by Ben Cassidy
“Right,” said Maklavir, “if anything goes wrong, we’ll run off and leave you to your death. That way we can cook your donkey and eat it when we run out of food.”
Jade smiled despite herself.
Kendril shot Maklavir a cold glare. “He’s a mule,” he said, then started towards the road.
The bridge looked old. Moss and lichen grew in the cracks between the stone, and there was still a trace of dampness from the rain the night before. The sun had done a good job of drying most of the slippery surface, however, and it was not yet cold enough for ice to form. A small railing about three feet high, also made of stone, ran along either side of the bridge. Two small birds were flitting around each other, perched on one side of the railing. As Kendril drew closer they both scattered into the nearby trees.
As soon as the forest on either side of the road melted away, Kendril felt suddenly vulnerable. He searched the banks of the river as far as he could see, his rifle at the ready, but nothing seemed to move. He turned to look over his shoulder, but the road behind him was empty as well. No sign of Maklavir and Jade, either, which was good. At least they had actually listened when he had told them to stay hidden.
It really was crazy, he thought as he stepped onto the bridge. Here he was, risking his life for two people he had met only days ago. Actually, he had met Maklavir just yesterday. It somehow seemed much longer.
The wind was blowing more briskly out on the river, and Kendril’s cloak flapped around him in the icy gusts. He pushed his hood out of the way of his face, his eyes watering from the cold air. He felt naked out here in the open, with nothing to hide behind. It was not usually in his nature to make himself such an easy target.
Kendril stopped about a third of the way down the bridge, searching the banks on either side of the river. He stepped to the edge of the bridge, leaning over the railing and looking down into the foaming water below. The only sounds were the whistling of the wind and the noise of the river beneath his feet. Gathering his cloak tightly around him against the breeze, Kendril continued towards the opposite side.
There was still nothing. No movement, no shouting, and no ambush. As Kendril drew closer to the mill, he realized that the wheel was not turning and the windows were boarded up as well. It looked abandoned.
Before he knew it Kendril had reached the end of the bridge. The stone railing on the right hand side merged directly into the mill. A large wooden door in the building’s side opened up onto the area just before the bridge. Kendril brought up his rifle, holding it with his right hand while he reached out to test the door with his left.
It rattled, but didn’t budge. Locked. He took a step back, staring up carefully at the gray boards covering the windows. It looked like it was home only to owls and field mice. Kendril glanced back down the length of the bridge, then trudged cautiously up the dirt road towards the tree line. The area between the bridge and the forest, like the western side of the bridge, was relatively open, but the road quickly curved out of sight as soon as it entered the forest.
A squirrel pranced madly up the nearest tree as Kendril entered the woods. He examined both sides of the road carefully as he walked, stopping about fifty yards in. For several moments he merely stood and listened, his rifle at the ready and his senses alert.
Everything seemed fine. More than fine, actually. Everything seemed completely safe. Yet there was still an uneasy buzzing in the back of Kendril’s mind. Something was amiss here, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. A more accomplished woodsman might have better read the signs, but as far as he could tell nothing was wrong.
He cursed softly to himself, searching the forest again. A bird chattered somewhere in the treetops, answered quickly by yet another on the other side of the road. Kendril hesitated for one moment longer, torn by one last shred of doubt.
They couldn’t go back. Maklavir was right on that count. If the bounty hunter had picked up their trail he and his men could be behind them even now. Turning around could be disastrous.
Kendril slung the rifle onto his shoulder, giving one last long look down the road to the east. The sun was starting to descend in the western sky, and the forest was beginning to grow dimmer as the light faded. It would be nightfall in just an hour or so. Their time was running out and he had to make a decision. And he already knew what it had to be.
They had to cross, and they had to do it now.
Uneasily, but with a new sense of determination, Kendril turned back towards the bridge.
Maklavir suddenly straightened. “There’s Kendril. He’s coming back out onto the bridge.”
Jade sat up. “Is he okay?” she asked eagerly.
The finely dressed man squinted. “Looks like it.” He smiled. “He’s signaling. Looks like everything is clear.” He got to his feet, untying Veritas from where the horse was tethered at a nearby tree. “Grab that blasted donkey and let’s get going.”
Jade got up as well, her face showing the relief she felt. “No argument here.”
Kendril walked about a third of the way out onto the bridge, then stopped, leaning against the stone railing. He set the rifle down beside him, then gathered his black cloak around him against the wind. On the opposite bank he could see Maklavir and Jade emerge from the trees off the side of the road, lugging the animals behind them. He glanced back behind him once more, but the road leading eastwards into the forest was still empty.
He gazed back at Maklavir and Jade. The two had left the cover of the woods, and were almost to the bridge. But for some reason, Kendril just couldn’t seem to relax. He felt tense, almost completely on edge.
Something was still wrong. He could feel it.
Kendril’s companions started out onto the bridge, walking side by side. Maklavir said something, and Jade laughed. The sound reached Kendril’s ears even where he stood waiting, and he felt a strange feeling come over him. For a moment he allowed his mind to wander, thinking about the strange girl he had only met days before. He glanced down at the stone pavement of the bridge, remembering the sting of their earlier conversation. Jade hadn’t meant any harm, of course. She had just been curious. Still, there were some things that Kendril could still not speak of, especially not to her.
