The Middle of Nowhere

by Paul B. Thompson

  Malek bit off more fish. “We hired them to fight for us.”

  “I would like to observe your struggle.”

  Malek eyed Ezu uncertainly. “Our fight is not a show.”

  “This one has been to many lands and seen many battles,” Ezu said. “My knowledge is yours for the asking. It may prove handy.”

  The fish strip gone, Malek licked salt from his fingers. He didn’t trust the odd visitor, not at all. Maybe the lynching party was onto something. Maybe Ezu was a spy for Rakell.

  “I am not a spy for anyone,” said Ezu, as if listening to Malek’s thoughts. His precision was so great Malek jumped to his feet.

  “I’ll have to talk it over with my friends,” he said, unnerved. “Then you’ll have our answer.”

  “Right-right.” Ezu rose. “Use this one how you can. You will not regret it.”

  Malek already did.

  Flat on their bellies, Raika and Amergin crawled toward the flickering fire. Burning windfall branches crackled loudly in the night, silencing nearby crickets and frogs.

  “Anybody there?” she whispered. The elf shook his head ever so slightly.

  Raika studied the scene. The campfire had been laid in the center of a triangle of oak trees. A single bedroll lay on the ground close by, along with a wicker basket equipped with carrying straps. It looked as though the fire-builder had stepped away, and might return at any moment.

  Amergin said softly in Raika’s ear, “Trap. I’ll go round.” His breath, like his manner, was cool. Noiselessly he slid away. The last she saw of him was the blackened soles of his bare feet merging into the shadows.

  Something with many legs crawled across her neck. She flicked it off without bothering to look at it.

  The longer she studied the camp scene, the more Raika was convinced someone was actually in the bedroll. At casual glance, the blanket appeared open and empty, but staring at the firelight playing over its contours, Raika thought someone was moving under the blanket. There was even a sideways lump where the sleeper’s foot would be, turned outward at the heel.

  No sign of Amergin. That meant nothing. The Kagonesti would not be seen unless he wanted to be. How could she let him know her suspicions about the bedroll? There might be other enemies lurking in the night.

  Time passed with such slowness Raika felt her fingers and toes tingle. She drew in her hands and slowly pushed up on her knees. No responding movement from the bedroll.

  Using her fingers to keep the blade from scraping on the scabbard, Raika drew her sword, one of the ones taken from the Quen guards in Robann. Raising the hilt to eye level, she sprang from the shadows and ran at the sleeping figure. Her long legs covered ground quickly—three, four, five long strides, and she was standing over the bedroll. The only part of the sleeper not covered by the blanket was a short shock of brown hair.

  She used both hands to drive her blade into the supine figure. Raika felt fleeting resistance, then the sword point dug into the hard earth.

  A man impaled thus would die swiftly, but he would also cry out, scream, or writhe in agony. Her victim did none of that, nor did he bleed. Instead the sleeper turned his head and opened his eyes, gazing steadily at her. Horrified, Raika whipped back the blanket.

  Under the blanket was a small pit, carefully hollowed out. Her ‘victim’ sat in this hole with a sword across his knees. The rest of the body she’d recognized under the blanket was a dummy, stuffed with rags and tied to a thick plank. Her sword tip was buried in the piece of lumber.

  The bounty hunter brought his sword up, presenting the point under Raika’s chin. Though his hair was cropped close like a human’s, he had distinctly elven features.

  “Yield,” he said calmly.

  Raika let out a snarl and threw herself backward to escape his poised blade. She reeled away, off balance, and tripped. Falling hard, she felt rope beneath her fingers. A net!

  The bounty hunter was out of his hole and had pulled hard on a cord lying just beneath the dirt. Somewhere a bent tree limb unbowed, and Raika snapped off the ground, completely enfolded in a heavy net.

  “Let me down! Let me down!” she stormed.

  “Can’t. You’re the catch of the day,” said the elf. Judging by his coloring, he was Kagonesti, but his clothing and sword were human-style, the kind worn far to the south.

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me down!” Raika raged.

  “I don’t think so.” He shoved his sword in its sheath. “You have friends about. How many came with you? Where are they now?”

