by Dan McGirt
Mercury sighed. “Dylan and the Black Bolts are behind us, the Red Huntsman is abroad—and I have thrice more felt the power of Ouga-Oyg’s Black Mirror. Most recently within the last hour.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to cause alarm.”
“I’m not alarmed, really, just concerned.”
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
“The Peeper from the Pit!” exclaimed Rubis. “We are spied upon by the Pit Peeper?” She made a disgusted face. “Ick!”
“Repulsive,” said Sapphrina. “What are you going to do about it, wizard?”
“He isn’t looking for you,” said Merc.
“Are you so sure?” demanded Sapphrina. A stricken look clouded her fair face. “That demon’s vile predilections are well known!”
“Be that as it may, I assure you that at present the Peeper has other things on his mind than leering at Zastrian tarts.”
“What did you say?” demanded Rubis sharply.
“Merc!” I said, shocked. “That is no way to refer to gentlewomen!”
The wizard seemed to bite his tongue, but heeding the warning tone in my voice, growled, “My apologies, your ladyships. Nevertheless, I believe the Demon Lord seeks other prey than you—namely Master Cosmo here.”
Sapphrina frowned. “All the more reason you should do something about it, wizard.”
“What would you have me do?”
“Shield us from the Peeper’s view with your magic.”
“Impossible,” said Merc. “The Black Mirror is much more powerful than any magic I have. In any event, the scans remain fleeting. The demon is focused on this region, but has not yet singled us out. I would have us reach Raelna ere he does.”
“A sensible goal,” I agreed.
“Then less chatter. We’ve much hard riding ahead!”
***
We left the Barony of Trothgar and entered the Earl of Bricksham’s domain late in the afternoon, taking shelter for the night at a ramshackle hostel in the underpopulated little town of Yeld on the Bullywuggle. After our dinner of sour turnip soup and roasted rabbit, washed down with some local radish beer, I asked the twins about their reaction to Ouga-Oyg’s spying. Although being the object of a Demon Lord’s scrutiny would make anyone nervous, they seemed particularly upset by the Peeper from the Pit.
“Of course we’re upset!” said Rubis. “The Peeper has a special fascination with Zastrian women.”
“Who are, after all, the most beautiful in the world,” Sapphrina reminded me.
“There are many tales in our folklore of Zastrian girls carried off to the Vilest Vales of Hell to be the Peeper’s concubines.”
Sapphrina nodded. “The protagonists of these stories usually get into trouble after foolishly disobeying their fathers.”
“It is a common theme,” agreed Rubis. “Take Calassandra of the Golden Hair. She went to the river alone to wash her shimmering tresses—”
“—after her father told her never to do so.”
“And the Peeper got her!” said Rubis.
“Then there was Eloriana the Elegant,” said Sapphrina. “Who went to meet her lover by the garden gate—”
“—against her father’s wishes,” added Rubis.
“The Peeper saw her and carried her away,” finished Sapphrina.
“We must not forget Delicia of the Sea-Green Eyes,” said Rubis.
“A tragic tale,” sighed Sapphrina. “She lost her heart to a sea captain—”
“—of whom her father did not approve,” Rubis supplied.
“She spent hours each day waiting on a cliff above the harbor, looking across the sea for the sails of his ship.”
“But while she watched for her true love, the Peeper watched her.”
“One day, the captain’s ship returned,” said Sapphrina. “Delicia rushed down to the harbor to greet him.”
“But just as they reached for each other—the Peeper carried her away!”
“Do any of these stories have happy endings?” I asked.
The twins exchanged puzzled glances.
“No,” said Rubis, shaking her head.
“Not a one,” confirmed Sapphrina.
“They’re cautionary tales,” said Rubis.
“Meant to impress upon young girls the importance of being obedient.”
“Disobey and the Peeper gets you.”
“A happy ending would muddle the message entirely.”
“I begin to see why you ran away,” I said.
The sisters giggled.
Sapphrina smiled and kissed my cheek. “You, Jason, are simply adorable.”
