by Philip Blood
Three of the soldiers frantically scrambled over the bones, trying to get to where they could strike the escaping Becaris with the reach of their swords.
With a last and mighty heave, the twin brothers pulled their friend out of harm’s way, frustrating the infuriated soldiers crawling over the old bones.
From below them, they heard the Sergeant voice commanding his men. “Quickly, back outside. We’ll stop them before they can flee!”
Hoisting Becaris over his shoulder again, Rasal followed his brother down to where they had hidden their mounts. They got the wounded Becaris in his saddle and then quickly mounted and rode along either side of him to keep him from falling.
The soldiers howled in fury when they saw their horses gone, their guards slain, and the escaping knights riding fifty yards away into the desert.
“That’s just great!” Herms exclaimed, kicking a small rock in his anger. His downcast eye spotted an old dagger lying in the dirt and he recognized it as the one he had given back to G’Taklar at the compound.
Reaching down he picked it up, muttering angrily, “I swear I’ll give this back to the runt when I catch him, point first!”
He tucked the dagger containing the hidden Ardellen cathexis Signet ring into his wide belt.
When the knights were sufficiently far enough away so that they weren’t worried about pursuit they stopped to see to Becaris. Lasar bound the wound as best he could.
“It doesn’t look good; the wound could prove fatal if we move you any further.”
“How long do you think I could last if we ride?” Becaris asked.
“A day or two, no longer, then your strength will likely give out.”
“We can reach Myrnvale in a day’s ride, Elizabeth can heal me,” he whispered.
“If she’s there, but if not, you’ll never make it. We should hole up here,” Lasar stated, “Rasal can ride for supplies and return in two days.
“No, the Tchulians may collect some of their mounts and pursue, we can’t take that chance. Let’s ride,” Becaris said, getting slowly to his feet.
“He’s right, we’ll just have to pray Elizabeth is there,” Rasal said to his brother.
“Then she will be,” Lasar said, refusing to give up hope.
“Hang in there, Becaris,” Rasal said, staring across the desert in the direction of Myrnvale where he thought Elizabeth could be found.
Elizabeth stood on top the single wagon of the Tax Marshal and kicked open the coffer of round metal with her boot.
The rest of the bandit squad cheered as she scooped a handful of gold and silver round and trickled them back into the coffer.
“This will be our first message to your master; the pillage of Autrany will be stopped. Then we will come for him to take retribution for his crimes against this land!” Elizabeth proclaimed to the Marshal who stood nearby, tied to a tree.
The bandits cheered again.
“Come, it’s time we returned to the camp, I have some questions for Wernok to answer,” she said, with steel in her voice.
Hetark stepped into the nearly empty common room of the `Bottoms up’ tavern.
His gaze crossed the room quickly, taking in the sleeping drunk sitting in the back corner, hand still clasped around his mug handle and his right cheek mashed against the rough wood.
The only other person in the room was a cleaning drudge, busy scrubbing the bar counter. She looked up at Hetark with the apathetic eyes of those trapped in her dreary station.
Hetark went swiftly to her side and said, “Where can I find the owner?”
“He don’t get up ‘til noon,” she replied, continuing to scrub.
“This is an emergency,” Hetark stated.
“It’s yer funeral, first door on the left,” she said, nodding in the direction of a hallway and then added, “Don’t tell him I sent you.”
“Have no fears, I will take the blame,” Hetark said, already heading for the hall.
Without pausing to knock Hetark broke open the door with his shoulder.
The owner cracked his bloodshot eyes open and shouted, “Wot in Darkness is go’in on?” Then he pulled a dagger out from under his pillow.
Hetark had continued his momentum as he entered the room. He reached the awakening owner just as he sat up with the knife. The knight’s hand flashed out tearing the dagger from the man’s fingers, and then he grabbed the man by the dirty nightshirt and sat him up against the wall behind his bed. Hetark placed the point of the dagger under the man’s chin.
