mission for the king. The question was: who was the king? He didn’t even know that man’s name or his own, for that matter. What the heck is my name? It can’t be the Captain. His back straightened.
Slade Ruger! That’s my name. No, Captain Ruger Slade. At least I think it is.
Abraham didn’t pick up any more bits and pieces that day. Instead, he rode, and the best he could tell, they were moving southwest. At least, based on the sun’s position, that was the case. But he had no idea how that would actually work in another world. The times and the distances would change. Finally, the group broke out of the woodland into flatter prairies. Seagull-like birds were flying in the sky. A stiff, salty breeze rustled Abraham’s hair. They rode on, over the rolling plains. A few hours later, they crested a hilltop. Abraham pulled his horse to a stop. Miles of shoreline stretched out along a seashore as far as the eye could see. The ocean, green and turbulent, crashed into rocky ledges. It wasn’t possible for him to be in such a place so far from what he knew. It didn’t make sense.
A flock of birds in a V pattern flew toward them. They were tiny at first but getting bigger. Every man in the group drew some sort of weapon. Even Sticks pulled her daggers. The closer the birds came, the bigger they grew. They weren’t birds. Birds had beaks and feathers. These things had scales like lizards and were bigger than horses. They were dragons.
Abraham swallowed. His hand fell to his sword, and he said, “I’m not in Kansas anymore.”
15
One hundred feet above, the dragons passed over the campaign without even giving the company a glance. The dragons had dark natural-colored scales and hard ridges on their bodies like desert lizards. They were ugly. Saliva dripped from slavering jaws in globs of rain that sizzled on the grasses. In seconds, the tight formation was gone out of sight.
The tension in the group deflated as they secured their weapons back inside their sheaths. Horace hefted his spear and said, “The dragons fear us. Ha ha!”
The Henchmen let out a cheer of relief.
“Either that, or fortune favors the foolish,” Abraham said.
Sticks jammed her daggers into the sheaths on her hips. “It’s about time we had some good fortune. We’ve lost enough men already.”
“We have?” Abraham asked.
Taking a quick look about, she got close to him and said, “We’ve lost over a dozen men since we left the House of Steel. Fine men and women among them. I consider us lucky that we have this many left.”
“It seems like a large group for such an adventure,” he said.
“It was your decision.”
Abraham didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. And it seemed silly to send so many after the frights. The ugly crones were bound up and sitting in one of the wagons. They never said a word. He got the chills just looking at them. Goose bumps rose on his arms when—as one—their fiendish stares landed on him. He looked away.
He kicked his horse, and it lurched forward. They were heading downward toward the beach. “It just seems like a lot of trouble to round up a bunch of witches. If you don’t mind, Sticks, would you fill me in?”
“Later, Captain. Everyone’s ears are too big. We’ll do it in privacy.”
“If you say so.”
“No, it’s if you say so. I’ll do it. You’re the Captain.” She rode farther away.
Abraham got the feeling she didn’t want him to say too much. He needed to keep his mouth shut and start thinking. He’d just seen dragons. That wasn’t a concept he was unfamiliar with. Plenty of dragons were in fantasy works he’d watched and read, but those he’d just seen were plain ugly. When he was younger, in middle school, before he blossomed, he played Dungeons & Dragons with his friends on the Air Force base. His dad used to tease him by saying he flew a real dragon, back in his days. Now, those imaginary fantasies had somehow become real.
I must have hit my head and engaged an overactive imagination. This isn’t real. And I didn’t have this big of an imagination to begin with!
The company hit the beach about two hours later. Of course, Abraham could only guess at the time, based on how quickly they moved. For all he knew, it could have been ten hours. But, to his relief, the sun was about to set in the west. It did appear bigger than what he was used to seeing. He couldn’t glance at it long, but it had a purple glare around it. As they moved down the white sands of the beach, he couldn’t help but think that would be a great spot to vacation. A big part of him wanted to jump in the foamy salt water. Instead, he drifted toward the back of the company.
No one said a word to him. They kept their eyes averted even when he looked right at them. The Red Tunics distanced themselves. One of them, carrying a pack as big as himself, waddled away in the other direction. That was when he decided to test the waters and ride up alongside Horace.
“Captain,” Horace said with a stiff nod. The beefy man clawed at his beard.
“Are you sure you know where you’re going?”
Horace’s mouth clamped open and shut like a fish. “Er… Captain, the beach is the safest route until we get to the West Arm of Titanuus. From there, we’ll take the land and navigate the mountain passes. There’s no other way I know of, but if you have new orders, I’ll follow them to the letter.”
