Ghostwalker (The Chronicles of Zanthora: Book One)

by Ben Cassidy

  Chapter 14

  Calham let out a stifled curse as he tripped over a hidden rock on the road. He gave it a vengeful kick that sent it flying.

  The mule was right at the edge of the woods, braying loudly and looking around in a confused manner.

  Calham moved off the trail, stepping softly through the wet grass toward the trees.

  The blasted animal had been carrying on for more than an hour now, and Calham had finally had enough. He had left Derik back at the old mill with a newly fashioned splint on his leg, along with the Ghostwalker’s long rifle and short sword they had taken from the bridge. At first Calham had been content to sit next to their fire and dry off, but the mule’s incessant bleating had slowly driven him crazy. Now he was determined to grab the beast, and end the ceaseless racket one way or another.

  Besides, he had a suspicion that the saddlebags on the animal’s back might hold even more of the Ghostwalker’s valuables.

  The mule stared at Calham and brayed again.

  The mercenary slowed his approach, his eyes riveted on the large saddlebags and pack on the beast’s back. The animal’s previous owner certainly had no more use of them. He was undoubtedly dead by now, most likely drowned.

  Calham took a step to the side, crunching down on a small dandelion.

  The mule flapped its ears and gave Calham a strange look, but didn’t move.

  Calham stepped around a small boulder and reached out a hand.

  There was a soft snort, but the mule still didn’t move.

  Calham grinned. Stupid animal.

  His hand shot out and grabbed the mule’s bridle before the creature could pull back. “Got you!” he sneered.

  There was a sudden prick of cold metal against the side of his neck.

  “I’d say,” came a voice to his right.

  The blood draining from his face, Calham started to turn his head.

  The sword pressed a fraction of an inch closer and stopped his movement.

  “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said the voice. “I have always striven to avoid getting blood on this fine blade, but there is a first time for everything.”

  Calham gritted his teeth and dropped the bridle. “What do you want?”

  “For you to get rid of your sword, first of all. Actually, you might as well just take the whole belt off. With your left hand, if you don’t mind. Oh, and keep your right where I can see it.”

  Reluctantly, the mercenary undid his belt. His sword and knife dropped with a soft clunk to the ground. He raised his hands, trying to catch a glimpse of his assailant out of the corner of his vision.

  “Now turn around.”

  “What?”

  The man stepped in front of Calham, giving his sword a little a wave. “Turn around,” he repeated, as if giving instructions to a particularly slow-witted child.

  Calham obeyed, facing back towards the bridge with his hands still in the air. For a moment he considered trying to shout out a warning to Derik, but quickly decided against it. It would only mean his own death.

  The point of the sword pressed against the back of his neck. “The man in black and the woman you were hunting,” the voice said, its tone suddenly losing some of its charm, “where are they?”

  Calham licked his lips. Of course. This must be the second man that had been with the girl, the one Montrose hadn’t thought was much of a threat. The henchman turned his head ever so slightly.

  “Them? Eru only knows. They went over the bridge, into the river.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence. “Both of them?”

  “Yeah.” Calham turned his head back to the grassy slope that led down to the mill and the bridge. A cloud moved in the sky, uncovering the fingernail of a moon above. “The one in black is dead by now. He was shot in the gut. I saw it myself. As for the woman, I doubt she’ll make it very far.”

  The point of the sword faltered. “Your leader went after her?”

  Calham tensed his muscles, bringing his hands down just slightly. “Yeah. And when he returns, he’ll skin you alive. And then—”

  With a crunch Maklavir brought the hilt of his sword down on the mercenary’s head.

  The man crumpled in an unconscious heap to the ground.

  Simon gave a loud snort.

  Maklavir returned his sword to its scabbard. “You’re quite welcome,” he told the mule. “Frankly, he was getting on my nerves as well.” He looked down the slope towards the bridge.

  “Well,” he sighed, “one down and one to go.”

  Montrose looked down at Kendril’s inert form by the fire, then gave the young woman in front of him a jagged smile.

  “Looks like your friend won’t be helping you out this time, love. Now it’s just you and me.”

  Jade knelt swiftly and whipped back Kendril’s cloak, then grasped the hilt of his second sword and pulled it loose. She backed away, holding the sword out in front of her.

