Dead Man's Hand_The Knights of the Golden Dragon_Book 2

by Troy Reaves

  “Is that an opinion or a thinly veiled order, Jun?” Boremac leaned across the table between the two men to bring his nose within scarce inches of Jun’s own. “I think it is a challenge. The merchants are of no concern to me and the deception of a silly lass is even less interesting. Inform Master Shinan that I will arrive soon. I should like to see a new city.”

  Boremac made arrangements with one of the merchants heading toward his destination, trading basic riding lessons and food for his protection. Boremac mounted one of the largest beasts available with little instruction and he was pleased that the creature took to him so readily. The guard said little concerning his willingness to part with the animal and took a position near the merchant with a bow in hand. Once they were underway, Boremac understood soon enough. The trotting animal beneath him gave him the worse bouncing of his life, punishing his thighs and buttocks as he tried to protect his pride. He could barely walk when the group broke camp and began to regret his decision to take this particular contract.

  “How do you all stand it?” Boremac moaned as he took bread and meat at the company’s campfire two days into the trip. His inquiry was directed to one of the men that accompanied him with the other riders. The man sprang to his feet and slapped his own thigh, sounding a rousing clap as his hand struck home.

  “You strengthen these! Day in and day out until they no longer ache with the hold you keep on the horse. Better they should ache than the brutal jouncing your jewels would take in their place. Ride with loose legs tomorrow and I am certain you never will again!” The unknown rider slapped his back as hard as he had his own thigh. “You are doing well for a city man. Keep at it and the pain will fade. There are some other merits of the exercise as well, I can assure you. Taunt thighs encased in tight leathers do not frighten the women, quite the opposite! They do love their horses. They love their horsemen even more! You will see.”

  Another man at the fire spoke up as the first finished, following his partner’s lead. “He speaks truth in that. He is living proof, for as ugly as he is, he is still welcomed by precious ladies and wenches alike. He is a fair man though and gives them all equal measure of him, meager though it may be. I am more horseman than most, honoring the beast that serves us with comparable size in more ways than one!”

  “So say you!” Yet another rider entered the fray. “I have seen the ladies that flee your room, cursing loudly about the deception you have done! Better you should bed them with honor… and many gifts to make them take pity on you for your shortcomings.” The man speaking turned now to Boremac and addressed him directly. “You should be giving your horse his head some every day until you grow accustomed to the labor of slow travel. These horses ache for the wind if they are not run some time.”

  “What do you mean, ‘give him his head?’ ” Boremac asked, hoping for any answer that would bring him a measure of relief.

  “We send a scout ahead daily, as I am sure you have seen.” The third man stated. “You may have also noted that the scouts speed their horses some when they go ahead of us. It is a delicate thing to pace the animals so as to maintain awareness of the road and still cover solid distance ahead of the caravan. We take them a good ways ahead and then return with haste, allowing the horse to control our pace or’give him his head’ as we call it. We check them once we sight the caravan to keep from running through it. Our horses can get a bit wild when run on these long journeys.”

  “True enough,” chimed in one of the others at the fire, “but we have not lost a rider, or a horse, yet. Always a first time though.” The last words brought a ripple of laughter through all the mercenary horsemen within earshot and cascaded through the outer part of the camp as the statement was passed along. Everyone laughed except Boremac.

  Boremac spent the next morning in deep thought trying to find a way out of running his horse when the scout preceded the caravan. He could come up with nothing that did not make him look like a coward, despite his sly mind. He reassured himself by thinking that the horse he rode had been gentle enough with him to this point and the beast was more than comfortable on the road, infinitely more at ease than he. “What could possibly go wrong?” he thought, and was not remotely surprised when all manner of scenarios played through his mind unbidden, all of them ending with him in great pain or dead. The quick thinking that served him so often was a bit of a curse on some occasions.

  His lead for the ride was Forel, a narrow horseman easily a head taller than Boremac, who mirrored the tall, sleek features of his mount. He was a good humored fellow who commented on the fair weather of the chill fall morning rather than prodding Boremac. He must have thought Boremac was nervous enough without further aid. Forel was absolutely correct on this point. Still, Boremac was glad for his draw of rider and appreciated Forel’s efforts at calming him. His horse proceeded to take up position behind Forel’s mount, snorting and shaking his head as if to clear cobwebs in preparation for the run. The beast knew what was coming and seemed all the more lively in anticipation. Boremac wondered if it was too late to dismount, but there was something else that stirred in his belly. Anticipation of his own kindled a fire in him that he had not expected. It was like the first time he had fought with daggers, picked a pocket, and been wrapped up in Fauna all in one. The unknown was a powerful aphrodisiac. The sensation only increased as Forel urged his own horse from a trot to a canter and Boremac’s own fell into the lead animal’s pace.