  She called him most of the filthy names she knew. Ignoring her, he slipped away into the darkness.

  Raika was a good six feet off the ground, bent double so tightly she could not get a hand through the tight mesh. She struggled until something bright whizzed by the campfire, striking an oak tree with a loud thump. Raika saw it was one of Amergin’s polished bronze stars. Hope surging, she groped for the Quen knife tucked in her sash.

  There was a crashing in the underbrush. A heartbeat later Amergin burst into the clearing. His sling had been sliced in two. He wore no sword.

  Close behind him came the bounty hunter. He stepped into the circle of firelight and barked a short sentence in Elvish. Amergin did not reply.

  “My sword! In the plank!” Raika cried. Amergin spotted the bedroll decoy. He ran to it, planted one foot on the board, and wrenched the blade free. To Raika’s surprise, the bounty hunter made no effort to stop him.

  “Ko’aq ketay,” he said in Elvish. “Do your best.”

  The Kagonesti crept toward each other, each one sidling to his right. As a result, they circled the clearing, the campfire and Raika between them. She struggled to free her knife, but blood was beginning to thunder in her head. If she was hung up like this much longer, her wits would founder.

  The bounty hunter vaulted over the campfire and alit within arm’s reach of Amergin. They traded a few quick cuts, nothing fancy. Raika was relieved to see that Amergin knew something about using a sword. He thrust at the bounty hunter, who threw himself backward to avoid Amergin’s point. In so doing, he collided with Raika, setting her swinging. Blades flashed perilously close to her helpless backside.

  “You’ve got a whole clearing! Fight somewhere else!” she cried. Suddenly, Raika realized that the collision had loosened the knife from her belt. It fell below her left hip. Straining hard, she worked her right hand across to grasp it.

  The bounty hunter made a whirling overhand attack, moving his sword so quickly all Amergin could do was hold his weapon over his head to ward off the blows. He countered only once, a short thrust aimed at the bounty hunter’s face. The crop-haired elf slapped the blade away with his hand.

  “You’re done,” he said in Common. “Give up.”

  “You’re not taking me back to Robann,” Amergin said. You know what the Brotherhood will do to me?”

  The hunter nodded curtly. “Too bad. My fee would be double if I delivered you alive.”

  Amergin drew away, keeping his back to the dark woods. “How much are they paying you?” he asked. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay you more.”

  “I can’t do that. A contract is a contract. I’ve never failed to bring in my quarry.”

  A fast flurry of slashes and thrusts drove Amergin to the foot of one of the oaks. The hunter caught up his foe’s blade and with a flick of his wrist sent Amergin’s sword flying into the night.

  “Malo takhi,” said the hunter. The benediction meant, “Enter darkness.”

  He extended his arm for the final lunge but never completed it. With a resounding thud, Raika broke a plank over the bounty hunter’s head, and he collapsed.

  Moments later, Howland, Hume, and Carver raced in, ready for a fight. They’d heard the clatter of swordplay and come running.

  Raika tossed the broken board aside and rolled the unconscious elf over with her toe. She took the knife from her teeth and put it to his throat.

  “Wait!” said Howland. He picked up a
brand from the fire and held it up to light the bounty hunter’s face. “By my Oath! Do you know who this is?”

  “A tricky little wretch about to meet his ancestors!” Raika snarled.

  “It’s Robien! Robien the Tireless!”

  Hume said, “Really? The very one?”

  “I’m sure of it!” said Howland. “Twenty years ago we tracked down the murderer Valneer together. Chased him to the Icewall, we did. He’s a fine fellow!”

  Carver hunted through the bounty hunter’s bag and found a weighty purse. “Here’s the blood money!” he said as he slipped the sack into his shirt.

  Amergin stood over Raika and his enemy. “So, the one and only Robien. I should not be surprised. Solito was the chief’s son.”

  Still with her knife at his throat, Raika said, “Who’s this Robien, anyway?”

  “The most famous tracker and bounty hunter in six nations,” said Howland. “They say he’s never failed in a mission and brought a hundred malefactors to justice.”

  “He’s certainly failed tonight!” Raika declared with a laugh. She drew back her hand. Amergin caught it.