  Montrose stepped over a large branch and twirled his mace by the strap wrapped around his wrist. “Well, well. Going to fight your way out of this, are you?” He gave an evil chuckle. “I certainly hope you do better than last time. I’d certainly hate to dent that pretty head of yours again.”

  Jade swallowed, the sword gleaming dully in the firelight. “Who are you?” she asked, trying hard to keep the desperation out of her voice. “What do you want with me?”

  Montrose motioned for Uther to put down his crossbow. The henchman did, and drew his sword. “Want? I just want you to come with me. We can do it the easy way, or the hard way. All the same to me.”

  “Let’s try the hard way,” said Jade, surprising herself by her own words. She swept out her sword at the startled henchman.

  Uther parried the blow. Their blades latched for a moment, then spun around in a tight circle.

  Jade stepped forward into another blow. She hammered Uther’s blade and forced him back. The sword felt awkward in her hands.

  Uther lifted his sword.

  Jade prepared to block the coming attack.

  A sudden movement out of the corner of her vision caught her attention, but too late.

  Montrose swung his mace at her, and struck her sword with a reverberating clang. The blade flew out of her hands and landed near the fireplace.

  The bounty hunter grabbed her by the arm, his mace at the ready. “Nice try,” he grunted.

  Jade tried to pull back, but instantly her head was filled with a terrifying vision.

  She was standing by a carriage, on a road in the forest. One of the wheels on the coach was torn completely off the frame, with no sign of the horses. A dead body lay to the side, a man in some kind of white uniform with an arrow in his back. Screams and shouts filled the air. And then, in front of her, standing with the mace ready to strike, was the one-eyed man, his hand on her arm--

  “Grab her,” came Montrose’s voice, shaking Jade from the memory.

  Uther’s arms grappled her from behind and pinned Jade’s arms to her side.

  She struggled, but the henchman only tightened his grip. His unshaven chin rubbed against the back of her neck.

  “I hate to damage the merchandise,” said Montrose, “but I think I should quiet you down a bit.” He lifted his free hand and clenched it into a fist. “Say goodnight, beautiful.”

  He was about to strike when a hand grabbed his foot, pulling him backwards. Montrose lost his balance and tumbled with a curse to the ground.

  Jade stared in disbelief.

  It was Kendril.

  The Ghostwalker was on his hands and knees, the sword Jade had dropped held loosely in one hand.

  Montrose scrambled to get to his feet.

  Kendril reared up and slugged him in the face while he was still halfway there. The bounty hunter flew backwards.

  Jade could see that the blow had hurt Kendril even more than Montrose. The young man collapsed in agony, his face flinching in pain.

  “Kendril!” she shouted. She tried desp
erately to get loose of the henchman’s grip. The man held on even tighter.

  Montrose rose to his feet and wiped some blood away from the corner of his mouth. He spat onto the ground, then smiled at Kendril.

  “You just don’t know when to quit, do you Ghostwalker?”

  Kendril tried to raise himself on his right arm, but it buckled and he collapsed again. The sword fell from his hand.

  Montrose took a step forward, and kicked it well out of the Ghostwalker’s reach.

  Jade squirmed even more, but her arms were securely pinned.

  “Hold her,” ordered Montrose with a glance over at Uther. He looked back at the wounded man in front of him. “I told you if you stayed with the girl I would kill you. I even gave you a chance to go. You should have listened to me when you had the chance.”

  He gave Kendril a sudden kick in his wounded side.

  The Ghostwalker doubled up, gasping in pain.

  Jade lurched forward with a cry. Tears clouded her vision.

  Montrose circled around the wounded man, his mace bobbing up and down in his hand. “Not so tough now, are you?’ he chuckled.

  “Please,” Jade begged. Hot tears begin to run down her face. “Please, I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t kill him.”

  The one-eyed man looked over at her. “You’re not in much of a position to bargain for anything, love.”

  “I’ll come with you quietly,” she sobbed, the back of her throat burning. “Please, tell me what to do. Anything you want.”

  Montrose put the tip of his boot under Kendril’s shoulder and flipped the man over onto his back. The Ghostwalker was unconscious.

  “Please,” said Jade again, her whole body going limp in Uther’s grasp. “Please.”

  The bounty hunter’s eye flickered darkly. “Sorry, sweetmeat. I’m afraid we’re way past that now.”

  He raised his mace.

