by Dan Koboldt
Moric glared at her, but gave over. “Very well, Quinn,” he said. “Follow them to Felara. The concealment spell should hold that long. But I don’t want you taking any foolish risks. The moment they set foot on Felaran soil, your job is done.”
One of his jobs was done, at least. Quinn buckled on his sword and threw his riding cloak over his shoulders. “How will I find you again?” he asked.
“We should be here at least another day. I’ll set some wards to protect us, but you’ll be able to cross them.”
“What if it takes longer?”
“Try not to let that happen.”
“It might,” Quinn said. “And I don’t think I can just wander around asking the way to the Enclave.”
Moric yawned. “A fair point. Come over here, lad,” he said.
Quinn went and knelt by him. Sella had fallen asleep and began snoring at an ear-shattering volume.
Moric took a leather cord from around his neck. It held a pale white stone, teardrop-shaped and wrapped in wire. “Don’t lose this,” he said.
Quinn took it, surprised at how light the stone was. “What is it?”
“A wayfinder stone. It points the way to the Enclave.”
Quinn put the cord around his neck, and lifted the stone in the palm of his hand. The teardrop quivered and spun, pointing southwest. “Outstanding,” he said.
“I get the feeling that you have other business besides our mission,” Moric said.
Quinn kept his face neutral, but didn’t answer.
Moric stifled another yawn. “Don’t stay away too long. I’m not finished with your training.”
“Don’t worry, Moric,” Quinn said. “Neither am I.”
There was no formal marking to the smuggler’s pass—they certainly didn’t want to make it easier for outsiders to find them—but Logan could read the signs. A wagon rut here, some broken reeds there. Rocks arranged a certain way along an embankment to prevent cart wheels from going over the edge. Movement along a ridge to the south only confirmed it; someone was watching them.
They encountered the first checkpoint a quarter mile later. Two men lounged against a boulder, spears propped casually beside them. They wore steel discs over boiled leather. A heavy form of armor, but it came cheap. Neither had shaven in some time, and their hair was matted under dented steel helms.
“Sentries,” Logan said over the comm unit.
“They don’t look like much,” Mendez said. “Should we take them out?”
“Do that and they’ll cut us down from the cliffs,” Logan said. “I’m sure they have a bowman up there.”
“We should try not to pay very heavily at the first touch,” Kiara said.
Logan leaned close to Thorisson. “Don’t try anything. You’ll never get out of these passes without us.”
Thorisson shrugged. Not promising anything. Logan was pretty sure he must have something up his sleeve, but couldn’t figure out what.
The smuggler’s pass comprised a series of narrow trails that wound through gaps in the mountains. There would be more seemingly random encounters, more checkpoints. Logan didn’t recognize these two men, and that worried him. They had a bottle of dark stuff with them, probably jennah. Maybe they were drunk. That would help.
“Think you must have lost your way, m’lady,” one of them called.
“We’re headed to Felara,” Kiara said.
“Better try one of the passes.”
“We’d prefer to get there quietly,” she said. “We’ll make it worth your while.”
The man looked them over, rubbing his beard the whole time. He had the most crooked set of teeth Logan had ever seen on a man. It was hard not to stare. “We might know a quiet way through. Going to cost you, though.”
“How much?” Kiara asked.
“Fifteen silvers.”
She scoffed at him. “Three coppers.”
“Th-three coppers?” he stuttered. He burst into a raucous laugh, elbowing his companion. “She thinks she’ll get by with three coppers!”
The other man leaned closer and whispered something.
Snaggletooth grinned wickedly. “What about three coppers, and you do a little something for us? Private, like.”
“How about I ask my men not to put a quarrel in each of you?”
The moment she said it, Logan and Mendez raised crossbows, leveling them at the men’s chests. At this range, the bolts would cut through the steel and leather like it was plastic. Each of the sentries took a step back, their hands involuntarily reaching for their spears.
“Don’t do it,” Logan said.
The one who’d spoken put up his hands. He didn’t look happy, but he held fast. “Five coppers,” he ventured.
“Four coppers,” Kiara said. “And only because you have the balls to negotiate with a crossbow on you.” She took out a small purse and tossed it to him.
The man caught it, shook it, and stood back so that they had room to ride past. “Right this way, m’lady.”
Logan cleared his throat. He wasn’t about to let her be the first one to go by these jokers. He nudged his mount past her and trotted ahead to scout. These passes were going to be a tactical nightmare. Narrow trails, blind turns, and gods knew how many smugglers lurking about. The thought of it made his back itch between the shoulder blades. There wasn’t an immediate trap here, as far as he could see, though, so he turned and gave the signal for all clear.
One checkpoint down, probably eight or nine to go.
Quinn spotted the two men with spears, and asked his mule to slow. Politely, of course.
They were leaning against a boulder sharing a bottle. They noticed him approaching and put their helms back on. At least they left the spears leaning against the boulder; a lone rider on a mule wasn’t much of a threat. Good, let them think that. The one had some trouble getting his helmet on. He straightened it with the exaggerated care of a man trying to hide just how drunk he was.
Even better.
