Transcendent (Ascendant Book 2)

by Craig Alanson

  So, Koren did not trust the archers to discriminate between bandits. He and Bjorn had agreed they would go after Lekerk themselves. Go after Lekerk, and then- Then what? Koren had no idea how he could capture the infamous bandit, and then how he would get the man to talk.

  As he rode past the first dead tree, Koren almost had to laugh. Perhaps it was the keen senses that Paedris had given him, or perhaps the bandits had become overconfident and sloppy. He could not only see movement in the underbrush; the bandits too eager to get moving. He could see the outlines of people who had not concealed themselves well enough behind bushes. There were muddy tracks where the bandits had walked off the road; they had not taken any particular care in covering signs of their presence. Bjorn glanced to Koren out of the side of his eyes; Bjorn had seen them also. Koren could also hear the bandits whispering to another. One of them complained about insects biting him as he lay behind a scrawny bush. Another bandit swore because the two wagons were moving too slowly. The bandits’ lack of discipline annoyed Koren enough that he was tempted to turn and charge into the forest at them. He did nothing of the sort; instead he spoke to Bjorn, in a voice that he hoped was not so loud that the bandits would know he was playing for their benefit. “The inn ahead has good beer, you say?”

  Bjorn gave an exaggerated shrug. “If it’s still there. I haven’t passed this way in many a year. I wouldn’t trust a dwarf to know good beer,” he said with a chuckle, and a look back at the wagons. That glance assured him the wagons were ready, and that the second wagon was now past the first dead tree. The dwarves driving the wagons were cool under pressure; they were sitting back in their seats, holding the reins almost slack. One of the dwarves on the seat of the second wagon was filling a pipe, acting as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  The bandits waited almost too long to drop the trees onto the road, Bjorn grew concerned that the tree in front would fall right on him, or fall behind him and cut him off from the wagons. He was about to rein in his horse to slow down, when there was a loud cracking sound, and with a groan, a tree crashed down across his path. The tree bounced once as Bjorn and Koren made a show of being startled and having trouble getting their mounts under control. Thunderbolt annoyed Koren by putting on a performance of dancing and bucking, almost throwing Koren off his back until Koren dug his heels in. Koren stood in the stirrups, arrow knocked and ready. Bjorn also had his own bow ready, although he had warned Koren he had no great skill with a bow.

  Bandits emerged from their poor concealment, some of them with bows of their own, although none of them had arrows ready. Koren tried to decide which bandit to target first; he saw that the dwarves were also selecting targets. No one was shooting just yet. The casual attitude of the bandits troubled Koren. Surely this could not possibly be the men of the ruthless Lekerk?

  “Ho there, the wagons!” A voice rang out in a mocking tone, as a man stepped out onto a tree stump beside the road on the right, just beyond the fallen tree in front of Koren. “There is no need for violence,” he laughed. “Please, friends, lower your bows.”

  “You go first,” Barlen shouted from the seat of the first wagon. They had decided ahead of time that, as the wagons supposedly were owned by dwarves and Barlen was a dwarf, that he should speak as the leader.

  “I am unarmed,” the man held up his hands and twirled around slowly, showing that he was unafraid. “Oh, except for my sword, of course, And a dagger. Maybe another dagger in my boot. You can’t be too careful around these parts; I hear tell there are ruffians about.”

  The bandits all laughed at that remark.

  Koren did not join in the laughter. Was this Lekerk? The man dressed like a dandy, with a colorful plume of feathers sticking out of his broad-brimmed hat. He wore a clean linen shirt and black pants, but no vest as the day was hot. His boots were polished and of fine leather, not the sort of footwear for walking long distances in the wilderness.

  And across the left side of his face was a thin white scar.

  It was Lekerk.

  “Kedrun, not yet,” Bjorn cautioned. “We don’t know for sure that is him. And we are badly outnumbered. Not all of us have your speed and skill.”

  “Ruffians?” Barlen was also not laughing. “I see ruffians, and worse. We paid Sturlington for protection, you fool.”