“I’m in a hurry because a girl’s life depends on me. I’ll ask you once, which room holds the members of the Riond bandit camp?”
“Who?” the bartender said in an obvious attempt to lie.
Hetark pushed the dagger upwards slightly, causing a drop of blood to appear where he punctured the skin.
“I already know they’re here, someone else talked, now I’m out of patience,” Hetark said in a deadly whisper.
“Number three, upstairs,” the man said, swallowing with a dry throat. “They’ll kill you if you go up there.”
“That’s my problem, yours is simple; if you give the alarm I’ll kill you. No matter how long it takes, I’ll hunt you down. Or, you could just go back to sleep and this will all become a bad dream,” he said, letting loose of the bunched up nightshirt.
Hetark walked to the door and then spun and threw the man’s dagger underhanded. It ‘thunked’ in the wood next to the terrified man’s left ear. Hetark said, “Don’t forget what I said.”
The man’s head didn’t move, but his eyes strained to the left, gawking at the dagger hilt a single finger’s width from his face.
Hetark stepped into the hall and hurried up the stairs, he didn’t trust the barkeeper not to give the alarm, he might be more afraid of the bandits than of Hetark.
The knight reached the door marked, ‘3’. He took one step back and kicked the door near the lock, breaking it in with the sound of splintering wood.
Hetark rolled into the room while two thrown dagger sailed over his low form. He came back to his feet in front of a man who was scrambling to draw his sword. Hetark grabbed him by the jerkin and launched him through the second story window. There was a brief howl of fright and a thump from outside.
Spinning, he clouted the next man with his fist, knocking his head back against the wall with a dull thud and that bandit sunk back to the bed, out cold.
The third and final bandit leaped to his feet and drove forward with his sword.
Hetark sidestepped the thrust and grabbed the man’s extended sword arm; accelerating him in the same direction he was headed.
As the man staggered past, Hetark placed his foot against the man’s back and shoved him hard against the wall, near the unconscious bandit on the bed. The man struck the wall hard enough to daze him and make him drop his sword.
Hetark stepped up and grabbed the man by the arm and used it to hoist him off the bed onto the floor where the knight knelt on his back while he tied the man’s hands.
When he had him well trussed up, Hetark picked him up and stood the bandit on his feet. The knight spoke for the first time since entering the room in an almost cheery voice, “Good morning.”
The man took a breath, ready to cuss out Hetark and his parentage, but the knight stuffed a piece of cloth he had just wadded up in his hand into the open mouth of the bandit.
“You can talk to me later,” he added and then threw the man over his shoulder and marched out of the tavern.
He took him to the stable where he kept his horse. He trussed the bandit up even further and tossed him in the loft. The knight then went to the hotel where he had left Poison.
Thankfully she had passed out from the pain. Hetark carried the unconscious girl to the stable and laid her on the straw. He fished the bound man from the loft and put him on a saddled horse, tying his feet to the stirrups.
Hetark picked Poison up and mounted his horse, setting her across the saddle in front of him, while
supporting her with one arm. He placed his loaded crossbow across the back of his saddle, and then reached across and cut the rope binding the bandit’s hands.
The man immediately pulled the gag from his mouth and snarled, “Yer a walk’in dead man.”
“Are your bandit friends going to kill me?” Hetark asked.
“”Yer damn right, deader’n a week old corpse,” he said with conviction.
“Fine, let’s get to it. Take me to your friends and I’ll turn myself over to them,” Hetark promised.
“I’m not tak’in ya to our camp!” the bandit exclaimed.
“Why not? You think one man and a wounded woman are going to escape once we’re there?” Hetark asked.
“Someth’in’s not right here,” the bandit said, puzzled by the knight’s irrefutable logic.
“Be that as it may, you are going to take me to the bandits or I’ll kill you, so you have nothing to lose and everything to gain by agreeing to my wishes,” Hetark explained. “Another thing, I’m a real good shot with this crossbow, so don’t try and make a run for it. I won’t kill you, but think about riding with a bolt through your knee,” Hetark explained, painting a gruesome picture for the bandit.