  The ride out took half the day and when Forel called a halt for the midday meal, Boremac felt somewhat disappointed. The initial intoxication of the ride had long ago faded away and, although the pace had smoothed the ride a bit, constantly being aware of potential bandits and hazards had diminished his immersion. Forel had been chatty throughout the expedition and Boremac felt well educated with this particular forest’s flora and fauna by the time they dismounted to eat. He also felt he should get a nap because Forel had turned out to be the most boring man he had ever met.

  The horses took time to nibble at some rare berries that were found alongside the trail, enjoying the break and catching their wind. Forel explained that he had made it a habit to take his horse to this place on the road when he could as a treat. “I do not know what he likes so much about those berries but I do know he is ill about sharing them. I tried once against my better judgment to get a bit of the berries to try. I nearly lost two fingers for the effort. Needless to say, I did not try that again.” Forel chuckled at the memory and Boremac looked at the two horses tugging at the berries. There was a subtle change in them both as they chewed the berries and leaves. Boremac’s mount tossed his head about after every bite and Forel’s horse bumped the other beast several times but there seemed no ill will between the pair.

  “They will want water before we give them their head. I know mine always takes me to the nearest stream after eating those berries. You would think the berries would satiate their thirst, but he drinks as if he has had no water for days every time.” Forel patted his horse on the rear to get his attention. The beast reluctantly withdrew its head from the berry patch, pausing only to nip at the other horse to indicate he should withdraw as well. Forel barely had time to reach his horse’s reins before the horse began picking its way through a path in the wood along the road. It was well worn with horseshoe marks, and Boremac’s horse fell in line behind him readily. The group made it to the clear flowing stream quickly and both animals dipped their heads toward the water, taking long draughts for what Boremac felt was quite a while. Boremac questioned Forel about this. “I would not be much able to walk, let alone wish to run, after drinking so much water. Do you not agree?” Forel smiled knowingly at him as he replied. “I would agree and I cannot explain it. What is even odder is how well he runs after the berries. I swear my Gazer could outrun a gale. I hope your mount Fury can keep up. Hate to lose you.” Forel patted Boremac on the back in a reassuring gesture; not surprisingly Boremac felt less than reassured. Even more disturbing was that Fury’s heavily lidded eyes s
eemed to be shining with a hint of red that he was sure was not present before.

  When the horses were led back out to the road, Boremac took a moment to confer with his horse before he mounted. “You are sure you are okay? I would hate for something bad to happen to you, or to me. Really, though, especially to me.” Boremac was not comforted when the horse snorted and nodded at him. The fact that his beast appeared to be grinning at him helped not at all. “Forel, why do they call him Fury?”

  Forel’s brow furrowed alarmingly before he answered. “Well, he is rather interesting when he takes a mind to be which is why the usual rider gave him up to you so readily. He has been remarkably calm with you so maybe it was more the fault of the rider than the horse. He can be a bit skittish at times but that should not be a concern for you. I will keep an eye out and clear anything that might trouble him as I go. Ride well, Boremac!” Forel and Gazer began to pick up speed almost immediately. Forel shouted some instruction as Gazer flew away. “Be sure to hold on tight and lean forward!” Fury responded to their departure with a snort while pawing the ground in anticipation of his own. The last thing Boremac thought was “Alchendia save me,” when suddenly Fury charged forward, as if he were afraid of being left behind.

  All thought fled with the surge and Boremac barely had time to grab a handful of his horse’s mane and lean in as instructed.. The first sudden jolt smoothed out into a flowing stride as Fury settled into his gallop and challenged the steadily building gale at their back to outpace him. The air before them parted rapidly around Boremac and Fury, whipping tears into Boremac’s eyes until he could barely see. It was exhilarating beyond his ability to imagine, engulfing his senses. A grin he could not restrain lit his face as the trees and grass by the road blurred with their speed, a wash of greens and browns with no pattern and constantly changing.

  What occurred next was so abrupt that Boremac was not sure what happened. Fury suddenly threw his head up, whacking Boremac directly in the nose, hard, before he juked to the left. As Fury went left Boremac went right and lost his grip on the horse’s mane, landing painfully in the road the on his back. As he lay there dazed and attempted to rise, something small and furry landed on his head and launched itself into the air causing his skull to slam into the ground. After a moment, Boremac sat up and shook his head to clear it. Ahead of him he spotted his furry tormentor as he watched the cloud of dust following Fury settle onto the road. The horse was nowhere to be seen but staring back at him was a wild-eyed rabbit, frozen by the sudden new events in its life. “You just wanted to cross the road, I take it. Excellent timing. You should go before I take a mind to spitting a rabbit.” Boremac emphasized his statement by lazily tossing one of his daggers at the panicked creature, missing it by some distance but managing to make his point understood. “Damned furball,” he stated to the trees as the rabbit took his leave and completed his ill-fated crossing. “No sense in sitting here, I guess I might as well start toward the caravan.”