  “Ah, Sturlington. Regrettably, Sturlington is no longer able to offer protection on this stretch of road, or any other. He ate something that disagreed with him,” the bandits all roared with laughter at that remark. “The steel of my dagger did not agree with his belly, it seems. And so, this stretch of road belongs to me now. I would offer you a refund on the money you paid for protection,” the man’s teeth sparkled in the sunlight, “but my men would like to be paid, you see.”

  “And who are you?” Barlen demanded.

  The man bowed deeply, flamboyantly, clearly having fun. “Simon Lekerk, at your service, master dwarf. “Yes, it is I, the famous and terrible bandit Lekerk. Why, you should be honored, for ones such as yourselves to come to my attention.”

  “This is an honor I would rather do without,” Barlen growled.

  “Not yet,” Bjorn hissed, and Kedrun relaxed the bowstring. Lekerk could duck behind a tree in a flash; the man was being very careful.

  “I am hurt, master dwarf,” Lekerk placed a hand over his heart as if stricken. “We went through all this trouble, on your account. Now, please, lower your weapons. This is a fine day,” he shaded his face with a hand and glanced up at the sun. “It would be a shame to spoil it with bloodshed.”

  “Your blood will be the first shed,” Barlen warned, keeping his bow at the ready.

  “Master dwarf, I count six of you, and there are over two dozen of us. I do not like your chances, if we resort to violence. Come now, you are a sensible man. All we wish is whatever is in your wagons. Possibly whatever you carrying in your coin purses. Surely all that is not worth your life.”

  Barlen thought the bandits would be suspicious if he gave up so quickly and easily. “My master will have my hide if I lose what is in these wagons.”

  “That could be,” Lekerk answered with a laugh, “but you will still have your hide to give. And, what a story you will have to tell! You were ambushed by the terrible bandit Lekerk,” as he had been speaking, his men had been inching closer to the pair of wagons, encircling them. Koren could see that Lekerk’s boast about having more than two dozen men was not a lie. For the first time, Koren questioned whether he had put all their lives in danger. “What master could blame you for losing his goods, when confronted by my vicious band of ruffians?”

  Barlen nodded slowly, and dropped his bow on the ground. “Drop your weapons,” he ordered gruffly. “He speaks the truth, we’re outnumbered.” What Lekerk did not see was the second bow at the dwarf’s feet, tucked under the footboard of the wagon.

  Bjorn nodded, then he and Koren both tucked their arrows back in the quivers, and gently dropped their bows onto the road.

  “You are a wise man, master dwarf. You and your drivers step down off the wagons. Your two men on horseback can stay right where they are,” Lekerk ordered. He did not want Koren and Bjorn on the ground near their bows.

  Without further word from their leader, the bandits broke into a run and approached the two wagons from both sides, eager to see their prize. The first half dozen stepped down into the weed-choked ditch beside the road, when Barlen pounded his fist twice on the side of the wagon.

  After that, everything happened in a chaotic flash. The sides of both wagon fell away, exposing the Farlane ducal army archers. The bandits were caught completely by surprise, and nine of them fell in the initial volley of arrows. Then it was a pitched battle, with the skilled army archers taking time to choose their targets carefully, while the bandits either shot wildly or ran away. Koren and Bjorn yanked on the thin strings tied to their bows, so they didn’t have to get off their horses to retrieve them. The first target Koren sighted on was Lekerk, but the bandit leader had ducked b
ehind a tree by the time Koren had an arrow fitted to the bowstring. Koren hesitated, then let fly the arrow when he saw a patch of black beside the tree, and the arrowhead sliced through the bandit leader’s pants. Lekerk yelped in pain and flattened himself against the tree, reaching down to feel blood flowing from the cut on this thigh.

  And then Koren was too busy to worry about Lekerk. A bandit arrow aimed at Bjorn hit his horse’s saddle instead, with the arrowhead poking through only a couple inches into his horse’s skin. The animal reared in fright and pain, throwing Bjorn of its back, and as Bjorn fell to the ground his wildly flailing left arm smacked Koren in the face. Thunderbolt lurched to keep his master from falling off, and when the horse realized that wasn’t going to work, Thunderbolt swerved to the side so that he wouldn’t step on Koren as the young man fell.

