“Why’d you shoot at that guy anyway? You had to know that they’d figure it out eventually!”
“Did you want me to just let him keep shooting ‘til he killed someone?”
“Couldn’t you have just made sure all his arrows landed harmlessly?”
Tarc gave a sharp shake of his head. “Some of them were coming down all the way across the caravan. I don’t have much control that far away.”
“Oh come on! You controlled your own arrows all the way out to hit him!”
“Yeah, but when I’m shooting an arrow, my ghost can tell pretty much where it’s going to go right after it leaves the bowstring. I see where it’s going to go and I make major adjustments before it gets very far from me and my control gets weak.” He shrugged, “When an arrow is shot from far away, arches high in the air over me, and then lands pretty far from me, there’s never any time that I have good control. I pushed the one that hit Jesse’s finger out of the middle of their wagon, and moved the one that hit the horse away from its abdomen, but I couldn’t make them completely miss their targets.”
Daussie frowned, “One of them did miss.”
Tarc shrugged, “That was luck.”
“I guess you had to then,” she sighed.
Chapter Nine
Waxman watched the skinny boy with the hacked off hair kick out of his shoes and step gingerly into the stream with a big basket of cooking utensils. The boy soaped a rag. He began taking pans out of one end of the basket, washing them quickly, dipping them in the water and putting them back in the other end of the basket.
Waxman chewed a lip. The kid was young, probably somewhere between twelve and sixteen. Waxman had hoped to grab someone a little older. Someone who’d know more about the caravan, but this kid was the first one to come down to the stream alone. Oh well, he thought, probably everyone in the caravan—including all the kids—knows who their archer is if the guy’s as good as I’ve been told. A kid will be a lot easier to handle too.
Waxman stepped out from behind the tree and slowly waded up behind the kid. He pulled out a leather sap filled with lead beads. A quick swing, a quiet thump, and the kid dropped over. Waxman pulled him quickly across the stream and into the corn. Fortunately, the kid had a stout shirt on so Waxman could drag him by the collar. He picked up his boots and, crouching to stay lower than the corn, he dragged the kid over a small rise.
Once he was beyond eyeshot of the camp, Waxman put on his boots and threw the kid over his shoulder. Mercifully, the kid was light enough that Waxman could almost trot, though he still felt exhausted by the time he reached the woods.
Once they were into the woods twenty feet or so, Waxman laid the kid down and gasped until he got his breath back. Once he felt better he patted the kid down. No way he was turning the kid over to Johnson with any valuables on him. Waxman found a work knife on the kid’s right hip, then he suddenly stopped, eyes narrowed. He felt around a little more, then grinned. This is a girl! Dressed up to look like a boy, but still—a girl! Waxman tilted the kid’s head to look at her face. He licked his thumb and wiped off a couple of the smudges. Holy shit! He thought excitedly, it’s that sexy little bitch from the Hyllis tavern!
Waxman had been with Krait when they scouted the town that first time. This girl had waited on them in the tavern and Krait had fondled her. She’d been terrified which had excited Krait even more. They’d both been looking forward to her bringing back their food, but instead some boy had delivered their order. Waxman had heard that the girl’s looks had become famous on the road since then. All the guys had talked about her and wanted her, but then she’d disappeared. Waxman grinned, I’ll bet she’s been dressing like a boy this whole time!
He undid her shirt and pulled it open. She had cloth wound tightly around her chest and thickly around her waist. He pulled the top of the wrapping down to stare at her chest. He shook his head in admiration, but then buttoned her back up. Waxman might have done a lot of ugly things in his life, but raping unconscious women wasn’t one of them—yet anyway. He’d get his chance later, once she was awake.
He bound her wrists and ankles, then tossed her back over his shoulder to get back on his way to camp. He thought of how the guys had talked about this girl like she was the hottest chick alive. Johnson’s going to owe me big for this one!