He smiled as the sudden irony hit him. Jade couldn’t remember her past, and he couldn’t talk about his. No wonder conversation between them was difficult.
Scratching the side of his neck thoughtfully, Kendril glanced back up again.
His heart stopped mid-beat.
“She didn’t know it had come loose?” Jade giggled, giving Simon a gentle pull. “You’re joking.”
“Sadly, no,” said Maklavir with a twinkle in his eye. “Of course, no one had the courage to tell the Grand Duchess that her wig was askew. The poor woman kept eating her soup for a good ten minutes before she figured it out.”
Jade giggled again, covering her mouth with her hand. “Didn’t the Grand Duke notice?”
“He,” said the young man with a full grin, “was trying too hard not to laugh. His whole face was turning purple. And what’s more—” He stopped suddenly, staring ahead. “Hello? What in Eru’s name is that man up to now?”
The girl followed his gaze.
Kendril turned towards them, his rifle in his hands. He brought it up to his shoulder, preparing to fire.
Jade felt her stomach drop.
She spun around, Simon’s bridle dropping from her hand.
Behind them on the road, not more than a hundred yards away, were two men on horseback with swords in their hands. Both were coming down the road at a full gallop.
It was a trap.
Chapter 12
Kendril allowed himself one fraction of a second for grinding self-blame. He should have gone with his gut and avoided the bridge like the plague. It was the kind of mistake an amateur might have made, and he was no amateur. In all likelihood he had just gotten them all killed. Well, he and Maklavir, anyway.
The rifle was at his shoulder in an instant, and withou
t thinking he snapped back the lock, readying the weapon to fire.
Jade and Maklavir had seen the two riders by now, and they were moving as quickly as they could.
Kendril just hoped it would be quickly enough.
He sighted down the length of the rifle, swiftly lining it up with one of the approaching horsemen. It was a difficult shot. His friends were partly in the way, and there was nothing to rest the rifle on in order to steady it.
Two riders, one shot. There was certainly no way he could reload the weapon again before they would be on him. It would be pistol and sword work then.
And where were the other two men? The bounty hunter had had three henchmen that Kendril had seen. There should be four of them all together. Perhaps they had split up?
Tracking the horseman on the right with his rifle, Kendril fired.
Maklavir drew his sword. The steel flashed momentarily in the setting sun.
Jade continued to stare at the two men riding towards them, her body paralyzed with terror.
“Jade!” Maklavir vaulted onto Veritas, breaking her from her trance. He held his hand out to her.
Jade shook her head, forcing herself out of her shock. She grabbed the diplomat’s outstretched hand, and he pulled her onto the horse behind him. Simon brayed loudly, turning in all directions in an agitated manner. Jade wrapped her arms around Maklavir’s waist, then looked back over her shoulder.
The riders were almost upon them, close enough for her to make out their faces quite clearly. One had a musket slung over his back, but neither had the tell-tale eye patch.
Neither one was the bounty hunter, at least.
She felt Maklavir dig both heels into his horse’s flanks. Veritas gave a cry, then leapt forward, his hoofs pounding on the stones beneath them.
At the same moment, a rifle shot cracked out through the cold air.
A cloud of blue smoke exploded in front of Kendril’s face and his ears rang from the sound of the gun. He stepped swiftly to the side, slinging the smoking rifle onto his back and reaching for his pistols.
No good. The two riders were still coming. His shot had missed.
Kendril swore under his breath, pulling out a pistol in each hand and readying them to fire.
Oh, well. It had been a difficult shot to begin with.
The white shape of Veritas maneuvered around Kendril’s panicking mule, and came racing down the bridge. Maklavir was urging the horse onwards, and Jade was right behind him. The horsemen were on the bridge now, and one of the riders gave a swipe of his sword at Simon, who hurried out of the way, braying like a little mare. Kendril sighed, raising his pistols.
Worthless animal.
Maklavir and Jade were coming up fast. He waved them on with one of his pistols, pressing himself against the side of the bridge. If they could get by, he might be able to hold the other two riders back, or at least slow them down. It wasn’t a very good chance, but it was the only one they had.
Just as he was contemplating which horseman to shoot at first, Kendril heard Jade shouting his name over the clattering of hooves. For a moment he couldn’t tell what she was saying.
And then, as if the shutters of a lantern had been thrown open, he realized what was going on. He snapped his head to the right and looked behind him.
Two men were emerging from the mill, carrying crossbows. They were blocking the end of the bridge.
There was no way out.
Montrose had never considered himself an exceptionally gifted person.
He was a decent fighter, surely, but no monster in hand-to-hand combat. He was a fair marksman, perhaps, but no archery competitions were in his near future. As for tracking, he was probably as good as most woodsmen, but certainly didn’t count himself amongst the best.
No, he was definitely not an exceptional individual in any particular aspect. But there was one thing that Montrose did have in abundance, and it was no coincidence that it was the one thing any good hunter needed.