  Fast reflexes saved Koren from landing painfully on his backside, still he bashed his hip on the dirt road and rolled over, snapping his bow underneath himself in the process. Bjorn was not so fortunate, twisting an ankle and falling backward so his head smacked into the ground. He lay stunned, the breath knocked out of him, stars swimming in his eyes. Koren tossed the now useless bow aside and knelt beside Bjorn. “Bjorn? Can you speak?” The man’s eyes were open and blinking. His mouth opened in a soundless gasp, but his chest neither rose nor fell. Koren was about to shake the man back to sensibility when Thunderbolt stuck his great head over Koren’s shoulder and slobbered all over Bjorn’s face.

  “Ugh! Ah, yuck!” Bjorn gasped, sucking in lungfulls of air. “Oh, that hurt.”

  “Can you stand?” Koren asked, still concerned.

  “I’m fine, you young fool,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Go after Lekerk.” Bjorn was in pain more from embarrassment that from physical injury.

  “I’ll need your bow, mine is broken,” Koren explained.

  “You’re a better shot with a bow than I am anyway,” Bjorn grunted, drawing his sword and using it to help him stand up.

  Koren couldn’t see Lekerk by the time he got an arrow fitted to Bjorn’s bow, but he had to duck to avoid an arrow flying at his head. The bandits who hadn’t fallen already had taken cover behind fallen logs, rocks or whatever they could find, and were peppering the wagons with arrows. Two of the soldiers in the wagon had been hit, and one of the dwarves took a glancing blow from an arrow. The wagons provided poor cover and arrows were raining in from both sides. Concentrating on his breathing, Koren nocked one arrow after another, waiting until he knew, somehow knew, he would hit his target. A bandit who was shooting from behind a fallen log suddenly felt an arrow sticking out of his leg; the arrow having flown through the small gap between the log and the ground beneath it. Another bandit readied an arrow, looking through a crack in the rock he was hidden behind. As soon as he stuck his head up to aim at a wagon, an arrow took him straight between his eyes. An arrow that had left its bow even before the bandit decided to pop up above the rock.

  As suddenly as it began, the battle was over. Of the twenty six bandits, sixteen were now dead or injured seriously enough to be out of the fight. Knowing there was nothing valuable in the wagons, the bandits had no incentive to continue the fight, especially now that the odds were no longer in their favor. They broke and ran, scattering in all directions.

  “Barlen?” Koren shouted.

  “We’re fine here,” the dwarf grimaced from an arrow that had bounced off his axe and cut into his right shoulder. “You after Lekerk!”

  “Go,” Bjorn agreed, wincing as he tried to put weight on his twisted ankle.

  Koren hesitated. Though it was difficult to see through the underbrush, he thought he could see the white and black clad figure of Lekerk limping away. Struggling to overcome his emotions, he shook his head. “No. Much as I want to, the odds of my capturing him alone are not good. I need you with me.”

  “Aye,” Bjorn smiled in spite of the pain. “You’re learning. I can ride.” Calling his horse over, he used his good ankle in the stirrup to swing up into the saddle. “Let’s go, you lead.”

  Koren did not need to spur Thunderbolt into action, the horse was nervously prancing with eagerness to charge after the bandit leader. As soon as Koren was seated on the saddle, the horse galloped along the road and easily jumped the fallen tree, turning right to dash into the woods. Koren had to duck down and lay flat on the horse’s back as Thunderbolt crashed headlong through the underbrush. Soon, the horse had to slow as the footing became treacherous and the undergrowth became a tangled mass of interlocking branches. The bandits had chosen their ambush spot well; it was impossible to pursue them into the forest on horseback. “Whoa, whoa!” Koren patted Thunderbolt’s neck. “Bjorn, I think this is as far as we can ride. Can you walk?”

  Bjorn’s face twisted into a grimace as he climbed down from the horse and tested his sore ankle. “Aye. It will be worse after I stop and it get stiff, so we best get moving.”