  Derik was just starting to bite into a stale loaf of bread when a figure appeared on the road, leading the mule behind. Derik shook his head and shifted his aching leg from where he sat against the mill wall.

  It looked like Calham had caught that blasted mule after all. Derik could only hope it had been worth it.

  “So,” the henchman said, swallowing the dry chunk of bread in his mouth, “did the beast give you much trouble?”

  “Not too much at all,” came an unfamiliar voice. “I have him right here on the back of the mule.”

  Derik threw the bread away and went for the sword by his side.

  Maklavir strode into the firelight and pointed his own sword at the hapless man.

  “I admit that I’m not much of a swordsman,” said Maklavir airily, “but I suspect that even I would be able to take on a man with a broken leg.”

  Derik hesitated for a moment, the hilt of his sword in his hand. Then, with a sour look, he dropped the blade.

  “That’s better,” said Maklavir with a smile. The mule behind him trotted into the camp, and Derik could see Calham stretched unconscious over the back.

  “What do you want?” Derik asked.

  His smile never fading, Maklavir pressed the tip of his blade against the thug’s neck.

  “Your boots,” he said.

  Jade closed her eyes at the last moment and turned her head away from the scene in front of her. Her last image was of Montrose bringing the mace down in a killing blow.

  But what came next was not what she expected. There was a sudden low whistling sound, and then the bounty hunter screamed in pain.

  Jade opened her eyes and stared in astonishment.

  The one-eyed man had dropped his mace and was holding his right arm, cursing in pain. A throwing knife was embedded through the flesh of his forearm. Blood was already streaming down his hand.

  “Unhand the woman,” came a quiet but determined voice from one side of the camp.

  Jade looked over, her eyes wide.

  A man stood at the edge of the makeshift campsite, a gleaming rapier held in his hand. He wore a simple brown shirt with tan pants, and hardy mud-covered boots. A red bandana was wrapped around his neck, and a wide-brimmed hat was on his head. His hair and beard were a dirty blonde. His eyes sparkled blue in the firelight. All his clothes looked stained and worn by the elements, as if he had spent much of his time outdoors.

  Uther immediately let go of Jade, throwing her to the ground and fumbling for his sword.

  “I wouldn’t,” the bearded man warned, his rapier held at the ready.

  “Kill him!” screamed Montrose as he tried to remove the knife from his arm.

  The henchman jumped forward and slashed his sword through the air.

  The bearded man caught the blow calmly on the edge of his rapier, then twisted it expertly off to the side.

  Uther recovered his balance and came in again. He aimed a wild swipe at his adversary’s head.

  The bearded man easily deflected the blow again, moving as if he was at fencing practice. He gave his rapier a sharp downward turn.

  Uther dropped his sword with a yelp of pain. He grabbed his hand. Blood flowed from where the blade had slashed it.

  The rapier came up to Uther’s neck. “Drop the crossbow,” the bearded man ordered.

  Stunned, Uther swiftly complied.

  Jade rose to her feet and stared in awe at the weathered man in front of her.

  With a grunt Montrose pulled the dagger free and dropped it to the ground. He wrapped a handkerchief as tightly as he could around his arm with his free hand.

  “This is none of your affair,” Montrose hissed to the bearded man. “You have no right to intervene.”

  “This is my camp,” the newcomer said slowly, moving carefully forward with his rapier still bobbing before him, “so I think it is my affair.”

  Jade came back to her senses. “Help me,” she said, her voice wavering. “These men are trying to kill us.”

  “I’m a bounty hunter,” Montrose snapped. He grimaced as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from his arm. “These two are wanted fugitives. I’m taking them in.”

  “He’s lying!” Jade blurted desperately. “Please, you have to help us.”

  The bearded man forced Uther back with the point of his blade, then glanced down at Kendril’s unmoving form. His hard stare fastened on Montrose.

  “Were you taking this one in, too?”

  “He’s a dangerous man…” said the bounty hunter, his mind trying to work quickly.

  “Doesn’t look like too much of a threat right now,” the man commented. “What crimes have these two committed, exactly?”

  Montrose’s face turned dark. “All right,” he said after a brief moment. “Name your price. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

  The bearded man stared at Montrose in silence for about a minute. His eyes measured the bounty hunter.

  Jade held her breath, tears still burning her cheek.

  “Get out of my camp,” said the man. His rapier came up. “Both of you.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” said Montrose hurriedly. “That girl is worth a fortune. Hundreds of coins. You can have whatever cut of it you want.”