He was a very, very patient man.
After the events of the previous evening Montrose had begun to think he had bitten off more than he could chew. The Ghostwalker had already killed four of his men, the girl had gotten clean away, and the rest of his men were ready to mutiny and hand him his own head on a pike. Things were about as dark as they could possibly get.
But in the morning, when they had found the trail, Montrose had regained some hope. The Ghostwalker was a fantastic swordsman, no doubt, but obviously knew little about tracking or forestry. The trail they had left behind had been an easy one to follow, with trampled grass, broken branches, and footprints that even an amateur could pick out. Truth be told, the trail had been so obvious that Montrose had at first suspected that it must have been a fake to lead them off in the wrong direction. That had quickly proved to be an unfounded fear.
As soon as he knew the girl and her newfound companions were heading north, he knew that he had them. There was nothing to the west for miles. The girl would head east. It was the quickest way for her to get help, but it would also prove to be her undoing.
There was a bridge, Montrose knew, just a few miles down the eastern road. It crossed the Arneth River, and the girl and the two men she was with had to cross it if they wanted to get out of the woods. It was the ideal spot to trap them, and Montrose was not one to let such a golden opportunity slip by. He had ordered Derik and Calham to continue following their quarry’s trail down the eastern road, while he and Uther had galloped ahead to the bridge. Once they had arrived, Montrose had tied up their horses deep in the woods on the far side of the river, then he and Uther had hidden in the old mill, barricading the door and trying to stay as quiet as possible.
There had been some tense moments, of course, like when the Ghostwalker had appeared on the bridge.
Uther had started to remove the boards from one of the windows to shoot the man, and Montrose had been half-tempted to let him. But as always, it was Montrose’s patience that won the day. If the Ghostwalker was shot down on the bridge, the girl and the other man, assuming they were somewhere nearby, would flee. The only thing to be done was to wait it out, and try to catch the whole lot of them at once.
Montrose and Uther had held their breaths in the dark, hay-filled lower room of the mill as the Ghostwalker had unsuccessfully tried the door. For a moment the bounty hunter had thought they were given away, but his fears proved false.
The man had continued up the road and disappeared into the forest.
It was here again that doubts began to play over Montrose’s mind. What if the Ghostwalker had separated from the others? What if he actually was alone, or going for help while the girl and the other man hid out in the woods? As the seconds had crept by and nothing happened, Uther had become more and more impatient, and Montrose more and more doubtful.
But patience, as Montrose’s father used to tell him, is always a hunter’s best weapon. A few minutes later, after a suffocatingly long wait, the Ghostwalker had reappeared on the bridge, and signaled the other two, who had come out of hiding.
It had been a near-perfect set-up. Derik and Calham had been tailing the girl, staying just out of sight and waiting for her and the man in the purple cape to break cover and reach the bridge.
And now, as Montrose and Uther emerged from the stuffy mill, he knew that he finally had her.
She and her companions was trapped. There was no place for them to go.
Of course, a trapped animal was always the most dangerous, and the Ghostwalker would not go down easily. The next few seconds would decide everything, and Montrose had no intention of letting his prey escape again.
Taking quick stock of the situation, he barked rapid orders to Uther.
The henchman quickly raised his crossbow, looking for a good shot.
Derik and Calham were bearing down on the bridge from the west, their swords glinting red in the fading daylight.
Montrose allowed himself a quick grin.
He finally had them.
“Maklavir!” Jade cried, pointing to the far end of the bridge.
The diplomat’s heart sank.
Two men were emerging from the mill, crossbows at the ready.
Maklavir pulled back on the reins, bringing Veritas to a rearing halt. Jade held on for dear life.
He swiveled his head to look behind him. Veritas champed at his bit and stomped impatiently at the stones beneath him.
The scene was enough to freeze the blood in his veins. The two horsemen were crashing down upon Kendril, who was standing in the middle of the bridge with a pistol in each hand, ready to fire.
Maklavir felt a begrudging swell of admiration for the man. The Ghostwalker might be a less-than-desirable traveling companion, but one could certainly not doubt his courage.
He swung his head back around to the left. The two crossbowmen were completely blocking the end of the bridge. There was no way off.
With a sudden, lurching feeling in his stomach, Maklavir realized that they were all going to die.
His last thought, strangely, was of a feather bed.
Not the cheap kind, but the ones made of real goose down, with the pillows that were so soft and deep that you could sink your head into them and never come out. It had been years since he had slept in a feather bed. Actually, come to think of it, it had been weeks at least since he had slept in a proper bed at all.
Yes, one more night in a feather bed would have been nice. He was really going to miss that.
With a spark and then a roar, both of Kendril’s pistols fired, spitting out flame and smoke.
One of the lead balls missed, tearing through the sleeve of the rider on the left. He barely noticed its passage.
The other shot, however, struck the horse on the right squarely in the neck.
With a pitiful scream the animal crashed to the ground, its legs kicking wildly. The rider was thrown clear over the head of his mount, the sword flying loose from his hand and skittering down the cobbled bridge.