  “No,” he said.

  “Why? He would have killed you!”

  “He is an honorable brother of the forest. He does not deserve to have his throat cut like a wayward bandit.”

  Raika rocked back on her haunches. “What a bunch of noble fools you all are! What are we going to do when we fight Rakell and his gang? Spare them because they’re honorable brigands?”

  “If we let him go, he’ll simply come after Amergin again,” Hume said.

  Howland tossed the burning branch back in the fire. Putting his sword away, he pondered. Finally he turned to Amergin.

  “It’s your life. What do you say?”

  The Kagonesti’s long face was a mask. “Let’s bring him along.”

  “Bring him?” Raika, Hume, and Carver said in unison.

  The Saifhumi woman said, “That’s crazy!”

  “He’s wields a fine sword. Why not invite him to join us against the raiders?”

  “He’s been paid to find or kill you! Why would a hunter of his reputation go back on his word?”

  Howland went to Carver and held out his hand. “The bounty. Give it to me.”

  “I’m the one who found it,” said the kender, sulking. Reluctantly he gave the purse to the Knight.

  “Amergin is right. We might use him,” said Howland. “Leave the how and why to me. Until then, tie him up. Khorr can easily carry him awhile.”

  They obliterated all traces of Robien’s camp and carried off every scrap from the site. The farmers were more than a little worried by this new way of gaining a recruit, but by now they trusted Sir Howland’s judgment. Every sword was crucial. So was every passing moment.

  The journey resumed before dawn.

  There it is—Nowhere.”

  Malek stood with Howland uth Ungen on the highest prominence for miles around, a round-topped hill the farmers called Caper Mountain. Mountain it was not. It rose only forty feet or so above the surrounding plain, but that made it mountain enough for these parts.

  Spread out below them were a patchwork of fields and gardens, diligently tended throughout the growing season. Barley covered the most ground, and the green stalks were browning as much from lack of rain as from the coming harvest. Here and there swatches of dark green stood out among the brown lakes of grain. Garden plots were watered daily. Tender vegetables needed more sustenance than hardy grain.

  Sir Howland noticed none of this. All he could see was the rude horseshoe of houses in the midst of a flat plain. Tiny figures moved around the gray dot Malek indicated was the village’s sole well.

  How could anyone defend such a defenseless spot? Was it even possible?

  The Knight palmed the sweat from the stubble growing out of his scalp. Hot and tired though he was, he felt good and strong. The journey on foot had purged the toxins from his body, cleansing him of much bad wine and self-pity. The farmers’ cause had paid him more that a full belly—it had revived Howland’s honor. For him, duty was an appetite no less sharp than hunger or thirst. Now, though, when he first beheld the ground he was asked to defend, his spirits sank into his dusty boots.

  On the rearward slope, the rest of the hired swords lolled, watching kites and crows wheeling through the cloudless sky. Nils, Wilf, and Caeta chafed at the delay. They were near enough home to smell the barley growing, but Howland had insisted on this stop. He would not rush his troops into an unknown situation, he said firmly.

  Ezu amused Khorr and Carver with tales of distant lands. When the story called for it, he pulled out some artifact from his satchel. Most were inconsequential—a string of beads, a thick disk of glass, a cup with a needle floating inside—but backed by Ezu’s strange charm they became wondrous relics.

  “And this,” he said, brandishing the glass disk, “was made by the glassmasters of Oe. A fantastic place, Oe. Every house, grand or mean, is made of glass.”

  “Let me see!” said Carver. Ezu placed the disk on his small palm. It didn’t seem so special as he examined it. It was just a round lump of clear glass, not even a pretty color.

  “Hold it by the edge and look through it,” said Ezu.

  The kender did, and exclaimed, “Khorr! Your eyes are huge!”

  The minotaur felt along his massive brow. “They’re no bigger than usual.”

  Carver lowered the glass. “Heh! So they are.” He peered through Ezu’s toy again, and once more Khorr’s face swelled to monstrous proportions.

  The kender laughed.

  Khorr said, “Let me see.” He looked through the glass, first at Carver, then Ezu. “It makes things look bigger,” the minotaur said.