  “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time,” said the man in a measured tone. “I said get out of my camp.”

  Uther cautiously leaned forward to retrieve his sword. The point of the rapier was at his throat in an instant.

  “Leave it.” The bearded man nodded over to the mace lying on the ground. “And that.”

  Uther backed off, still cradling his wounded hand.

  “You’re a fool,” snarled Montrose.

  “And one other thing,” said the man. “I wouldn’t think about coming back, if I were you. I’ll be watching for both of you.”

  Montrose stared at the bearded man in frustration and rage, then finally turned, still holding his bleeding arm. Uther hesitated for a moment, then followed his captain. The two disappeared into the night.

  Jade sank down onto a log by the fire. Her arms were s
haking. “Thank you,” she managed.

  The bearded man carefully sheathed his sword. He bent down over Kendril, but his eyes flitted up to the forest every few seconds.

  “Can you help him?” Jade asked, hardly daring to hope.

  “Maybe. He’s lost a lot of blood,” the man said, examining the wound carefully. “This crossbow bolt will have to come out.” He glanced up at the young woman. “Go to my saddle bag and bring me the small blue pouch.”

  “What about the bounty hunter?” asked Jade, searching through the saddlebags until she found the pouch. “Won’t he—”

  “Probably,” the bearded man said. He tore Kendril’s shirt, pulling it up to the Ghostwalker’s chest. “He’ll have to get back to his horse first to get his crossbow, though, and that should take him a minute or two.” He grabbed the pouch from Jade, and opened it. Inside were a number of what looked like salves and herbs of various kinds.

  Jade gave him a confused look. “How did you—?”

  The man smiled. “They tied up their horses back in the woods. I found them on my way here.” He took out a clean cloth, then rubbed some yellowish salve on it. Leaning over, he grabbed a half-full pitcher of water that was near the fire. “I need your help,” he said as he worked. “I’m going to take the bolt out. As soon as I do, you need to press this cloth down over the wound, understand?”

  She nodded.

  “All right,” he said, glancing up at the tree line again. “On the count of three, ready?”

  Jade took a breath, holding the cloth in her hands.

  “One…two…three.” He grabbed the projectile by the bloody stump, and carefully but firmly wrenched it out.

  Jade instinctively turned her head away.

  “Now,” the man said, his voice calm.

  Without looking, Jade pressed the cloth down over the wound.

  “Good job. Just keep pressing down.” The bearded man got up and walked quickly to his horse’s saddlebag. He removed a long stretch of white bandage along with a needle and some thread.

  Jade kept her eyes focused on Kendril’s face. He was white as a corpse.

  Immediately the bearded man was kneeling down again next to her, with the pitcher of water and a clean cloth in his hand. He set the needle and thread down nearby.

  “Take it off,” he said softly.

  She did, and he immediately went to work washing out the wound, then stitching it. There was no pause or hesitation in his actions. In less than three minutes he had washed out the wound and sewn it shut.

  “All right,” he said again, “put the cloth back again.”

  Jade pressed the cloth back against Kendril’s side. She bit her lip.

  “Is he going to make it?” she asked, still keeping pressure on the wound.

  The man looked up at her, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “I don’t know. The wound’s pretty bad, but as long as the bolt didn’t pierce any organs, he may have a chance.” He nodded towards the cloth in Jade’s hand, then started to wrap the bandage around Kendril’s side. “That salve is the best I have. It should help to accelerate the healing. It’s the best I can do for now.”

  He continued to wrap the white bandage around Kendril’s torso, gently passing it underneath the Ghostwalker’s back and crossing it over his chest again.

  “So why were those men after you?”

  The question took Jade by surprise, and reminded her suddenly of the gaping hole in her memory. “I…don’t know,” she said, tentatively taking her hands away from the cloth. The bandage was tight enough now to hold it in place. “I…I can’t remember anything that happened to me more than a couple days ago. Not even who I am, or where I came from.”

  The bearded man glanced up at her. “So you don’t know who you are, or who those two men were?”

  Jade sat back against a log, suddenly exhausted. “I know it sounds crazy, but no, I don’t. I can’t remember a thing.”

  He finished wrapping the bandage, then pulled it tight and tied it. “What about him?”