***
We survived a few minor mishaps in the following days. By the first of Windery we found ourselves on a dusty road some eight leagues from the Raelnan border, approaching a small muddy pond. A grove of ancient oak trees stood a short distance beyond. It was a beautiful, cloudless spring afternoon. All our troubles seemed so far away.
“Get ready for trouble,” said Mercury, the first words he had spoken in over an hour.
“What is it?” I said, reaching for my sword.
“I sense danger.”
“How do you do that?”
“I just do it,” he said irritably.
A mighty horn blast split the air, followed by an excited chorus of lupine howls. Half a dozen shaggy grey wolves the size of ponies topped a low rise to the east and loped toward us. Behind the slavering beasts came a massive rider on a roan charger. He wore a leather mask and trappings the color of dried blood. In his hand was a huge black horn. He winded a second blast. The wolves increased their hellish pace.
“This can’t be good,” I said.
“The Red Huntsman!” said Merc. “Make for the trees!”
We urged our horses to a gallop, not that the terrified animals needed any encouragement. I glanced back and saw the Huntsman notching an arrow to his bow.
“Merc! Arrow!”
“I see! The trees! We’ll make a stand!”
I looked back at the wolves again. They were very big wolves.
“We will?”
Sapphrina’s horse stumbled and fell. She tumbled from the saddle, bouncing painfully across the ground before sliding headfirst into the pond. I wheeled my horse about, which wasn’t easy, for the beast had scented the wolves and wanted no part of them.
“Sapphrina! Take my hand!”
I reached for her. She clambered up the muddy embankment, but lost her footing and fell back into the water with a splash.
“Sapphrina!”
The lead wolf fell upon her terrified horse, ripping the poor animal’s throat open with a single snap of its great jaws. The monster’s red eyed brothers were right behind it.
I drew my sword, but in the process lost control of my own horse, which treacherously unseated me and ran away. Miraculously landing on my feet without stabbing myself, I braced for the attack. I was still no competent swordsman, but Mercury had given me a few pointers. Unfortunately, most of his advice pertained to fighting other swordsmen, not overgrown wolves.
Mercury turned to aid me. Rubis wisely kept riding for the trees. More likely, she was unable to persuade her mount to alter course.
The Red Huntsman loosed his arrow at Merc. The wizard deflected it with a wave of his hand. The missile veered away from him and whistled off into the field across the road.
Mouth dripping with horse blood, the lead wolf flew at me, jaws wide. I swung my sword two handed. The flat of the blade rapped the wolf’s muzzle, with little effect. I had hoped to decapitate the beast, but I would get no second chance. The wolf crushed me to the ground, snapping at my face. The sword flew from my hand and skittered into the shallows of the pond.
A second wolf bypassed me and plunged into the water after Sapphrina. Two of the animals charged at Merc. The last pair shot past him, chasing Rubis. Were the wolves dividing their attack thus on their own accord? Or at some signal from their master? I h
ad no time to wonder about it.
Mercury leapt clear as the wolves savaged his horse. Instantly abandoning their kill, the deadly beasts stalked the wizard, growling with menace. Merc dropped into a ready stance, sword drawn.
I was barely keeping the wolf atop me from chomping through my head like an overripe melon. I dug my fingers into the sides of its furry neck and pushed with all my might. Hot wolf spittle and fresh blood showered my face.
The Red Huntsman drew up short and notched another arrow. Mercury gestured. The bowstring broke. With a shrug, the bounty hunter cast the bow aside and crossed his arms. The wolves could do his work for him.
It occurred to me that if I could get my legs in the right position I might be able to kick the wolf off me.
I was wrong.
Beams of intense red light burst from Merc’s sunshades. The nearest wolf’s head burst into flames. With a yelp of pain and fear, the animal streaked off across the field as the fire spread across its body. The other wolf leapt at the wizard with a snarl. Mercury danced aside and sliced open the animal’s shoulder. Enraged, the wolf turned to snap at him. Again, its jaws missed the mark. Mercury lunged low and stabbed it through the heart.