  “Right-right!” Ezu replied. “That is what it does. In Oe, they call this a ‘lens.’ ”

  Carver snatched the disk from Khorr’s thick fingers. He looked at everything through the glass—grass, pebbles, Ezu, and a frowning Raika, sitting ten feet away with her sword bare, guarding the quiescent bounty hunter.

  “Ho, she’s even bigger,” he said. A new target occurred to him. “My foot!” He bent down, resting his chin on one knee, and gazed at his bare brown toes through Ezu’s lens.

  The sun was behind him. Rays gathered by the glass came to a point in the center of Carver’s big toenail.

  “Yow!”

  The kender leaped into the air, arms and legs flailing. Ezu’s disk went flying, but the smiling traveler caught it with surprising deftness before it was lost in the grass.

  “I’m burned!” Carver yelled, clutching his foot.

  “What’s all the row?” muttered Howland, glancing down the hill. “The kender. Should’ve known.”

  “Well, can it be done?” asked Malek urgently.

  “On my word as a Knight, I don’t think so. No.” Howland swept a hand across the distant vista. “The terrain has no more relief than a plate. There’s nothing here to impede horsemen. Even if we could ambush part of Rakell’s force, there’s aren’t enough of us to stop him from overrunning the village.”

  Malek’s eyes burned. “It is hopeless then!”

  Howland put a hand on the young farmer’s shoulder. “Nothing’s hopeless, lad. What’s needed is another way. I came here thinking like a Knight, ready to defend a regular town. That’s not what we have. Your village is more like …” He groped for a metaphor. “Like an island in a sea of grass. Islands can be defended.”

  “Perhaps Raika will have some ideas. She’s a sailor.”

  “Hmmm. She might, if we can get her to forget about Robien for a moment.”

  Since capturing the ranger, Raika had not left Robien’s side. She was plainly proud to have taken so famed a bounty hunter, and she treated him as her personal prize. Robien, for his part, seemed strangely content to be a prisoner. When the situation in Nowhere was explained to him, he neither agreed nor refused to join the defenders. He merely watched and listened to all that went on around him, as Raika watched him
in turn.

  Hume climbed Caper Mountain and took his place at Howland’s side. As the only other trained soldier in the band, he’d become Howland’s lieutenant.

  “There’s our castle,” Howland said ironically. “What do you think?”

  “It has walls of air.” Hume shaded his eyes with one hand. “How far is it to Rakell’s camp?”

  Malek looked stricken. “No one knows.”

  Howland nodded vigorously. “We must find out where it is. It’s always better to carry the fight to the enemy’s stronghold. Good thinking, Hume.”

  They descended the hill and roused their comrades. Carver limped into line alongside Khorr, eyes shooting darts at the bland Ezu.

  “We’re going to the village,” Howland said. “It’s vital at this point that the enemy not know we’re here. For this reason I’m dividing us into four groups, each to be lead in by one of the farmers. Hume and I will follow you, Malek. Caeta leads Khorr and Carver. Nils, you take Raika and the traveler—”

  “I’ll not go without him,” Raika replied, nodding at Robien.

  Howland sighed. “Very well. Raika and Robien will go with Nils. That leaves Wilf to guide Ezu and Amergin. Remember, quiet and calm are vital. No unnecessary displays or tomfoolery.” He stared meaningfully at Carver. “We’ll meet at Malek’s house.”

  Howland, Hume, and Malek departed. By the time they disappeared into the head-high grass at the foot of Caper Mountain, Nils started out with his strange pair, Raika with sword bared and Robien with his hands tied behind his back.

  Wilf led his two down the north side of the hill, intending to swing wide around the fields and enter Nowhere from the north. That left Caeta with Khorr and Carver alone on the hill.

  “So,” said the kender, rubbing his hands. “Where’s the gold mine around here?”

  “There is no gold mine.”

  “Beg your pardon. I meant silver mine.”

  “No silver, either.”

  “Jewels?”

  Caeta shouldered the threadbare sack she carried her traveling gear in. “You’ve been told, kender, time and time again. There’s no treasure! We brought back fighters to free us from Rakell’s raiders. That’s all!”