They traveled for another two marks, only finding a few more traces of someone’s passing. Hector held up his hand, signaling for Jorem to stop. Jorem noticed the scout sniffing the air and did the same. A very faint scent of wood smoke mixed with the other smells of the area.
The day had started to warm up, so the colder air of the higher mountains was moving down the canyons to the valleys below. Jorem pointed up the canyon, indicating the direction of the smoke’s source. Hector nodded his agreement. Slipping his small pack off his shoulders, Hector opened it and began pulling things out. He laid what looked like two leather pouches on the ground, looked at Jorem, then laid two more beside the first two. He sat down on the ground and began unlacing his boots.
“Take off your boots and put these on,” he said, waving at the leather pouches. “They’re soft so you can feel twigs and such under your feet before they break. We want to get close enough to find out who they are and what they’re doing without them knowing we’re there.”
Jorem quickly removed his boots and put on the leather footwear. Following Hector’s example, he slipped the leather pouches over his feet and tied them on with a leather strap around his ankle. They actually fit fairly snug and formed well around his feet.
Standing, Jorem paced back and forth to get accustomed to the strange shoes. Through the soft leather, he could feel every rock, stick and root under foot. No doubt he’d have sore feet before this little adventure was over.
“Are you carrying a knife?” Hector asked.
“Of course,” was Jorem’s prompt reply.
“Good. We’ll leave our swords, packs and armor here. We’re going in light and quiet. A quick look around and we’re out. If you’re spotted, run. Keep running and don’t stop until you reach the troops.”
Jorem just nodded. Neth had taught him to sneak up on wild game and they’d spent plenty of time trying to sneak up on each other. The difference here was, if these were bandits, and he got caught, he’d be dead. This wasn’t a game and a mistake could cost someone their life.
After they had stashed their equipment under some shrubs, Jorem sought out a patch of moist dirt. Grabbing a handful, he smeared it over his hands, feet and clothing. Hector watched as he covered himself with dirt. When he’d finished, the scout smiled at him.
“You’ve done this before,” Hector said.
“Only in training with Neth.”
“That’s good enough for me. Let’s go. Oh, and no talking from here on. Hand signals only.”
Their pace was fast but silent. They were like two ghosts flickering through the trees. With the soft leather shoes on his feet, Jorem could barely hear his own footsteps. Without all of his gear, he felt like he could fly. Even going up the incline of the canyon, he didn’t feel winded.
They hadn’t traveled far when they heard the sound of muffled voices. Hector immediately drew up behind the trunk of a tree. Jorem followed suit behind another tree. Peering from behind their cover they could just make out a small camp. A large fire blazed at the center, its light visible through the trees and brush. A few men could be seen moving about the camp. At this distance, Jorem couldn’t tell how many there were or what their intent might be. They would have to move closer.
Jorem looked to Hector for direction. Hector signaled for Jorem to move up on the right while he would go to the left. “Stay low, stay silent,” he signaled. Jorem kept to the shadows, slipping from tree to tree. When he looked back, Hector had vanished. Jorem did his best to do the same.
No sentries were evident. Jorem kept himself alert for anyone around him, but his main focus was on the camp. He avoided open areas and kept to the trees and brush. The closer he got to the camp, the more cautious he was. When he was close enough to toss a rock into the fire, he nestled up behind a fallen log.
“How long do we have to stay here?” a voice asked.
“As long as it takes,” said another.
“Well, I’m tired of being cold and sleeping on the ground. How do we even know if he’s coming this way?” the first voice whined.
“The dark mage said he’d come,” a third voice chimed in. “That’s all we need to know.”
“Yea, well how does the dark mage know where someone’s going to be?”
“Why don’t you ask him? I’m sure he’ll answer right after he has your guts spilled.”
“He don’t scare me.”
“Well, he scares me. I’ve seen what’s left of someone after the dark mage got angry with them. It’s not pretty.”
Jorem carefully peered around the end of the fallen log. He wanted to get a look at these men. Who was this dark mage they spoke of? Was he nearby? Always questions and never enough answers. Whoever they were waiting for, they obviously thought he’d be easy to catch. They’d made very little effort to conceal themselves.
Careful not to stare at any one man too long, Jorem tried to get a good look at each of the men in view. He counted six, including those who had spoken. There were three fair-sized tents, so there could be more men in those. Getting close enough to see inside the tents was not a risk Jorem was willing to take.
The men he could see didn’t look like bandits. They were all well dressed and, from what little he’d overheard, well spoken. The camp was neat and well laid out. Even the tents were of good quality. By their equipment and clothing, these could be nobles or wealthy traders on an outing.
“If this works out, there will be new rulers in the kingdom,” said another of the men. “We’ve got our job to do. We’ll take care of this little task, and then we’ll confiscate anything and everything we come across. By the time the dark mage takes over, we’ll already be set.”
“Confiscate, huh? I like that.”
One of the men stood up and started walking towards Jorem. The man was within five paces of Jorem’s hiding place before he stopped by a tree to relieve himself. Jorem dared not even breathe. From his cover he could now see the man’s face quite clearly. He nearly gave himself away when he realized he knew the man.
