Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1)

by Kameron A. Williams

  Yari was down to the rams’ gorge in no time, and after Gargo saddled up her trusty ram, Ivy, she headed east out of the hills toward the woods. The man she sought lurked in Blackwood Forest—he had dwelled there since he had deserted the Condor, or so she had heard. She couldn’t remember much of the man when he belonged to the clan, except that he was a proficient archer. But, he hadn’t been very well known, and Yari only remembered crossing paths with him once or twice. She had now heard he was the best man with a bow in both this land and the next, and to this she had no argument, for she was a woman.

  The land flattened out as she left the City in the Clouds behind her, traveling northeast over Dorad. On the horizon, tall green trees looked innumerable in the distance. A few hours more on Ivy and she was in the midst of that green, shaded from the midday sun by their cover, and was welcomed by a small stream where she stopped and let Ivy drink. She took a long drink herself, refilling her water skin with fresh, cold water, and snatching a piece of jerky from Ivy’s saddle-bag. A sound caught Ivy’s ear, and hers too, and Yari put the meat back, stepped away from the stream and listened. It was the voice of a man—no—two men. Yari grabbed Ivy’s reigns and led her toward the noises.

  She made no effort to be quiet or conceal her position as she moved towards them, and could soon see the figures of the two men as she drew closer and the trees parted into a small clearing where they were making camp. The two men—one was skinning a fresh killed rabbit and the other was starting up a fire—put down their tools and picked up weapons as she came upon them, looking about to see if there was anyone else.

  “Who goes there? What do you want?” The man who called out pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back as he squinted at Yari, and laid it against his bow shaft.

  “You by yourself, woman?” the other asked, his hand gripping the sword he had drawn from his belt.

  “Yes, man,” said Yari coarsely, letting go of the reins in her hand and stepping in front of Ivy. Her left arm was relaxed by her side, gripping her bow.

  “A cliff whore,” said the bowman with a snicker.

  “You alone?” the other asked again.

  “I’m alone, I said,” Yari replied irritably.

  “No, you’re not,” said the one, his lips twisting perversely. “Not anymore. We’re all going to find a way to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Then you’ll play my game?” asked Yari, standing in the same place in front of her saddled ram, about twenty paces from where the men stood.

  “What game is that?” the same man inquired, looking equally perplexed and amused. His bow lowered, and he looked to Yari Thorn with a lewd grin, his eyes gleaming and wide.

  “I wager I can shoot you before you can shoot me,”

  she said.

  The man chuckled. Yari’s arm flickered and the swift sound of chaffing wood hissed. The man’s eye burst as an arrow flew through it and dug out the back of his skull. Blood and fluid ran down his face as his body fell to the ground. The other rushed Yari with his sword and the woman stood still and waited.

  Stepping back and swaying away from the blade, she darted up after the swing and laid her bow shaft across his neck. Stepping behind him, she reached her arm around to grab the other end of the bow, and pulled. She slid her hands in closer to the middle of the shaft and squeezed the wood tight on his throat, pressing her knee against his back. The man struggled for breath and Yari pulled even tighter. She smiled, listening to him wheeze as he suffocated. When she was certain he was gone, she released her hold and let him collapse.

  “Come, Ivy,” she said. “We still have a few hours until dark.”

  The tawny-furred ram walked up and Yari picked up the half-skinned rabbit and slung it over its back. She hopped on and they rode deeper into the forest.

  They were in the thick of the woods when the day faded and the slivers of light that crept through the trees turned to shadows. Yari stopped and made a fire, pulled the rest of the rabbit flesh from its fur and roasted the creature. After eating her fill and putting away the rest she crept about a hundred paces from the fire to a dark place and laid a blanket down to sleep. Ivy lay down next to her. Yari stared at the flames afar off until her eyes grew weary of its light.

  When she awoke, she unwrapped the remnants of last night’s rabbit dinner and finished it for her morning meal. After she had eaten and Ivy had consumed her meal from the bushes and shrubs around, they continued even deeper into the wood. Yari looked around. She had never been so deep in Blackwood Forest, and thought surely it must’ve been what Anza meant by the “heart” of the wood. She wondered if Anza had been here herself or if she had obtained the information from someone else. Nevertheless, she would go no farther without attempting to reach the man, for this deep in the forest she no longer knew where she was going.

  She built a large fire and as soon as it was ablaze she threw leafy boughs on top, so that it sent great plumes of smoke into the air, and she called out with a loud voice into the forest. “Hunter! Hunter! There are men that need hunting! And a great bag of gold for you to hunt them!”

  The woman called out several more times before tossing more boughs atop the fire to produce more smoke. She then drew in breath to yell out yet again. The forest rustled on her right side. Ivy shuffled nervously.

  “So soon?” said Yari, looking between the trees as a figure wondrously emerged from the growth. The figure moved forward and its shape became clearer, and gradually what appeared to be a moving cluster of foliage parted as legs and arms moved between them.

  It was a man that approached—with saplings and vines tied all around him, ferns and bushes amply woven in to obscure him. Yari grinned at the moving thicket, and peered closer. Under the growth he held a bow, an arrow drawn.