***
Tarc worked his way closer when he saw Norton and Arco approach Daum. Norton began with, “We aren’t making any money staying here at Prichard’s farm.”
Daum nodded, and Tarc agreed himself. It was an obvious tenet of success as a merchant that, if you wanted to earn your living, first you had to have customers: then you had to generate sales to those customers. There weren’t any customers out here in the farmlands.
“So, Arco and I have been talking about how to get back on the road again. We figure that, the way they took a beating yesterday, the raiders will be more inclined to negotiate the next time they try to stop us.”
Daum shrugged, granting the likelihood. “So what’s your plan?”
“Well, they aren’t going to know who our good archers are. So we’ll put the guard wagon second instead of first. With you up there, you can still shoot over the front wagon to protect it. We’ll have another guy who can shoot up there with you, even though he won’t be able to shoot like you can. We’ll have another couple of guys with bows on a wagon in the middle and then your son and another bowman on a wagon near the back.”
Arco said, “We’ll scatter our guards around the caravan and have everyone armed, but I know how men like these raiders think. After what happened to them yesterday, they’ll be fidgety about attacking. If we offer to pay them something,” he glanced at Norton, “they’ll take it.”
Daum looked pensively off at the road, then looked at Tarc. “What do you think?”
Tarc knew his father was asking about their relative locations. Without Tarc there to help his arrows hit their marks Daum wouldn’t be nearly as deadly as he had been yesterday. But if Daum shot for the body, rather than the head? Tarc shrugged, “Seems okay to me.”
Arco looked at Norton. Norton looked up at the position of the sun in the sky, then said, “We’d just as well go this morning. I’ll go around and tell everybody we’re leaving as soon as they can get ready.” He started for the next wagon.
Daum looked around and frowned, “Have you seen Daussie?”
Tarc said, “She took the basket down to wash the pans.” Then he frowned himself, “That was quite a while ago. She’s probably washing her hair or something.”
Daum grinned. Daussie was well known for washing her hair a lot more often than anyone else. Even though the water in the stream was bound to be cold, it did seem like a likely reason for her delay. “Can you go let her know we’re moving out?”
Tarc restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Surely she’d be back pretty quickly on her own. Nonetheless he said, “Sure,” and turned toward the stream.
As Tarc walked down to the little eddy in the stream where they normally washed their pans, he saw the big open weave basket they kept the pots in just sitting in the shallow water. “Daussie,” he called, wondering where she was. Usually she just bent over to dip her head when she washed her hair. Could she have decided to take a complete bath despite the cold water?
“Daussie!” He stepped to the edge and leaned forward to look a little further around the bend in the stream. No Daussie. “Crap,” he muttered as he knelt to take off his boots. Rolling up his pants legs, he stepped out into the stream so that he could look further around the bend. Still no sign of Daussie.
Then Tarc saw some broken corn stalks. After that, he noticed a wet trail leading from the stream to the cornstalks. His heart pounding, he quick stepped across the stream and leapt out onto the bank. The cornstalks were broken down away from him and made a trail going out into the field! “Daum!” he shouted.
Tarc high stepped it as he ran back across the stream. He grabbed his boots and socks. Shouting, “Daum!�
� over and over again, he ran back to the camp.
“She’s gone! Someone dragged her away!” Tarc shouted when he saw Daum. With some relief Tarc saw Lizeth and Arco, standing beside the guard wagon, turn to stare at the urgency in his voice. To them he said, “It’s Daussie, my sister. She was washing the breakfast pans down at the stream. Someone’s dragged her out through the cornfield on the other side!” He wiped his feet on one of the kitchen towels and hurriedly put his socks and boots back on.
Arco said, “Who?”
Lizeth answered him, “The daughter, his sister!” She’d turned to the guard wagon and was pulling out some equipment.
Tarc grabbed his bow and threw on his refilled quiver, turning toward the little bridge over the stream behind Prichard’s house. Though he heard Arco say, “Are you sure boy?” Tarc ignored him and started running. He assumed that at least Daum would be behind him. Presumably, Arco would send some of the guards as well.