  Koren told Thunderbolt to go back to the road, and the horse snorted unhappily before turning and leading Bjorn’s horse back the way they’d come. It was slow going for Koren and Bjorn, they tried to follow the path Lekerk had taken, but although the bandit leader had pushed branches and vines out of the way as he passed, the undergrowth had sprung back, forcing the two hunters to bend down, and in some places, almost crawl under the tangled brush. “Let me go first,” Bjorn insisted, taking over his sword and hacking away at the annoying bushes.

  “This is slowing us down,” Koren protested.

  “True enough. It’s also making a clearer path for Barlen to follow us,” Bjorn explained. “Unless you plan for just the two of us to take on nearly a dozen bandits?”

  “No,” Koren felt ashamed. Bjorn had so much more experience. “You’re right.”

  The tangled underbrush grew worse, with bushes having grown up, over and around an area of downed trees. Even though they both could see fresh red droplets where the bandit leader had dripped blood on fallen logs, they could not go any faster. “Blast!” Bjorn cursed. “There must have been a hellacious windstorm here years before, to knock down all these trees.”

  Koren agreed. “The trees all fell in one direction.”

  “There’s nothing for us to do but keep going,” Bjorn’s grumpiness wasn’t helped by his sore ankle. “Oh, this isn’t good.” Ahead of them, the underbrush thinned out, but that was because ahead lay a swamp. The expanse of the swamp was littered with trees laying atop each other like toothpicks. “He went that way,” Bjorn pointed to logs where the moss, algae and leaf litter had been stepped on, exposing the rotting wood beneath. Mucking through a swamp where he couldn’t see what he was stepping on was not going to be good for his ankle.

  “I’ll cut marks in the trees, so Barlen can follow. Bjorn, do you really think they’ll be behind us?”

  Bjorn chuckled. “With the price on Lekerk’s head? You can be sure every one of them who can walk will be on our heels, fast as they can. They all want that reward money. We best get to Lekerk first, if you want answers. The others will prefer to put an arrow through his gullet and get it over quick and easy.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Koren held up a hand, then put a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he whispered. “I hear voices ahead.”

  Bjorn froze, listening intently. He shook his head. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “I hear it,” Koren insisted.

  “Aye, I believe you. Is your hearing as good as your skill with a bow?” Before Koren could answer, Bjorn pointed to the left. “If the bandits are ahead, we shouldn’t stay on Lekerk’s trail. We go around, until you find where they are.”

  “What then?”

  “Then, we make a plan when we see the lay of the land.”

  Koren looked blankly at the former king’s guard.

  And Bjorn remembered he was not talking to a trained soldier. “I meant, we make a plan, when we see where they are.”

  “Oh.” Koren lead the way, them moving as quietly as they could. The underbrush had thinned o
ut enough that they had to seek concealment, rather than constantly fighting their way through. Ahead and to the left, the ground rose, and there was a jumble of large rocks, some of them large enough to stand under. That is where the voices were coming from, and Koren’s sharp eyes detected movement in between the rocks. “There-”

  “I see,” Bjorn whispered. He pointed up to the left. “Thick brush up that way, we can get close.”

  They went to the left, losing sight of the bandits; once behind cover of the dense brush, they were able to crawl slowly and silently to within fifty yards of the rocks. Bjorn pointed to two bandits acting as lookouts, lookouts who were looking in the wrong direction. Their lack of discipline disgusted Bjorn, the two bandits were focused entirely on the direction from which they expected pursuit, and were ignoring any other possibility. “Can you hit those two?” Bjorn whispered. “You’ll need to be quick.”

  Koren didn’t reply. Slowly, carefully, he rose to one knee, taking two arrows from his quiver. Bjorn took one arrow, holding it ready, and pulled side the brush in front of Koren. Hitting two targets, so rapidly the second man would not have time to react and duck under cover? Koren thought that would be a challenge, even for him. He fit an arrow to the bowstring, unable to decide which bandit to target first. And he realized he didn’t need to decide, as he swung his aim back and forth. It simply felt right to target the man farther away. “Ready?”