“No, Horace, that will do.”
“Aye, Captain. Any other concerns?”
“It’s a long way. At this rate, how long do you think it will take?”
“If we don’t stop, twenty days, but I can only suspect as much trouble coming up as going down. With fortune on the king’s side, I’d say thirty days but hope to make it in twenty-five.”
“I see. Carry on, then.”
He kept riding beside Horace. The man cast a nervous look at him from time to time. Behind him, Bearclaw and Vern were leaning forward in their saddles. Farther back, Iris eyeballed his back and looked away when he turned.
The company rode along the coastal waters until the sun dropped from the sky and the stars and moon hovered in the night. Standing far away from the others, Abraham studied the sky. The face of the moon was different. The constellations he knew were gone too.
This can’t be possible. Tell me… please tell me I didn’t drive through a portal to another universe. I might have wanted to leave home, but I didn’t want to go this far.
16
Abraham sat facing the ocean. Sticks joined him, her hair down. She carried a blanket.
“Your tent is ready,” she said, “but it is probably safe for us to talk here. The breath from the Sea of Troubles will drown our conversation. Captain, speak freely now. My ears are yours.”
Abraham had a thousand questions. Not sure where to start, he bluntly asked, “If I’m Ruger Slade, then why is it such a secret?”
Sticks spread out the blanket and sat down. He joined her. Together, they both stared out at the turbulent sea waters crashing in the distance.
Without looking at him, she said, “It’s your order. Everyone calls you the Captain to keep your identity secret. That’s what you say. Your name is renowned in Kingsland.” She twisted her head left and right. “You are Ruger Slade, considered to be the greatest sword master in all of Titanuus. Now, you are secretly the sworn sword of the king.”
“I have a sword, but I didn’t think there was anything extraordinary about it.” He rubbed his neck. “I mean, it’s a nice sword, but I don’t feel like a master of it.”
He removed the sword from the sheath and thumbed the razor-sharp edge. The blade was a hard, dark steel with a dull shine in the metal. The broken runes carved above the cross guard were intricate.
He flipped it over with a twist of his wrist. “Have I killed many with my blade?”
She gave him a bewildered look. “You’ve killed every man or beast you’ve ever fought. Your skill is extraordinary. That’s why you lead this group. They wouldn’t follow just anyone. Well”—she shrugged her shoulders—“aside from the king that they’ve sworn their lives to. But leading this group… no easy task unless they respect or fear you. But many have been with you a long time. Don’t you remember that?”
Abraham shrugged. He rubbed the hard calluses on his right hand with his left thumb. They were as thick as a bricklayer’s. He had an uncle who did masonry work, Uncle Robert. He had big strong hands that were heavy and thick. A slap on your back from Uncle Robert’s hands would knock the wind out of you. Abraham switched and started rubbing his left hand. The calluses were the same.
“I can use either hand, can’t I?”
“You have no weakness. One is as good as the other.”
He closed his eyes and tried to envision himself fighting with a sword. Bits and pieces of Ruger Slade’s memories had come to him, but they were vague. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine himself killing anything. He wasn’t scared of doing so, but he’d never really hurt anyone with anything other than a fastball pitch. He knocked a baseball player out cold once. Now, to believe he was an incredible fencer seemed a stretch. No way could he be a master of something he’d never done before.
Well, at least I have a badass name. Maybe that will win some fights before a sword is even drawn.
He pulled his knees up to his chest and said, “You said we lost a lot of men coming up? North? How so? And give me the Cliff Notes version. Maybe it will jar my memory.”
“What are Cliff Notes?”
“Never mind the Cliffs—just the short version,” he said.
“There are the elements. Skirmishes with brigands and raiders. The battle with the hill folk in Bog was the worst. I think that is why Horace is wanting us to hug the coastline.” The brisk sea winds stirred her ponytail from one shoulder to the other. “You bring plenty of Henchmen on every journey, but most of them don’t make it back. The king’s missions are dangerous, to say the least.”
Abraham wished he knew the king’s name, but he didn’t want to ask her. For some reason, that seemed embarrassing, so he put his inquiry another way. “So we don’t mention the king’s name either, I take it?”
“No. We keep our mission very discreet. Only the ranking members of the Henchmen know what is going on. The Red Tunics don’t. We pose as traders and well-armed merchants. If the others knew that we served”—she lowered her voice—“King Hector, the king’s enemies would be upon us. We’ll die before we reveal the purpose of our mission.”
“But taking the frights to the, er…” he gave her a questioning look, “the House of Steel… Won’t that expose us?”