  “I thought I’d have to call out for at least an hour,” said Yari, trying hard to make out the face within the thicket.

  “I’ve been following you for at least an hour,” spoke a raspy voice from a bronze face under bushes. “You want me to kill people for you? Well, tell me, are they true or are they liars? Are they sweet or bitter, righteous or rotten?

  “They are lying, bitter, rotten men,” said Yari with a smirk.

  “Where will I have to go? You know I don’t like the cities.”

  “I know. It’s a Snowstone encampment just below Wyndor on the Cyanan border.”

  “They’re mining for gold,” said the Hunter.

  Yari smiled. “You are well informed. Shoot arrows into their camp. Kill some, but not all of them. You must shout praise to Snowstone—loud enough for the survivors to hear.”

  The Hunter snickered and the leaves and branches of his thicket rustled quietly around his face. “That’s a big bag of gold you got,” he said, though Yari couldn’t tell if he was looking at the bag she was holding or not. She couldn’t quite make out his eyes under the growth. “But not big enough for me to start a war for Anza.”

  “I’ll double it,” said Yari, quickly.

  “Look at me, Yari Thorn. Do you think I care for gold?

  I could kill every man at that encampment and take the gold they’ve mined for myself if that was what I wanted. Do you see me adorned with fancy cloaks and pendants?”

  “I see you adorned in leaves, now” said Yari, “but when you’re finished in the wild—”

  “I’m never finished in the wild,” the Hunter interrupted.

  “I see. You’re right, Hunter. Now that I’ve met you I can’t possibly think of what you’d do with this bag of gold. I don’t know you, that’s clear. But you know us, don’t you? You know we could make you rich if you did this thing for us, but you’ve made it clear that’s not what you desire. But you also know our rewards are not limited to gold. So tell me, Hunter, what can we give you for payment? Power, position, a person perhaps? What do you desire?”

  “I desire peace!” the man snapped, branches and leaves jumping around him as he spit out the words. “I will not let you start a war between the north and south. I w
ill not do this job, nor will anyone do it for you as long as I live.” Yari’s head jerked up in surprise, and a tingle went across her right shoulder as her arm jittered.

  “Don’t be a fool, Condor,” said the Hunter. “My bow is already drawn, and this is my forest. I’ve heard you’re as fast as lightning, but even you wouldn’t make it. Turn around, go home, and I won’t kill you now.”

  Yari laughed softly as she turned away from the man. “Thank you, Hunter,” she called, as she walked away and grabbed Ivy by the reins. “I’ll tell my lady I couldn’t find you.” She walked another ten paces and dove out onto the ground in front of Ivy. She had drawn an arrow before her shoulder hit the dirt, and she sent that shot right between the ram’s legs, releasing just before her body made impact with the ground. Two more shots she fired immediately after—through the same space between Ivy’s legs— watching the rustling thicket as her arrows plunged through.

  Yari strolled up to the brushwood, seeing that her shots had hit the exact area that she had targeted, and parted the plants and vines that blended into the natural, living flora. Her arrows had struck the very center of the growth, and the shafts were tangled in a mess of shredded leaves and splintered saplings. The man, however, was gone.

  Yari stood for what she thought to be a few seconds too long before hopping onto Ivy’s back and making haste out of the forest.

  16

  ZAR BREATHED DEEP AS GUARDS charged through the gate. With shield on his back and head tucked low and close to Dancer’s mane, he turned the stallion around and made off in the opposite direction. There were woods nearby, about two miles south of the city, and that’s where he wanted to fight them—not on the plain where he’d be easily surrounded, and they could shoot Dancer full of arrows and hack him into the dirt. The woods, however, would limit their space and break them up into smaller groups. That’s what he needed.

  He didn’t bother turning to the sound of the thundering hooves storming behind him. Dancer was galloping his fastest, and there weren’t many horses that could pass him, let alone keep up, but these tall steeds, long- legged with nimble frames, were royal bred for hard running, and didn’t seem to have any trouble staying on the stallion’s trail.

  Zar knew the company had gained on him when the clapping of hooves grew louder in his ears. He kept his head tucked low. Arrows were difficult to fire at such speeds, but his pursuers would still likely attempt it. A few flew far over his shoulders and lodged into the ground ahead. Before he had time to get nervous about one of them catching him in the back of the skull, he reached the woods.

  Zar slowed Dancer as they entered the trees, cantering a short while in the woods before hopping off and giving him a smack on the rump. Dancer trotted off gingerly and Zar heard the soldiers entering the wood. He drew his sword and hid himself behind a tree, his back against its bark, his elbows tucked in, his sword in both hands against his chest with the blade extending up in front of his face.

  Dancer wound his way between the trees away from him, and the rustle of guards traveled in the same direction. They were fast approaching the tree where he stood tucked away. One rider broke past first, racing after the sound and distant sight of Dancer in the woods. Zar could hear the nearing hooves and feel their vibration, and peeked out to see the lean, muscular legs of royal horses charging forward. He slashed at one of them and brought the mount crashing down, throwing its rider into the dirt. Zar promptly struck the fallen man, splitting the Snowguard’s helm, and the other horses stopped sharply at the commotion, two of them spooking and rearing up. Zar wasted no time running between them, and struck a guard who was struggling to stay on his horse after it spooked. He left the man’s thigh open and bleeding and took off running between the trees.