He’d seen him years ago in the castle. Although he couldn’t remember the man’s name, he knew he was a nobleman’s son. Jorem remained as still as stone until the man turned and walked back to the camp. Using the noise the man made, Jorem eased from behind the log and slipped in a little closer to the camp.
Having recognized the one man, Jorem was able to recognize several others. They were indeed the sons of nobles and merchants. If his memory served correctly, they were younger sons with little hope for a title or much inheritance. Instead, apparently, they planned to take what they wanted from others with no regard for the consequences.
Carefully, Jorem began working his way back away from the camp. He felt he had enough information and knew he needed to get back to the squad before they got too close. Once he was far enough away, he ran back to where his equipment was stashed. He barely had time to get his boots back on before Hector arrived.
“Those are no ordinary bandits,” Hector said, as he began changing his footwear.
“You’re right, they’re not ordinary,” Jorem replied. “Those are younger sons of some of the wealthier men in the kingdom. But wealthy or not, they’re still bandits.”
“They’ll know weapons then.”
“More than likely. I counted six men.”
“There were four more in the tents.”
“You got inside the tents?” Jorem asked, clearly astonished.
“I probably could have,” Hector said with a smile. “I just slipped around the back and cut a small peep hole in each tent.”
Jorem shook his head in wonder. He thought he’d gotten close to the camp. Hector had been in the camp and not been noticed, neither by the men nor by Jorem. Jorem knew he would need a lot more practice before he’d be willing to try a stunt like that.
Chapter XIV
It didn’t take long to report on the camp Jorem and Hector had found. The squad leader, a pug-faced man by the name of Clay, wanted to march into the camp and
demand the bandits’ surrender. One look at Hector, and Jorem knew the scout felt the same way he did about the idea. Jorem decided the best way to explain the situation was to be as blunt as possible.
“Your men aren’t good enough,” Jorem said flatly. “No offense intended, but most of the men in that camp have had private weapon trainers since they could walk. If you try to take them on head to head, they’ll cut you and your men to ribbons.”
It was obvious Clay wasn’t happy with Jorem’s assessment. The silence between them hung in the air for a while. Eventually the squad leader nodded.
“All right,” Clay said. “I don’t like it, but if you’re both in agreement on this, I’ll have to accept it. But I’m not leaving a band of ne’er do wells at my back. What do you suggest?”
“Well,” Jorem said thoughtfully, “We can’t leave them there, and based on the signs we found, I think they send out someone to check for travelers in the area. There’s no way they’ll miss our tracks, so if we come back later, they’ll be expecting us.”
Grabbing a stick, Jorem began drawing the canyon and campsite in a bare patch of dirt. Hector lent a hand, adding a few details Jorem missed. While they were drawing, the rest of the squad gathered around them. They used rocks and sticks to identify tents and the various obstacles they had seen.
“If we go charging in,” Hector said, “they’ll hear us and have plenty of time to get ready. Even if we march in like we’re on a regular patrol and they let us get close, they’re better trained than we are. They may not have trained together, but individually, we have to consider them very good with their chosen weapons.”
“What we need is an edge,” Jorem stated.
He studied the crude drawing intently. There had to be a way to take the bandits without too much risk. The layout of the canyon didn’t offer many options. If they had more men they might be able to intimidate the bandits. An idea started taking form.
Jorem looked up at the men gathered around him. “Are any of you good with a bow?”
As luck would have it, two of the men were fair archers. Both men had their bows and a dozen arrows each. Jorem explained what he had in mind to the others. Some of the men suggested ways to improve the idea, and by the time they finished they had a plan. It was a plan that, with a little bit of luck, might even work.
Eight men including squad leader Clay marched up the canyon. They marched in two columns, four men to a column. Their pace was steady if a little slow. There was no sense being exhausted when they arrived. If anyone had seen them, they’d have thought it was a daily routine.
The men didn’t sneak or try to conceal themselves in any way. Nor did they make more noise than was necessary. The idea had come up for them to walk in unison until it was pointed out that they were marching uphill through a wooded area. It would be a sufficient challenge just to stay in formation.
When they came within view of the camp, the squad leader called them to a halt.
“Ho the camp,” the squad leader yelled out.
“We hear you,” someone yelled back. “What do you want?”
“We are the King’s guard. May we approach?”
A moment of hushed whispers, then, “Come ahead.”
When they got in the camp, the squad spread out. They stood eight abreast, about two arm lengths apart. Close enough to defend each other, yet far enough apart to stay out of each other’s way. Clay stood near the center, Jorem just to his left.
“What is your business here?” Clay asked.
“Hunting,” said one of the men as he stepped forward.
The squad leader stood quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers on his leg. Jorem counted all ten men Hector and he had identified earlier.
“I’m going to have to ask you to accompany us to our encampment. If everything is in order, you can return to your hunting.”
The man before them smiled. “I don’t think so, and I don’t think you can make us.”