“They are criminals, mostly. If anyone asks, we are swords for hire or slavers. Our business can easily be explained that we are dealing with someone else other than the king. In Kingsland, there are plenty that don’t care for the king. And we, well, we aren’t the type of group that fits in with the king’s lofty standards.”
“You make it sound like the king is not someone that you like. So why do you serve him?”
“No, we revere the king. It’s an honor for miscreants to serve the crown. Whether for good or for bad, the king gave us purpose.”
“Are there other kings or kingdoms?”
“Many. And they all want King Hector’s head on a platter. That’s where we come in.”
17
The king’s Henchmen rode along the shoreline the following day. Abraham stayed close to Sticks and Horace. The husky warrior said little but commented from time to time about the weather and expressed his concerns about the route they traveled. The man was clearly looking for approval. Abraham told him to stay the course. Sticks kept quiet and more or less shadowed him, riding at the back of his horse’s right flank.
Abraham didn’t want to say much either. He wasn’t sure how Ruger Slade would have spoken. Who was the man at the tunnel, Eugene Drisk, who moved out of Ruger Slade’s body? How did he act? Were they the same person, or were they two different personalities? He wanted to play the part. The last thing he needed was for someone to think he was possessed, like Sticks had warned him about, and to end up dead.
The two frights let out a unified bone-chilling shriek.
Many of the horses whinnied. Others stomped their hooves hard into the sand. Bearclaw turned his horse and led it toward the back, where the witches rode in the wagon. He untied a lash from his saddle and turned it loose on the wicked frights. With the sharp crack of leather on skin he beat the tar out of them. They grimaced and winced, but their leathery lips stayed clamped shut as they huddled over. Bearclaw handed the lash to one of the Red Tunics.
“Whip the wicked worse than I did if they do that again,” the bearish warrior said. He shoved one of the frights in the back, knocking her to the floor. “Save your screaming for when you burn at the stake.”
Abraham wasn’t certain what to make of that. One thing was certain, though: the Henchmen were all business. But even after Bearclaw’s theatrics, the frights kept their leathery scowls fixed on him. They flicked their tongues like a venomous snake. Their slitted pink-red eyes were narrowed as if they were creatures ready to strike at any moment.
“They were a lot of trouble to catch, weren’t they?” he quietly asked Sticks.
“Tougher than a den of eight-legged wolverines,” she replied.
He nodded. An eight-legged wolverine was something he could picture. In an odd way, that gave him some comfort.
Hours later, Horace slowed his horse until Abraham came along his side. “Captain, we are approaching Hamm’s Inlet. It won’t be so easy to slip along the coast without being noticed. The sea folk and pirates are territorial folk. They’ll pry like a miner picking for gold.”
Abraham narrowed his eyes at Horace. He slid his hand down onto the pommel of his blade. It was mostly an act, but something about it felt natural. “Don’t you think I know that?”
Horace’s eyebrows rose. “Aye, Captain. I’m just talking. No disrespect intentioned.”
“Then don’t state the obvious unless I ask for it.”
New sweat trickled down Horace’s bald head and ran past his ears. “Aye, sir, aye.”
An emboldened part of Abraham wanted to laugh. In the real world, he’d never cross a man like Horace. The balding and bearded warrior was b
uilt like a defensive tackle or one of the massive overweight pro wrestlers who would squash men on the mat. Abraham wasn’t any slouch for a pitcher, but he didn’t have the look of a natural-born brawler either. Horace did. He looked like that kind of man who would run over kittens with a motorbike, and he’d just backed the man down.
“We should get some supplies in Hamm’s Inlet,” he said to Horace. “Some fresh food and drink is in order, too.”
“Aye, Captain. Hamm’s Inlet it is.” Horace turned his back and trotted ahead.
Abraham straightened up in the saddle. He felt a degree of confidence that he knew what he was doing. He gave Sticks a sideways glance. She wasn’t looking his way. He did have her to thank for much of his decision, though. In his tent the previous night, they’d looked at a map of Titanuus. She showed him the course they were taking and explained what lay ahead, like Hamm’s Inlet, for instance. The coastline territory located above the West Arm of Titanuus was more or less hamlets and large villages filled with seafaring people. He didn’t connect with the map at first, but the more he rode, the more familiar his surroundings became. At least he had some idea of where he was. He was in a world made just like other continents he’d seen.
He pulled his horse toward Sticks. “Why don’t you make the rounds? Figure out what supplies we need. We’ll take a small group into Hamm’s Inlet, get what we need, and go. The rest can camp and keep moving. We’ll catch up with them.”
The King's Henchmen: The Henchmen Chronicles - Book 1 Page 7