The Saints Of The Sword (Tyrants & Kings)

by John Marco

  Each of the men nodded, affirming their leader’s plan.

  ‘Ricken, you and Parry take the south side,’ said Jahl, gesturing toward an outcropping to his left. ‘Del and I will take the north side. Fire at the men closest to you.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Taylour.

  ‘You stay down here on your horse,’ said Jahl. ‘Stay back and hide yourself somewhere. If any of those Talistanians make it past us, you ride like hell to the hideout, understand?’

  Taylour took the order like a good soldier, reining his horse around in search of a good hiding place. There were hundreds of crags and outcroppings, paths that led nowhere, perfect places in which to become invisible.

  ‘There,’ he said, pointing to a gulch on the south side of the path. ‘I’ll wait for them there.’

  ‘You all know what to do,’ said Jahl. He looked at his men solemnly, not wanting there to be any doubt. ‘Not a man makes it past us. Or gets out of here alive. We have to get them all.’

  ‘We will,’ promised Ricken, then began leading Parry up the road, looking up at the southern hillside for a good place to lay ambush. Jahl watched them for a moment, then set off again for the north side, silently bidding Del to follow. He knew Ricken and Parry were fine marksmen, almost as good as he himself, so all they needed was a clear vantage from which they could make a killing shot. If there were as few riders as Del had guessed, then four snipers would be enough.

  Or at least Jahl hoped. He started wishing he’d brought more men, then abruptly stopped himself.

  Not now, he chided. Just do your job.

  God would protect them, he knew, so he guided Del to an outcropping of rock on the north side of the run. It was perfect. The run ran off into a dead-end tributary, a natural formation that looked like a thin road. Jahl stared down the narrow path. It seemed to go on a surprising distance before disappearing around a bend. It was the ideal place to hide their horses, allowing them to keep their mounts far from the main road.

  ‘This way,’ he told Del. ‘We’ll hide the horses in here and climb up a few yards. That should give us plenty of shooting range.’

  Alazrian’s small patrol had gone another fifteen minutes into the run when Shinn suddenly stopped. Up ahead the road widened, with gulches on either side and forbidding ledges bearing down on them. Little pathways branched off the main road, some barely as wide as a man, others easily capable of accommodating a column of horsemen, and the distance was obscured by a sharp elbow that turned a sheer cliff face toward them. Brex and his soldiers mumbled a little, uneasy about their surroundings. The high peaks to the southeast still beckoned, but they seemed no closer to Jahl Rob’s supposed stronghold.

  ‘We should turn back,’ Brex advised. ‘Return with more men.’

  ‘I don’t like this,’ observed another. Like his comrades, he craned his neck to survey their surroundings. ‘They could be anywhere, watching us.’

  Alazrian didn’t want to go any farther either. He doubted that he would discover the Triin he was looking for, and he knew he would have to return some other time when Shinn and the others weren’t around. But Shinn wasn’t deterred by the silence or the gloomy hills. He was studying the ground again, making his horse walk in circles around an old piece of rusted metal.

  ‘Look at that,’ he said curiously. ‘That’s been machined.’

  ‘So?’ shrugged Brex. ‘Look around. There’s all kinds of junk here. It’s all been left behind over the years. Some from the Naren war, some from the Triin. The run has always been a dump.’

  Shinn wasn’t satisfied. Amazingly, he kept staring at the discarded scrap, assigning it undue importance.

  ‘Could be anything,’ he said. Then, his eyes widening, ‘It could be from the Saints.’

  ‘Nah,’ Brex scoffed. ‘It’s just garbage. The troops from the Empire left all kinds of things behind here. They just tossed their trash over their shoulders as they travelled. That’s nothing. Look how rusted it is.’

  ‘Still . . .’ Shinn sighed, looking around. He noticed a particularly wide path cutting into the northern facade and disappearing into nothingness. ‘They could be anywhere in here. We should check it out, find out everything we can.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to find out,’ argued Brex. ‘We think we know where their hideout is, right? So let’s stop mucking about and get out of here.’