Quinn put on his grin and hailed them. “Here’s just the two fellows I’ve been looking for.”
The more sober of the two sauntered out from the boulder. “Think you must be lost, fella.” He slurred some of the words. Whether it was from the drink or the horrific set of teeth, Quinn couldn’t say.
He bowed his head from the saddle. “I don’t think so, my good man. I’m trying to catch up with some friends. Did they come this way?”
“Can’t say I remember.”
“Here, perhaps this will help,” Quinn said. He snapped his fingers and held up a fat round coin—he’d lifted Moric’s purse before he left. The coin danced across Quinn’s fingers. Then he flicked it toward the smuggler. It arced through the air, spinning with that high-pitched ring of metal.
The man caught it in one hand without dropping the bottle. Maybe he was a little more sober than he appeared. He bit the coin between his teeth, then tossed it to the other one, who managed to trip over his spear while trying to catch it. Quinn pretended not to notice.
The sober one shook his head. He looked back at Quinn and crossed his arms. “Might be some folks came through. What’s it to you?”
“I’m trying to catch up with them. Can I pass?”
“Sure, for five coppers.”
Quinn did a quick calculation, figuring on a few more stops like these. No doubt they’d get more expensive, too. “Tell you what,” he said. “How about a little wager? You look like the gambling type.”
The man straightened. Apparently he took it as a compliment. “I’ve been known to make a bet or two. What’s the wager?”
Quinn dismounted from his mule and asked it to stay put. “Could I borrow that bottle?” he asked.
The man frowned. “Fine.” He took a last pull and tossed the bottle to Quinn. It was a crude glass, but somewhat transparent. The ope
ning was about as wide as his thumb. That would work.
“I’ve got another copper here,” Quinn said. He produced the coin from his sleeve and let it dance across his fingers. “Bet you I can get it into this bottle without breaking it.”
“In there? Good luck.”
“If I do, you get the bottle back with one copper. If I don’t, I’ll pay the full five.”
The man pondered this a moment, and spat to one side. “If you don’t, you pay eight.”
“Deal,” Quinn said. He hefted the bottle. “What was in here, anyway?”
“Valteroni gold.”
He sniffed the lid; it smelled of stronger, coarser stuff. “If you say so.”
He laid the coin across the top of it. “Hmm. Doesn’t want to fit.”
“You don’t say,” the smuggler said.
Quinn laid his palm across the coin and held it there while he put the bottom of the bottle against his chest. He made a fist with his free hand.
“No breaking it, now,” the man said.
“No worries,” Quinn said. He pounded his fist against the hand across the bottle. A coin shot into the bottle and rattled around the bottom. “There we are.” He tossed the bottle back to the man.
He looked down the opening and shook it, as if to make sure. “Have a look at this, Bert!”
Quinn had his mule’s reins and led the animal forward. The drunker one grabbed the bottle and shook it hard, trying to get the coin out.
“Stop, you’ll break it!” his companion hissed.
Quinn slid the mule past them. “No breaking it, now,” he said.
They were still arguing when he mounted. The boulder was nearly out of view when he heard the tinkle of shattering glass. He chuckled to himself. Every time.
Eleven checkpoints later, they were deep into the mountain range. Kiara’s purse was getting a bit light. Logan had yet to find a smuggler that he’d met while passing through here two years ago; a friendly face might have gotten them by for cheaper. Every man was new, and none of them were interested in making friends with outsiders.
Mendez rode back from taking a look ahead; his face was grim. “It gets really narrow up there, almost like a canyon. I saw movement on the cliffs above, too. We should expect some kind of a welcoming committee.”
“How much do we have left?” Logan asked Kiara.
She hefted the last of her purses; it clinked with metal and a few synthetic jewels. “It might be enough, so long as this is the last checkpoint.”
“No turning back now,” Logan said. “You pay in both directions, like a toll road.”
“I’m in the wrong business,” Chaudri said.
“It’s not usually this exorbitant,” Logan said. “I’ve come through with entire cartloads of—”
Kiara gave him a sharp look; he caught himself. “Things,” he finished. “Something’s obviously changed.”
They took it slow approaching the canyon. Logan wished there were another way to go. He could feel eyes on them. There should be another checkpoint around here, but they saw no one.
“What do you think?” Kiara asked.
“You know what I think, Lieutenant,” Logan said.
“Let’s keep our wits about us,” she said.
Logan led them to the mouth of the canyon.
“Here we go,” he said. He didn’t like that it was so narrow; they had to ride single file. Once more he took the lead, Kiara at his back, then the packhorses, the prisoner, and Chaudri. Mendez had the rear. Pebbles clattered down the canyon wall, once on each side. Smugglers on the high ground.
They got about fifty yards into the canyon before the archers appeared. A grating noise came from behind them. Then a deafening crash.
With all of the horses behind them, Logan couldn’t see more than a cloud of dust. “What was that?”
“They’ve dropped a wagon or something behind us,” Chaudri shouted. “Nearly fell on my head!”