While Merc was thus engaged, the Red Huntsman twirled a bola above his head and released it. The whirling weapon hummed through the air. Its leather cords wound themselves tightly around Merc’s neck. Taken by surprise, the wizard dropped his sword and went to his knees. His sunshades flew off to land in the dust. The Red Huntsman dismounted to finish him.
Meanwhile, I tried a new tactic. Wriggling along on my back, I led the wolf to the edge of the pond. I slid down the muddy incline, dragging the animal with me. We crashed into the wolf that had gone for Sapphrina. She was nowhere to be seen, but I was now entangled with two wet, snarling, angry wolves instead of one. That was progress of sorts.
Standing over the purple-faced Mercury, the Red Huntsman raised his sword to plunge it into the wizard’s heart. Mercury rolled away and bounded to his feet. The Huntsman came at him with a furious attack, pressing him hard and forcing him back.
I got my arms around one of the wolves and broke its neck with a wrenching crunch. The other snapped at me. I caught it by the ears and forced its head underwater. The beast thrashed mightily, but I did not let go until its struggles ceased.
I stubbed my toe on something hard. My sword!
I recovered the weapon and staggered toward dry ground. My tunic was in tatters. I bled from several wounds. I had pond water up my nose. But I was determined to help Mercury.
The Huntsman’s stallion had other ideas. The war horse came at me with flying hooves and chomping teeth. I gave way, backing into the pond. The horse stopped at the water’s edge. Stamping the ground and bobbing its head, it neighed a shrill, angry scream, as if daring me to pass. Killing two giant wolves with my bare hands was the stuff of legend. But the horse scared me.
Mercury was in trouble. Barely able to breathe, he bled from two sword wounds. He was stumbling, staggering, and running out of time.
Could this mess get any worse?
I had to ask.
Thundering hooves heralded the arrival of nine black-clad riders on black horses. Dylan of Ganth and his Black Bolts had found us!
*****
Chapter 9
Thinking fast, I thrust my sword into the mud and hefted a dead wolf by its hind legs. Winding my torso, I swung the carcass above my head, splattering blood and muck in every direction. The war stallion backed away, giving me a clear shot at my real target. The Red Huntsman had his back to me. It would be a long throw, but I was a three-time champion in the dead pig toss back in Lower Hicksnittle. I let go. The wet wolf whirled through the air and struck the Huntsman, knocking him to the ground.
That was the break Mercury needed. He exerted his mental power. The bola unwound itself from his neck and smacked against the war stallion’s skull. The animal rolled its eyes, took two jerky steps sideways, and toppled.
I scooped up my sword. Merc's weapon flew to his hand. We stood side by side as the Red Huntsman regained his feet.
“Brand new fight,” said Merc.
“I have no quarrel with you, Mercury Boltblaster,” said the Huntsman. The leather mask muffled his deep voice. “Jason Cosmo is my prey. You have troubles enough, I think.” He indicated the onrushing Black Bolts. “Though I am willing to assist you in exchange for Cosmo.”
“That is wonderfully generous of you,” said Merc. For one frightened moment, I thought Mercury would accept the Huntsman's offer. Then he snorted derisively. “But a blind cripple armed with a teaspoon could beat those buffoons.”
“So be it.”
Dylan and the Black Bolts reined in their horses.
“I am the Red Huntsman,” said the Red Huntsman, lest they mistake him for a Blue or Green Huntsman. “This man is mine.” He pointed his sword at me. “The wizard you may have.”
Dylan smiled. He had ugly teeth. “The wizard is all we want.”
“But can you take me?” asked Merc, making a showy little flourish with his sword.
Several of the Black Bolts cursed. Scowling, Dylan raised his hand to silence them. He addressed the Huntsman. “We would appreciate your aid in apprehending the wizard.”
“How great would this appreciation be?”
“A tenth of our fee.”
“Half.”
Dylan hesitated. His men made ugly noises. “Done.”
“Two-thirds.”
Dylan’s face reddened. “Outrageous! You said half!”
“Now I say two-thirds. Take it or leave it. It matters not to me.”