  The horses crashed through the wood, their limbs snagging branches as Zar darted away, making sure to curve around the trees. An arrow struck a tree directly to his right, so close to his face that a piece of bark chipped off and stung him on the nose. Zar looked back. Two of the riders nearest him had become frustrated with trying to navigate their mounts through the thick woods and had hopped off their horses. Zar broke his retreat and cut directly back to them. The rest of the group saw him, hopped off their mounts, and started after him.

  An arrow breezed past his locks as Zar ducked low and moved toward his targets. He met blades with the first one and parried the other right after, stepped back while the first man advanced and struck the man’s wrist—splitting his glove until blood ran out. Zar side-stepped and parried the other, stabbing through the man’s mail and into his ribs, and was off, moving forward just as quickly as he had turned around.

  The men had taken advantage of his short turn around, and spread themselves around his location instead of running directly after him, so they could swarm in from different directions. One had moved fast enough to circle around to his front, and came swinging his sword at Zar’s face, yelling loudly the whole time. Zar dipped his head and ducked under the blow, leaving the man’s blade wedged soundly in a young tree. The man pulled on the weapon. Zar brought his sword down through the man’s arm, cutting off his limb with his hand still gripped tightly around the sword’s hilt.

  Zar rolled his body, avoiding the blade of another, the guard’s armor grinding against his own as he went by, and caught the sword of another with his own, steering it to the ground then cutting into the man’s ankle through the back of his boot. He slipped between two trees, just avoiding an arrow that struck into one of them, still weaving deeper into the forest.

  Zar was growing tired from all the maneuvering and his pace slowed. The crashing coming from behind him grew louder—guards were catching up, and he glanced back to see two men at his back—no, three. He stopped, knocked away a blade, parried another right after it, thrust his blade home into flesh, parried another blade and kept moving. He could see through the trees in front of him that the forest floor dropped not far ahead, and the whirling and trickling noises he had been too busy to mind as he fought and fled through the woods grew more clear and obvious as they called out keenly through the forest air. There was a river.

  Zar ran toward the bluff until a voice called out—a taunting voice, so taunting it stopped him and turned him around.

  “Would you run all day, coward?”

  Zar looked to see a weary guard staggering forward, and another guard, bleeding and holding his leg hopping forward with a grimace. The voice hadn’t come from those two, they were breathing far too heavily to have called out so calmly. A rider with long brown hair flowing in the wind marched his mount forward slowly and deliberately, and Zar knew at once he was the owner of the voice.

  “No,” Zar called. “I think I have thinned your numbers down enough.”

  “Yes, you have,” the man replied, stopping his mount and climbing down. He didn’t move forward when he descended, but stood right in front of his ebon-coated mount. “You nearly fell my whole set.”

  The two soldiers were still moving towards Zar when the man’s voice sounded and stopped them in their tracks.

  “Wait. The man and I are having a talk.”

  “So you command them,” said Zar, mouth open and still breathing heavily from the running. “Are you their captain? Wait, no, that can’t be right.” Zar’s eyes scanned the man’s raiment—a fancy chainmail shirt with links both silver and gold, and the black cloak that was draped around it with the highland bear embroidered on the back in gold stitching. Zar took a closer look at the man’s face—neat and cleanly shaven with smooth white cheeks that looked as polished as a woman’s. He had heard jokes that Prince Tharid was prettier than most farm girls, and had seen the prince from afar on a few occasions, riding about the capital with guards at his sides and his hair dancing far behind him in the wind. “Could it be?” Zar continued, smirking and squinting a bit. “Do I have the honor of standing before Prince Tharid of Snowstone?”

  “The honor is mine,” said the prince, gently swaying his head back to clear a group of locks
that hung over his left eye. “You fell five of my men while running through the woods. I think I should have a name.”

  “Strangers and enemies exchange names as a sign of respect—how I see it.”

  “I see it the same,” said Tharid.

  “Although I have no respect for you or your father—”

  “But we’ve only just met,” said the prince with a smile. “I want Tiomot to know the name of the man who defies him.”

  The prince laughed and shook his head. “Defies? You speak as if you’ll live past this day.”

  “I most certainly mean to,” said Zar. “I’ve bested most of your men. I daresay I can finish the job.”

  The prince ran his hands over his head and swept back his hair, collecting it in the back. He held up the bunch as he pulled his cloak out behind his neck and stuffed it inside to fall down his back. “You’re forgetting about me.”

  “I haven’t,” Zar replied. “Stand with them and fall with them the same. Though I was hoping you would run back to your father and tell him Zar is the one who cursed him in the city, who shouted the truth to the people—that he steals their women in the night.” Zar studied the prince’s face as he mentioned the women, judging his reaction, but Tharid wore nothing but the same thin smile.

  “You seem to take quickly to rumors, but a better rumor to be concerned with now regards my skill with a sword. They say Prince Tharid is the best man in Krii.”

  “I haven’t heard that one,” Zar bantered honestly.