  Shinn shook his head. ‘I want to find out more. This is another good place for them to hide.’

  All the more reason to leave, thought Alazrian. None of this was making sense, and he could tell the others thought so, too.

  ‘Brex, you and your men stay put. I’m going into that path over there.’ Shinn pointed toward the gully on the northern side. ‘I won’t be long. Alazrian . . .’ He turned to the boy. ‘You come with me.’

  Alazrian’s heart almost stopped. ‘Me? Why?’

  ‘Because I need another pair of eyes and because you’re here to make a man out of yourself.’ The Dorian smiled thinly. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Come on,’ snapped Shinn. He ignored Alazrian’s vapid stuttering and began riding off for the gully. Alazrian looked at Brex, hoping for some guidance or support, but the horseman merely shrugged. With no choice but to follow, Alazrian squeezed his thighs together and coaxed Flier after the Dorian. He found Shinn just ahead, disappearing into the gully. A minute later, they were out of sight of the others on a narrow path that seemed to be leading nowhere. With barely enough room to turn their horses, the walls of the gulch pressed in on them. A dizzying sense of dread overcame Alazrian and he swayed in his saddle, anxious to flee the claustrophobic path. But Shinn kept plunging deeper, slowly guiding his horse into the unknown as he absently spied the towering mountains.

  ‘There’s nothing here,’ whispered Alazrian. ‘We should go back.’

  Shinn paused. He took the bow from around his shoulders, holding it in his left fist. Alarmed, Alazrian hurried up to him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing is wrong,’ replied Shinn. Then he took an arrow from his quiver. Alazrian looked around, puzzled and frightened by the thing Shinn had detected.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked again. ‘You see something?’

  The Dorian answered with a disquieting smile. ‘Just want to be ready,’ he said. ‘But you’re right. We should go now.’

  He turned his horse around and started back out of the gully. Relieved, Alazrian made to follow him, but Shinn stopped again.

  ‘What now?’ grumbled Alazrian.

  His bow still in hand, Shinn slowly pointed his weapon at Alazrian. His smile widened.

  Jahl and Del had barely reached the top of the landing when they saw two horsemen riding toward them down the gully. They were exhausted from the climb and breathing hard, and the shock of seeing the approaching men made their hearts race faster. Jahl hit the ground at the sight of them, burying his face in the dirt. Behind him, Del let out a desperate curse and serpentined over to the edge of the landing, moving up next to Jahl and whispering in his ear.

  ‘Did they see us?’

  Jahl didn’t know, but he didn’t think so. He could hear the approaching hooves of the horsemen drawing closer below. One was talking. Or was he complaining? His tone sounded frightened. Carefully Jahl raised his head and peered out over the ledge. Coming toward them were two men, one in front of the other. They were dressed in simple travelling clothes, but the one in the lead was armed. He was a thin man with gaunt features and a body that barely cast a shadow. It took a moment for Jahl to recognize him.

  Shinn.

  Hastily, he waved Del closer. Del’s eyes widened when he recognized Leth’s infamous bodyguard.

  ‘My God,’ whispered Del. ‘We have him!’

  Jahl was already drawing two arrows from his quiver. One he put between his teeth. The other he fitted against his bow, laying the weapon perpendicular to the ground so as not to reveal themselves. S
o far, neither Shinn nor the other rider had noticed them. It was then that Jahl realized that Shinn’s companion wasn’t a soldier at all, but a boy. He was unarmed, a fact that made the idea of murdering him even less palatable.

  ‘Who’s that?’ asked Del. He too had spotted the boy.

  ‘Don’t know,’ whispered Jahl. ‘Goddamn it . . .’