Clay reached up and rubbed his ear. An arrow thudded into a tree trunk at the edge of the camp. Several of the “bandits” jerked, startled at the sight of the arrow appearing so suddenly. For some of them this was likely the first time the thought of personal danger had crossed their minds. The two archers had snuck up around the sides of the camp well ahead of the squad. They had positioned themselves so as to cover the whole camp by the time the squad had arrived.
“We’re not exactly alone. I would suggest you come peacefully.”
With no warning, the speaker for the bandits sprang forward, plunging a knife into Clay’s chest. As he did so he screamed, “Kill them all!”
The fray that ensued was fraught with screams, yells, the whistling of arrows in flight, and no little bit of terror. Jorem’s sword was out in a flash. Without hesitating, he punched the man attacking Clay with a fist weighted with the hilt of his sword. The bandit fell back from the blow.
A glance told Jorem the squad leader was sorely injured. Jorem grasped Clay’s hand and pressed it to the wound. Blood had already begun to soak through his coat.
“Keep as much pressure on it as you can,” Jorem said urgently.
Jorem took the squad leader’s sword from its scabbard and flung himself into the battle. The bandits had lost all semblance of sanity. They were like savages, lost in the lust of blood. The other members of the squad were not faring well. Two had already fallen to the ground and, as Jorem engaged his first opponent, another fell.
Suddenly, Jorem found himself facing three attackers. There was no surrendering to these men. Even if the thought to run had crossed his mind, there was nowhere to go. The clang of steel on steel and the grunts of pain and strain filled the air. Jorem gave himself over to the training pounded into him over the past year.
There was no chance of pressing an attack. Facing three men, and now four, all Jorem could do was defend himself. He spun and twisted, slashed and jabbed. Every trick Neth had taught him came forth. There was no time for thought. To think was to die.
He knew he was inflicting damage on his attackers, more often with an elbow or a kick, than with his sword. One of the men Jorem was fighting crumpled to the ground, an arrow protruding from his chest. Another bandit rushed to take his place.
Time lost all meaning. There was just the fight. Fight or die. Arrows whistled through the air. Men screamed and fell. Jorem fought on. He had wounded several of the bandits, but they would not yield. Facing so many he couldn’t manage a fatal blow.
The archers made all the difference. Whenever a clear target presented itself, a bandit fell to the ground. Jorem braced to block another onslaught that never came. All ten bandits lay crumpled on the earth. Not one of them had survived. The archers had managed to take down every one of the bandits.
Of the squad, two would fight no more. Only the archers had gone unscathed. Hector sat with his back against a tree. A nasty gash ran the length of his forearm. Jorem leaned down and wiped his sword clean on the tunic of one of the bandits. “Clean your sword before you sheath it. Getting blood out of a scabbard is nigh unto impossible.” Neth’s voice scratched inside his skull.
Jorem cut strips from the side of one of the tents and began binding the men’s wounds as he came to them. The others of the squad that could did the same. When they were as well off as they were apt to get, they dragged the bodies of the dead to a small ravine and pushed dirt over them. It wasn’t a good burial, but it was all they could do.
One of the men built the fire back up. They gathered around the fire as much for mental comfort as physical. Jorem pulled out the map he’d made of the route for the day. They weren’t far from the highest point of their journey. There were two more ridges, not much higher than where they were now, and the rest would be downhill.
“What are your orders, sir?” Hector asked. It took Jorem a moment to realize the scout was talking to him. At Jorem’s questioning look, Hector explained.
“Clay’s passed out. Considering the pain he’s in, it’s probably best he did. As
ide from him, you’re the closest thing we have to an officer.”
Jorem considered their options. They could send someone for help, but only he and Hector had a chance of finding the main group. If they waited long enough for one of them to go and for a relief party to get back, they’d lose Clay and maybe one of the others as well. If they tried to make it back on their own, there were a number of challenges.
Of the seven remaining men besides himself, two would have to be carried. In addition, two of the men, including Hector, had injures to their arms preventing them from helping with the carrying. Considering the condition of the rest of the men, it was unlikely any of them would make it the whole way without collapsing. The only chance they had was to send Hector to get help headed their way while they got themselves as close to camp as they were able. The sooner they got these men’s wounds tended to the better chance they would have.
After showing Hector the route he intended to take with the rest of the squad, he sent the scout off to get help. The rest of the able men set to making litters for the more seriously injured. While they were doing that, Jorem rummaged through the tents. Any information he could find could be useful. What he found gave him cause for concern.
The bandits had been in the employ of someone identified only as “the dark mage”. Their task was to kidnap or kill someone of some importance coming through this area. Jorem couldn’t think of anyone important even considering coming to this remote area, and he was certain no one knew he was here.
From the various papers he found, Jorem was able to identify all of the so-called bandits. If the names of these men and their intentions were made known, a rift would certainly be torn through the kingdom. There was little enough trust between nobles and commoners already. This news could cause a civil war, leaving the kingdom open to attack from without.
“Hey Rim,” one of the men said, poking his head inside the tent. “I mean, sir. We’re ready to go.”
Jorem gathered all the papers he’d found. “I don’t recall anyone pinning an officer’s badge on my chest. What say we stick with Rim?”
Honor Found (The Spare Heir) Page 9