Several Black Bolts coughed into their hands.
“Very well,” Dylan said testily. “Two-thirds. But no more.”
“Hold this one for me,” said the Huntsman. “I will only be a moment.”
At Dylan’s signal, four smirking Bolts dismounted and drew their swords, ranging themselves in a half circle around me.
“Who is this filthy cur?” asked Dylan, giving me a contemptuous once over.
“Jason Cosmo,” said the Huntsman.
The smirks vanished. The Black Bolts backed away. Dylan screamed for his men to resume their positions. I saw the fear in their eyes, the tremble in their grips, the nervous shuffling of their feet. These were warriors, hardened killers, and veterans of countless battles. Yet they were no less terrified of me than the twins had been back in Offal. They obviously didn’t recognize me as the fumbling and frightened peasant they met in Whiteswab. I might not have recognized myself, covered as I was in blood and gore.
I recalled Merc’s lessons on artful intimidation. Slashing the air with my sword, I forced a contemptuous laugh. “Slaying giant wolves with my bare hands was a good warm up for the likes of you! Who dies first?”
No one volunteered. I advanced, praying the mercenaries would give way. They backed up one step, then two.
I decided not to press my luck.
“I’m waiting,” I said.
“Can we switch back to fighting Boltblaster?” whined a Black Bolt. “You never said anything about Jason Cosmo!”
“Cowards!” raged Dylan. “He’s only one man!”
“So is Boltblaster,” said a mercenary. “And you were pretty quick to hand off that hot potato.”
Dylan glared at him.
“Just saying,” said the soldier.
The Black Bolts did not move to attack, but neither did they flee. I had achieved a temporary standoff, holding nine men at bay. Now everything depended on the outcome of Merc’s duel with the Red Huntsman.
It was not an even fight. Mercury was fast, but the Huntsman was both quick and strong. His blade traced silver ribbons in the air. Warding off the Huntsman’s blows gave Mercury no opening to counterattack. Blood streamed from his wounds.
“Surrender now and I’ll go easy on you,” said Merc.
“I will sever your chattering head from your body, fool!”
“Such anger. I thought your
fight was with Cosmo.”
“He’s next.”
The Black Bolts were relieved to hear that.
The bounty hunter cut the wizard thrice, taking only one small wound in return. This was not looking good. If Merc lost, I wouldn’t last long on my own. Bluffing had its limits. We needed a miracle.
We got it.
Sapphrina emerged from the shallows of the pond, arms held wide, palms to the sky. All eyes turned to her. And stayed there. Her wet blue tunic clung tightly to her body. Her golden hair hung in damp ringlets around her face. A rivulet of water rippled down her flawless cheek, traced the delicate line of her throat, and disappeared between her jutting breasts. Twelve sets of eyes followed the happy droplet’s progress.
Sapphrina surveyed us coolly. Her face clouded over. Her mouth twisted into an angry pout. In a haughty, theatrical voice, she demanded, “Who dares disturb the dread Goddess of the Lake?”
This was too much for the Black Bolts. They were already staring down the fearsome Jason Cosmo. Adding the wrath of a deity from the depths of this possibly sacred cattle pond was too much. The mercenaries staggered back in confused amazement. Some muttered prayers, others made religious signs. One even fell to his knees with head bowed.
I saw my chance. With a wild shout, I lunged at the nearest fighter and ran him through. Yanking my blade from his chest, I lopped off the head of his neighbor. The remaining Bolts scrambled away from me, save the kneeling one. Respecting his piety, I merely smacked his skull with the flat of my sword, knocking him out.
If the Black Bolts had any lingering doubts that I was truly the terror of the Eleven Kingdoms, those were now dispelled. Heedless of Dylan’s curses, his five remaining men mounted their horses and fled as fast as they could ride. One Bolt missed the saddle in his haste, got his foot tangled in the stirrup, and was dragged down the road by his horse.
The Red Huntsman bellowed, “Hold him, you fools!”
Only Dylan remained. He dismounted to face me.
“I don’t fear you,” he said. “Or that wench.”