  He almost had Shinn in his sights. Remarkably, the bodyguard had come to an abrupt stop. Then he pulled his bow. Jahl held his breath. He was about to draw back on his arrow when the boy rushed up to Shinn.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked the boy. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Jahl and Del exchanged troubled glances. There was more talk from the duo below. Shinn took an arrow from his quiver. The boy turned white with alarm. Jahl and Del waited in frustration, not knowing whether or not Shinn had somehow discovered them.

  Then, amazingly, Shinn turned and rode back in the opposite direction. Jahl let out a silent breath. Once more he began drawing back his bowstring, but the angle had changed now. Shinn’s retreat had ruined his shot, and Jahl knew he would have to stand up to have any chance at taking the bodyguard down. He was about to rise when Shinn stopped once more. This time the Dorian raised his bow, flashing his young companion a murderous smile.

  In that moment, Alazrian knew he would die. His mouth fell open but he didn’t scream, and he didn’t reach for his dagger or try to run from Shinn’s arrow. He was going to die in the Iron Mountains, and that was the ugly truth of it.

  He watched as Shinn slowly raised his bow, watched in fascinated horror as a smile stretched across his face, and when the assassin nocked his arrow to his bow, Alazrian froze like a hunted deer.

  ‘Nothing personal, boy,’ said Shinn. ‘It’s the way your father wants it.’

  ‘My father? Oh, God . . .’

  It was unthinkable, and all Alazrian felt was the most awful embarrassment because he should have seen it coming. But he hadn’t seen it, and now he was going to die for his stupidity. Shinn pulled back his arrow, about to close an eye to aim.

  ‘That’s it,’ he joked. ‘Take it like a man.’

  But he didn’t fire. His left eye closed for a moment, then opened again in stricken horror, focusing on something over Alazrian’s shoulder. Alazrian seized the moment. He jerked his horse to the side, bringing the beast about in a violent turn that almost knocked him from the saddle. Someone was shouting. Alazrian turned to see Shinn, his face red with hatred, his fingers quickly plucking back the bowstring and firing at something overhead. Alazrian heard an arrow collide with the rocks above, then heard more shouting from back out in the run. He wanted to bolt for the main road, but Shinn was still in front of him blocking his path.

  Whatever was in the rocks above, it was firing back at the Dorian.

  Jahl Rob was on his feet, cursing his bad luck as he nocked another arrow. Shinn had seen him at the last moment, getting off a remarkable shot that had grazed the priest’s shoulder. Next to him, Del was working his own weapon, desperately trying to pin down the Dorian as he maneuvered expertly on horseback, dodging every shot with cobra-quickness and firing back one volley after another.

  ‘God in heaven,’ prayed Jahl, ‘let me kill this bastard!’

  He loosed a bolt and watched it slam into Shinn’s shoulder, almost toppling him from his mount. But Shinn held on with inhuman strength, gripping the reins in his teeth and firing one more shot as his riding coat turned crimson. His arrow whistled past Jahl’s head, missing by inches. Jahl thought he was safe – then heard Del’s anguished wail. He turned to see Del fall backward, the bolt lodged in his throat.

  ‘God!’ Jahl cried, going to Del and picking him up in his arms. Del was gasping, clutching at the air with clawed fingers as wave after wave of blood bubbled up from his throat. Far below, Jahl heard more shouting and Shinn’s triumphant laugh. The Dorian was galloping away. They had lost him.

  ‘Jahl . . .’ Breathed Del desperately. ‘Alain . . .’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ Jahl ordered. He pressed his fingers around the arrow’s shaft, trying to stem the tide of blood, but each time Del breathed the wound bloomed anew, swimming around Jahl’s fingers and soaking his lap as he cradled Del’s head. Del was doomed, so Jahl didn’t shout for help. He merely brushed the hair away from Del’s eyes, holding him gently until he took his last breath.