  “His name is Kendril.” Jade looked down once more at the Ghostwalker’s face. “He found me in the forest just a couple of days ago. There was another man that we met, too, named Maklavir.” She paused for a moment, suddenly remembering her cheerful companion. “Come to think of it, I don’t even know whether he’s all right or not—”

  “You’re both soaking wet,” the man said as he pulled Kendril’s shirt back down. “What happened?”

  She felt a lump form in her throat. “We got ambushed on the bridge just north of here by that bounty hunter. We fell in the river, pulled ourselves out on the bank, and ended up here.”

  The bearded man leaned back, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his hands. He was silent for a moment before he spoke.

  “The name’s Joseph.”

  “Jade.” She felt her face flush. “Well, not really. I can’t remember my real name.”

  Joseph rose, looking off towards the forest. “I see.” He gave Kendril a curious look. “Your friend here is dressed rather strangely.”

  “He’s a Ghostwalker,” said Jade.

  The man raised his eyebrows. “A Ghostwalker? For someone who can’t remember anything you certainly keep strange company, ma’am.”

  She looked down at the wounded man. “He’s risked his life for me countless times in the last few days,” she said. “It’s only because of him that I’m still alive.”

  Joseph nodded. He retrieved his knife, wiped the blade clean, then replaced it in a sheath at the top of his boot. “I suspect you have a lot to tell, but there’s no time right now. Stay close to the fire, and dry off if you can. I’m going to have a look around, and make sure that bounty hunter doesn’t decide to circle back around.” He saw the sudden look of concern on Jade’s face. “Don’t worry,” he chuckled as he grabbed his greatcoat off the log. “I know these woods like the back of my hands. No one will get within two hundred yards of this campsite without me knowing it. There are blankets in the left saddlebag. You can keep the fire going as long as you like.”

  A sudden feeling of security flooded into Jade’s mind, something she hadn’t felt for a long while. “Thank you, Joseph. I can’t begin to repay you for what you’ve done,” she said, the heat of the fire seeping into her bones once again.

  The man smiled and gave a slight nod of his head, then melted into the woods.

  “How’s the arm, boss?”

  Montrose scowled, looking down at his tightly wrapped wound. “Fine. No muscle, just flesh.” He stopped by the twisted trunk of a tree. Both of their horses were tied up nearby. He reached for his double-bowed crossbow on the saddlebag.

  Uther shivered in the darkness. “We’re going back?”

  “Of course we’re going back.” Montrose fumbled around in his saddlebag. “We almost had the girl. I’m certainly not going to stop because of some meddling trapper.”

  The henchman rubbed the cut on his hand gingerly, now wrapped in a dirty handkerchief. “That guy knew how to handle that sword of his,” he said with a fretful glance over his shoulder. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.”

  “So we’ll shoot him. Save us both a lot of trouble.” Montrose cursed, and threw aside one of the saddlebags. “Where in blazes are my crossbow bolts? Uther, get me yours.”

  The thug obediently went to his horse, straining to see in the blackness. “They’re not here,” he said in a dumbfounded tone. “I had a whole quiver full. I don’t—”

  Montrose smashed his fist against the saddle. “He must have taken them!”

  Uther gave him a confused look. “The Ghostwalker? But I thought—”

  “Not him, you idiot. The other one. He found our horses and took our bolts, while we were in the camp.” He cursed under his breath.

  “How many friends does this girl have in these woods?” the henchman asked in amazement. “I thought you said she didn’t have any help?”

  “She doesn’t,” Montrose snapped. �
�Vesuna’s blood! Don’t you see? This is a string of coincidences, just plain dumb luck. That man at the campsite, he must have seen our horses, got suspicious, then grabbed the bolts and hidden them somewhere. Then at the campsite he saw you holding a struggling girl, and me about to kill a wounded man. What should he have thought? He probably took us for highway bandits.” The bounty hunter cursed again. He held up his wounded arm and flexed his hand.

  Uther breathed into his hands. “So what do we do know?”

  Montrose snorted. “We have no weapons, and no element of surprise. We need to get Calham and Derik—well, Calham, anyway—and rearm. Then we come back here in force.” He turned to Uther, his face simmering with rage. “Let’s go. We’ll follow the river back to the bridge.”

  The henchman nodded, then mounted his horse.

  Montrose looked back one last time at the direction of the campfire, spat an obscenity, and then mounted his horse as well.

  ****