Tarc ran across the bridge, turned right and hustled over to where the path in the corn began. Veering onto the track, he lengthened his stride, but resisted the temptation to sprint. His ghost couldn’t see anyone up ahead, telling him that Daussie and whoever had taken her were at least a couple of hundred meters ahead of him.
Footsteps paced up beside Tarc and he looked over to see Lizeth. She said, “Don’t blow yourself out. You don’t want to arrive at a fight exhausted.”
Tarc nodded as he lengthened his stride a little more, but didn’t waste any breath on a response.
Just as they were about to reach the woods a horse rode up behind them. Tarc glanced back and saw Daum on their bay gelding. At first, he cursed himself for not thinking of a horse. He’d gotten everywhere on his feet or in their wagon his entire life and just didn’t think of it. Then he remembered ducking to get through the woods on the animal path the night before. There were a lot of places that a horse and rider wouldn’t be able to pass. Perhaps some places where even a horse being led couldn’t get through.
Tarc was about to tell Daum that he should leave the horse when he realized that he wouldn’t be able to explain how he knew that. Then Lizeth winked at Tarc and said to Daum, “I think you’re going to have to leave the horse here Mr. Hyllis. I scouted these woods last night and you won’t be able to get the horse through them.” She looked off to the left, “You might be able to ride around on the road and get there about as fast as we do. The raiders are camped at a farm on the other side of these woods.”
Daum looked toward the road as well, but then climbed down, saying, “No, I’ll leave the horse. I’d rather we stuck together.”
***
Waxman had only taken a few steps with the girl on his shoulder when he heard someone call his name. He stopped and listened.
“Waxman, it’s Peters. Where’d you go? I saw you entering the woods about here.”
Waxman frowned and squinted back out at the field he’d just crossed. Be just like that dumb son of a bitch Peters to be shoutin’ at me without noticing that the caravaners are about to run up his ass! The field was empty so he stage whispered, “Over here you stupid shit.”
Peters stepped into the woods and looked around. Seeing Waxman he stepped his way. Excitedly, “You heard what went down last night?!”
“What?” Waxman said in an unimpressed tone, expecting Peters to tell him about some kind of orgy the guys had had with the captive women. Or maybe an epic drinking session after finding someone’s keg of brandy?
“Somebody attacked the camp last night! Killed eighteen of our guys!”
Waxman felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He dropped the girl off his shoulder and set her on the ground. He might want her, but she wasn’t going to stand between him and a head start if the hammer was really falling. “Who?!”
“Jessup, Torrance, Gordon…”
“Not who got killed, dumbass! Who attacked us?!”
“Nobody knows! Sneaky bastards knifed all six guards then started shooting arrows into our tents!”
“What did they look like? Soldiers?”
“Who the hell knows? Nobody saw them! Leastwise, nobody that’s alive.”
“You’re shittin’ me! They killed eighteen of our guys and we didn’t get a single one of them?!”
Peters shrugged, “Nope. It’s like they’re some kind of ghosts!”
“We didn’t even see them?!”
Peters just shook his head. He’d been looking at Waxman’s captive. “Who’s that?”
“I grabbed one of them caravaners for questioning. Turns out she’s that good looking girl waitress from the tavern back in Walterston.”
Peters frowned, “That’s a boy!”
“Look again dumb shit. She’s dressed in boy’s clothes, she’s messed up her hair, she’s dirtied her face, she’s even wrapped her waist to make it thicker, but she’s still a girl.”
Peters knelt down to look at her face. “That is her!” he breathed excitedly. He started to undo his pants
Waxman smacked him on the side of the head. “Not now you crazy son of a bitch! First of all, doin’ her while she’s knocked out is just sick. Second, we need to get back to the camp and figure out what we’re gonna do about those caravaners. I assume they’re who attacked us last night. We’re gonna milk this girl for intel on how they’re doin’ what they’re doin’. Or, who did it at least. Somebody from the caravan is going to be looking for her pretty quick and you don’t want to be screwin’ her when they show up, especially if the guy that shows up is the same son of a bitch that killed eighteen of our guys last night!” Waxman bent down, grabbed the girl, and threw her back over his shoulder.