“It’s yer funeral,” the bandit finally said.
“People keep telling me that,” Hetark said, gesturing for the bandit to lead the way.
Once they were outside the city the bandit headed them along the contours of the Riond Mountains, following the edge of the Erclesian desert. They traveled through the rest of the day, seldom speaking.
Hetark learned that the bandit went by the name of Whistler, which he did often as they traveled.
He whistled as if he lacked a care in the world, but Hetark caught him watching slyly from the corner of his eye, just waiting for Hetark to slip in his vigil, so he could make his escape.
Hetark made sure he didn’t give him the opportunity.
Occasionally Poison would stir or mutter some unintelligible words in her fevered dreams.
At one point her eyes opened, but they were glassy and she muttered something in an urgent tone. Hetark leaned down and listened carefully, still watching Whistler. Poison’s voice repeated, “One day, my last day. She will come… in one day.”
Hetark thought she was delirious, but something about the way she kept repeating ‘one day’ made him worry. He spoke up to the bandit, “How long until we reach your camp?”
“Two days travel,” the bandit replied, stopping his whistling to answer.
“We will make it in one,” Hetark informed the bandit.
“Impossible, we’d have to ride all night, that would be dangerous in the mountains,” the bandit explained.
“Despite the danger, we will make it in one day or you will die trying,” Hetark said, giving Whistler a good reason to hurry.
Toward evening, Whistler spotted dust from riders ahead, but he kept it to himself. On this trail, it was possible that the approaching riders were fellow members of the bandits. He grinned in anticipation of what he would do to this pompous man.
A quarter bell later Whistler saw his chance to turn the tables. Poison was stirring again and Hetark’s attention was on making her as comfortable as possible. They were entering a large group of rocks when Whistler suddenly spurred his mount forward heading for the oncoming men.
Hetark’s head snapped up at the sound and his hand grabbed the crossbow off his saddle. He could have got a shot in before the bandit made it around a large rock, but he might have killed his only guide.
Cursing, Hetark kicked his horse into a hopeless chase; he could not catch the single rider ahead of him unless the bandit made a mistake.
Whistler broke out of the rocks and galloped toward the riders ahead, ready to identify himself to the bandits, or lie if they were someone else. He rode to the three men and was disappointed to find he didn’t know any of them.
“Hail rider, who is in chase?” the first man called as he approached. About a hundred lengths back they could see a man in pursuit, carrying something in his arms.
“A madman, he tied me up and stole my woman, I’ve just escaped. Help me, please!” Whistler pleaded. Then he rode away as if in abject fear of the pursuing man.
One man drew his sword and rode forward a few lengths, the other two stayed behind.
A moment later Hetark and Lasar were close enough to recognize each other.
“Stop that man!” Hetark commanded, pointing toward the fleeing bandit.
“It’s Hetark,” Lasar called to his fellow knights, “come on, Rasal!”
The two twins left Becaris with Hetark and took off after the fleeing bandit.
Whistler was watching behind to see what happened and cursed when the strangers didn’t even wait to get an explanation from his captor. When he saw them start after him he spurred his horse to try and run.
For a time, he widened the gap since his horse was far fresher. He took the cutoff trail up toward the valley that led to the bandit’s camp. Looking back over his shoulder to see how his pursuit was doing he didn’t see the low limb sticking out into the path. When he turned back he was too late to miss the branch. The blow rocked him in his saddle, though his tied feet kept him from falling. His horse stumbled and cantered sideways into some bushes. Before Whislter could regain his senses and extract the animal, the two men chasing him arrived. One grabbed his horse bridle and the other held him at weapon’s point.
Soon Hetark and Becaris arrived coming more slowly up their back trail.
Hetark quickly explained his plan to save Poison, and now Becaris as well. Becaris’ face was pale, but he smiled wanly at Hetark, at least this gave him a chance.