Clever. They were boxed in, with only one way to go. It might be a scare tactic, or it might be something worse. The archers were a nice touch. Shooting from an elevated position at a long line of riders, they almost couldn’t miss. They could cut down half of Logan’s team in seconds. They wouldn’t need more than five or six men to pull it off, either. Two to throw the wagon, two with the bows. Another to negotiate.
Right on cue, another man appeared, this one bearded and not wearing a helmet. “Hello down there,” he said.
“Have you lost a wagon?” Kiara called.
The man grinned, revealing a mouth without teeth. “Just wanted to get your attention.”
“Well, you have it. What do you want?”
“The cost of passage.”
“What would that be?”
The man looked them over for a few moments, and conferred with someone they couldn’t see. “Thirty silvers,” he said. An outrageous sum, even for this.
“A little steep, don’t you think?” Kiara asked.
“Hey, it’s the end of the season,” he said. “And you almost brought the Landorians to our door.”
“I’ll give you half of that,” Kiara said. The archers nocked arrows; she ignored them. She gave Logan a hand signal. Take cover.
He eased his mount forward a bit, trying to keep the attention of one of the archers. There had to be a way to get up to that higher position, but he might have to ride a long way to find it. And with at least one bowman trying to shoot him from above.
The negotiator had disappeared; some kind of discussion was taking place. He came back into view. “Show us the money,” he said.
Kiara hesitated, then lifted the purse and let some of it spill out into her hand. They’d already burned through the gold and gems; only silver and copper coins remained. A decent sum, but she’d been right. It would be about half of their ask.
“Satisfied?” she asked. She dumped it back into the purse and tied the string.
“Throw it here, m’lady.”
Logan gave her the tiniest shake of the head. She should push back on that.
“It’ll be yours the moment we’re out of this canyon,” Kiara said.
“It’s already ours. Toss it up.”
“No.” Kiara nudged her mare forward.
The negotiator made a sign to his archers. They bent their bows.
“Keep moving,” Logan whispered. “Spread out a little.”
His mare shook her head; she wanted to move faster. Logan held fast to keep her at a walk; bolting now wouldn’t help. Gravel slid down the sides of the canyon. The archers hadn’t fully drawn, but they were shadowing him. He came to a hard turn, a natural choke point. The perfect spot to pin them down. The negotiator kept watching them, clearly uneasy. Kiara’s refusal to pay had disrupted some plan.
“All right, that’s far enough!” he shouted.
They ignored him and kept riding. Then he made a fist and pulled it down, a signal that Logan recognized. Every branch of military Earth-side used that one. The meaning was clear.
Execute.
“Down!” he shouted.
Bows thrummed from above. One arrow shattered on the rocks above Kiara. Another one clipped Logan’s shoulder, but glanced off the alusteel.
“Go, go!” Mendez shouted. He and Chaudri were bottled up at the back.
Five seconds until the archers could fire again.
Logan dug his heels into the Arabian mare.
Four. . .
Three. . .
Two. . .
One!
He dropped to the side of his mount. An arrow shot past his ear. Hooves thundered behind him; the others were riding hard. How long was this damn canyon? He should have seen this coming. Should have known from the way they set up over the canyon with archers. He leaned into the next turn. His shoulder scraped against stone. It was get
ting narrower.
“Getting tight up here,” he said. Much more and his horse wouldn’t be able to squeeze through. Then they were all dead for certain.
“Don’t stop now!” Chaudri shouted.
Open sky ahead. They were nearly out of the canyon. Just a little bit farther.
He’d forgotten to count. An arrow slammed into his back. It threw him forward against the mare’s neck. Hurt like hell, but without the armor he’d have been dead. Someone grunted behind him, another hit for the archers. Logan hoped it wasn’t Thorisson. A corpse wouldn’t tell them anything.
I won’t be torn up if it is, though.
There was no time to look back. Logan charged forward. The negotiator poked his head over the rim. His eyes widened when he saw Logan still mounted. And raising his crossbow. He ducked away; Logan’s shot went wide. One of the bowmen returned fire; the arrow whistled past Logan’s face.
Jesus!
“Shoot the horses!” a smuggler shouted.
Damn. The horses weren’t armored, and they couldn’t afford to lose a mount now.
Four. . .
Three. . .
Two. . .
Flame spouted over the top of the canyon. One of the archers fell screaming, his arms aflame. His body slammed into the canyon’s floor. Logan’s mare jumped over the body. The air smelled of charred flesh. A hooded figure leaped across overhead. The tail of his cloak was on fire.
“Did you see that?” Logan shouted.
“It was a little hard to miss,” Chaudri shouted back.
Quinn was out of coins. Even with all the charm and street magic he could muster, this smuggler’s pass had emptied his purse with some efficiency. He’d taken to avoiding the checkpoints that he could. The Tioni mule handled uneven terrain well; a few times they managed to climb a rocky slope or slip quietly up a dry creek to get around a few of the less ambitious gatekeepers.
He’d been coming back from one such workaround when he finally caught up to his companions. They were a few hundred feet below, in the bottom of a canyon. Five smugglers stood along the rim in between him and them. They were about a hundred yards below him, down a nasty slope of loose rock and gravel. Two of them had bows. He heard one of them demanding money. Thirty silvers. God, I hope they have it.