  Some time later Forel returned riding Gazer to find him still steadily making his way down the road. Boremac had taken advantage of a fallen limb to use as a walking stick and was actually whistling tunelessly as Forel dismounted and stared at him. Boremac for his part continued on his way, taking efforts to reduce the impact of each step on his right leg but he refused to stumble. Forel walked along side of him, readily matching his stride and asked the first thing that came to mind. “What are you doing, Boremac? I have come to return you to the caravan. Gazer is more than adequate to bear both of us without much hindrance.”

  “Forel, I am trudging.” Boremac responded bluntly.

  “Trudging?” Forel could think of no other answer.

  “Yes,” Boremac began, not bothering to pause his ponderous forward motion. “Trudging - the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on. I have had quite enough of horses for the day and I doubt that my desire to ride them will return for quite some time.”

  “You cannot continue… trudging. You can barely stand to my eyes. Let me get you on the horse.” Forel was trying to be understanding but he was growing angrier by the moment.

  “I have been thrown to the ground by a beast of burden, slammed onto my right side which now apparently is bruised from my butt down to my ankle, and then trampled by a small brown rabbit that left me with a bump on the back of my head to mark his passage. You will go and let the caravan know that I am well and will continue down this road until we meet. I will then take great pleasure in kicking that bastard that ‘loaned’ me that horse with my good leg until one of us passes out.” Boremac paused to grin wickedly at Forel. “Go and relay my message, except the kicking part. I want that to be a surprise.” He patted Forel on the back conspiratorially and continued on his way. Forel recovered from his initial shock at Boremac’s insistence and smiled at the man’s back. Shaking his head, he mounted Gazer and rode like he was pursued by a demon. Forel thought there were a couple of things that he could do to ease Boremac’s journey, and he wanted to get the caravan pacing faster as soon as he could.

  The sun had begun to give way to the night just before the caravan caught up with Boremac. The good humor Boremac had been able to summon to deal with the situation had long ago faded into dull misery that punished him with every step. “That bastard will pay. That bastard will pay,” had become a mantra repeated as pain surged through him. He could barely push his cheeks up to form a grin as the caravan approached him. He was mildly surprised to see that the man who had loaned him the horse was astride Fury now. Since a proper beating was well out of Boremac’s ability to deliver at the moment, he made his way toward horse and rider as quickly as he could force himself. He hoped to take the beast and man unaware and smack the horse hard enough to send it careening down the darkening road. The man dismounted, intercepting Boremac just as he was rounding wide to the horse’s rear. “Now, now, we cannot have you troubling Fury for doing what he does.” A broad, knowing smile broke the man’s face as he threw open his arms and closed the distance between Boremac and himself. “Welcome to the Riders of Gold, Boremac! Your initiation is complete. I have to say you have fared better than most who have tried to give Fury his head.” Boremac’s tormentor swept him up in a bear hug, lifting his feet off the ground with little effort and sending shooting pain through his right side. It was only through a force of will that the he remained conscious as the man placed him on the lead wagon near the owner of the caravan. The man turned his back on Boremac for a moment to lift his hands to the other riders in the company, shouting for their attention. “Riders of Gold, welcome the newest member of our company! He has survived Fury in all the glory that horse can offer and fared better than most of you!” This drew a mixture of laughter and groans of sympathy from the entire company. “How many of you can claim to have survived the flight Fury has given us all and an attack by a killer rabbit as well?!? Not a one, so far back as I can cast my memory and that is far indeed! This simple warrior with hardly any knowledge of horses has outdone us all in this deed and we will celebrate like kings, or drunken sailors, when we reach the city! I think we all know where to find the fair women that can ease his pain! We shall take him to the ladies of The Moonlight Rose where no man can ache for long! Drink, song and women shall be his and, if he is favored by the Goddess, he may know the pleasure of the Madam herself! Glorious celebration awaits us all once more when we make it to Bursim! God how I love bringing in a new mate! Any excuse to spend hard earned coin with the ladies is welcome!” More laughter, cheers and even a few barbaric growls issued from the company indicating their approval. “Ah, we have two more lonely days on the road and I am saddled with the unwanted task of mastering Fury as we continue, God help me.”

  Boremac had enjoyed the rousing speech as much as any of them but dues owed were dues paid. Boremac leaned into the horsemaster to support his back as the man finished. His good leg shot out, planted firmly into the man’s butt and threw h
im to the ground in the general direction of Fury. The horse took no notice of the man sprawled next to him but a roar of approval sounded out from all the horsemen around the caravan. More than a few caused their horses to rear in honor of his gesture. Boremac made a motion to stand and found he could not do more than sit higher on the back board behind his seat. “A fine speech to which I am moved to make an answer! He is buying!” Shouted Boremac. The roar that followed caused Fury to rear up as if in approval and, despite his pain, Boremac grinned. Some of the men that had been closest to the wagon when Boremac had ejected their leader from his perch on the wagon remarked that the look on the new initiate’s face had resembled that of a well satisfied snake, pleased with its poisonous strike, if a snake could smile.