They continued up the valley with Lasar holding a rope attached to Whistler’s neck. They were fighting a race against time, so they picked up the pace along the trail leading up the long valley as they climbed out of the desert and into the mountains.
Coming in from the upper mountain trail that led down into the bandit camp, Elizabeth, and her squad brought the captured Tax Marshal to Wernok’s cabin.
Members of the camp began to gather to hear the story of their raid.
The bandit leader stepped out of his door and the jubilant expressions on Elizabeth’s squad faded as he glowered at the new arrivals.
“Where’s Razor?” he asked Bushwhacker, but it was Lady Ardellen that replied.
“Dead, I had to kill him when he tried to murder me,” Elizabeth stated boldly.
Wernok was shocked; the very idea of this girl taking that killer was almost ludicrous. His eyes narrowed to mere slits as he said, “Did he give any reasons for his attack?” Wernok asked turning his gaze and question to the whole squad.
“He said she disobeyed an order,” a bandit answered.
“Did you?” he asked, turning back to Elizabeth.
“I exceeded my orders,” she replied.
“Then he was correct, under our rules when a warrior is taking part in a raid they are to obey all orders on threat of death for disobedience. As leader of these bandits, I now order that you be executed for disobedience while in combat. Officers, strip her of her weapons,” he commanded.
“You’re afraid to let me speak!” she exclaimed, enhancing her voice by projecting it into the minds of the gathering crowd. To them, it just sounded like they could hear her well.
“What you have to say is inconsequential. You disobeyed and then killed your commander; by our law you will now pay the price,” he said, trying to put a stop to her speaking, he could see what he assumed was the bound Tax Marshal and there were questions he didn’t want to be aired.
Four of Wernok’s officers started closing in with drawn weapons, but Elizabeth saw them and pulled open the lid of the chest behind her in the wagon. She had the chest lying sideways, so the gold and silver coins poured out onto the ground like a metal waterfall of bright money. The sight and sound of all that treasure falling brought a gasp from the crowd and even stopped the progress of the officers for a
moment.
Elizabeth exploited the momentary pause. “What was the Usurper’s Tax Marshal doing crossing our territory with the entire past two months worth of taxes? This round was tortured from your countryman, taxed by the Usurper’s minions. Why did he travel without enough protection to stop even one of our smallest squads?” she called out for all to hear.
“Take her!” Wernok yelled at his frozen officers.
Elizabeth leaped to the top of the wagon, turning to face the large gathering mob. “Razor refused to attack the Marshal even after I found him while scouting our target. Why don’t you ask the Marshal why?” she called, pointing to the Usurper’s man where he was bound to the side of the wagon.
While Elizabeth was saying this Wernok stepped into his cabin and reappeared a moment later with a crossbow. Elizabeth spotted him raising the weapon, so she dropped behind the wagon before he was ready to fire. He shifted his target from her to the Tax Marshal. “Wernok, NO!” the Marshal screamed, but Wernok fired. The bolt from his crossbow pinned the man’s head to the wagon through his open mouth.
“Now, enough of this charade, I want her hanging from Traitor’s Tree immediately!” Wernok bellowed, throwing his crossbow to the ground.
Elizabeth leaped back onto the wagon top. “Razor didn’t want to attack the Marshal because he was following Wernok’s orders!”
“Lies, he was just following his orders to attack the merchant, I knew nothing of the Tax Marshal!” Wernok exclaimed.
“Then why did you kill him, and why did he call out your name?” she asked. “How did the Tax Marshall know the name of the Riond Mountain bandit leader?”
The crowd began to mutter at her latest argument.
“I don’t know, but I AM leader here! This… woman, this… stranger is trying to cloud the issue and turn you against me. I’ve led you well, with plenty of food and round for all,” he said, realizing that she had gained some support, and now trying to turn it back around. “If I were the traitor she professes I could have betrayed you a hundred times over!”