Peters looked around distractedly. “Johnson’s movin’ our camp. That’s why I’m here, he sent me to tell you we’re going to set up at Yates’s farm instead.”
Waxman turned to stare at Peters, “We’re running away from the sons of bitches?!”
Peters nodded, hungry eyes still on the girl hanging over Waxman’s shoulder. “Johnson says we’re just regrouping while we figure out what’s going on. But, I think he’s hoping that it was some of the caravaners that attacked us last night and that if they can’t find us, they’ll move on down the road. We’ve still got enough men to control the farms around here and tax the next caravan, but nobody wants to get near this caravan again.”
Waxman turned to his right and started walking in the direction of Yates farm. It lay farther from the highway.
***
Once out of the cornfield and into the woods, they could no longer follow the passage of whoever had taken Daussie. Tarc took the lead again, working his way through the animal trails and small meadows like only he could.
Reaching the other side, they stopped to study the raiders’ farm. A feeling of dread came over Tarc. No smoke rose from the chimney. The tents were gone.
They’d made good time and Tarc had hoped to catch up to whoever had Daussie before they got to the farm. Dealing with the small party that had her would have been a lot easier than trying to extract her from the main group. Now it looked like they’d not only lost whoever had Daussie, they might have lost track of all of the raiders. He’d hoped that Arco would have sent more of the guards than just Lizeth with them and that a few of the caravaners would have come too—it didn’t look like they were going to get help from that quarter either.
While Tarc stood, his mind gibbering at his perception of the insurmountable obstacles confronting them, Daum turned to Lizeth, “What’s the plan?”
Tarc turned to her as well, hoping that with her experience she’d have a strategy for their situation. She frowned out at the farm, “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “From the looks of things, the raiders left last night. Either the group who’s got your daughter are a lot farther ahead of us than I expected, or they knew where the main group were going and turned off somewhere back there in the woods.” She paused and looked around, “Without dogs, following them is going to be hard.”
“You can’t
track them?”
Lizeth snorted, “Tracking is a lot harder than people make it out to be, and I’m not particularly good at it. But maybe we’ll be able to follow the big group of raiders.” She hitched her sword and stepped out of the woods toward the farm.
***
Daussie woke with a pounding headache. She found herself hanging upside down, her head bumping against someone’s back as he strode steadily along with her over his shoulder. The last thing she remembered was talking to Tarc about why he’d shot arrows back at the man attacking the caravan last night. She felt nauseated.
What had happened? she wondered. Was the caravan attacked, and I was injured? Could this man be taking me somewhere for help? His clothing didn’t look familiar, which aroused a sense of unease in addition to her nausea.
Daussie heard another man speak, “I can’t believe you found that hot chick from the tavern. Do you think she was hiding out as a boy the whole time?”
Gut-wrenching fear flashed through Daussie.
She threw up on the man’s back.
With a curse, he tossed her to the ground. She landed on her back, hard, a pain shooting through the back of her head at the impact. She lifted her hand and felt a large soft bruise on the back of her skull! Her wrists were bound to one another!
“You little bitch!” The man said, picking up a wad of duff from the forest floor and using it to wipe off his butt and the back of his thigh.
When Daussie tried to scramble to her feet and run, she realized that her ankles were bound too. Wide-eyed, she stared up at the two men. The one who’d been carrying her had a stocky powerful build. No wonder he’d been carrying her so effortlessly.
He looked dirty with wild hair, several black teeth and a couple of large knives. The second man had a slight build, stooped posture and eyes that ran over her body in a disturbingly eager fashion. He turned to the heavyset man, “Can we do her now?”
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