  Down in the gully, Alazrian watched in shock as Shinn galloped away. The Dorian bodyguard had taken an arrow in the shoulder and was bleeding badly, yet he rode away with a terrible laugh. Alazrian, still on horseback, fought to still his racing fear. He was alive, a stroke of luck he couldn’t believe, but whoever had shot Shinn was still on the cliff above, and more men were shouting out in the run, the sounds of battle ringing through the mountains. Alazrian looked around, unsure what he might find. He steered Flier toward the middle of the path, coming out into the open so he could see better. He couldn’t go after Shinn. That was impossible now. He had lost his only protection and couldn’t even go home again. He was stranded. The best he could do now was hope that his attackers were Triin, and might somehow take him to Richius Vantran.

  Resolved to face whatever might be awaiting him, Alazrian waved his arms up at the cliff.

  ‘Hello!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t fire, please! I surrender!’

  There was no reply from the ledge.

  ‘I surrender!’ Alazrian repeated. ‘Please answer. Are you Triin?’

  Then a figure appeared at the edge of the cliff, a man in a black, blood-spattered cape. He wasn’t Triin but he was frightful looking, and when he stared down at Alazrian there was nothing but hatred in his eyes.

  ‘I am Jahl Rob,’ he thundered. ‘And you, boy, shall know my wrath!’

  Fourteen

  Del was dead. For Jahl Rob, that was the only thing that mattered. When he looked down from his mountain perch, he didn’t see a frightened boy; he saw an accomplice to murder.

  ‘Don’t you move!’ he barked. ‘Or by heaven I will kill you!’

  The boy stammered a response. He’d gone white with terror at the sound of the approaching horses, and soon Ricken and Parry were closing around him. Jahl waved at his companions from the ledge. His shoulder still bled from the grazing wound Shinn had given him, but he ignored the throbbing pain.

  ‘Up here,’ he called. Then, his voice breaking, ‘Del’s dead.’

  Ricken went ashen. ‘Oh, no . . .’ He turned to the boy. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘What about the others?’ Jahl demanded. ‘Did you get them?’

  ‘All but Shinn,’ said Parry. He too glared at the stranger. ‘You hear that, boy? Your companions are dead.’

  Dead. Jahl sighed in relief. That was some good news at least. But Shinn had escaped, and Jahl doubted the Dorian’s wound would slow him much. Now they had been discovered. Worse, Del was gone. How in heaven would he tell Alain?

  ‘Ricken, get up here,’ he ordered. ‘I need help with Del. Parry, keep an eye on the boy.’

  Parry closed in on the intruder, drawing his sword while Ricken dismounted to scale the ledge. Soon Taylour appeared, too, looking bewildered and edgy. They both circled the boy, threatening him with their blades. Jahl watched as the youngster looked around, confused and afraid. He kept his hands up, not daring to speak. Nor did the others question him, either. Parry and Taylour simply watched him, waiting for Jahl to finish his gory business on the ledge. Jahl turned and knelt down next to Del. He reached out and gently closed Del’s eyelids.

  ‘Go with God, my friend,’ he said. He mouthed a little prayer asking God to open the gates of heaven for a truly valiant angel. The anger that had absorbed him ebbed a little, and in its place came an awful grief. Del had been a good friend. He’d been brave and devoted, a true champion of Aramoor. Now he was dead, like his brother Dinadin.

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Ricken. He had mounted the ledge and seen Del. Like Jahl, he knelt down next to him, reaching out to touch his forehead. ‘Shinn?’ he asked angrily.

 
Jahl nodded. ‘I don’t want to leave him here, Ricken. His horse is down below. Let’s take him back to the stronghold and bury him there.’

  Ricken agreed, then noticed Jahl’s wound. ‘Jahl, you’re hurt. Let me look at it.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Jahl insisted. ‘It can wait till we get back to the stronghold.’

  ‘No, it can’t,’ snapped Ricken. He reached out for Jahl’s shoulder, probing the tender flesh with a finger and peeling back the torn part of his shirt. The cape had done a good job of protecting the skin, but Jahl could see now that a deep slice cut through his shoulder, still oozing blood. He winced. The pain was stronger now.