by Matt Heppe
Nidon was spared having to respond by the arrival of a serving girl. She was conservatively dressed in a long-sleeved dress of pale blue and white, even wearing a veil as befitted an inn of high reputation. She served Nidon’s wine first, and then the two merchants. And then she placed a platter of cheese and a loaf of crusty white bread on the table.
“A toast to the Champion of Salador,” Vilios said, loudly enough that the guildsmen across the room could hear. They all quickly raised their tankards and called out, “Hail, hail, and good health!”
Nidon raised his glass and toasted them in return. He took a long pull at the cold wine and sighed in satisfaction. “That is worthy stuff.”
“Kendor knows his business,” Denne said. “That is why I always come to his inn.”
“Your army, Champion Nidon,” Vilios said. “It seems odd you brought them all the way here.”
Nidon paused and then reached for a piece of bread. It was warm from the oven. He’d never liked those who spent their lives in pursuit of gold. There was no honor in it. But it would do no harm getting his version of events out, whether to the merchants or to whoever had sent them.
“These are my long-timers. They’ve come for their back pay and then will disperse to their manors and homes.”
Denne gave a derisive laugh.
Nidon frowned at him. “There is an issue?”
“The queen has debased the coin. It is only eight tenths of what it used to weigh, but we are required by law to accept it at full weight.”
“There are many who will only accept the old coins, or even Idorian, although it is against the law,” Vilios added.
“My men will be happy enough even with eight tenths.”
“And how did you find the queen’s mood when you met with her?” Vilios asked over his glass.
Nidon raised his eyebrows. “You know of my meeting with the queen?”
Denne shrugged. “Knowledge and time are money.”
“In my work knowledge and time are lives.”
The merchants nodded. “Our business is gold,” Vilios said. “Yours is lives.”
“The queen?” Denne prompted after a moment.
“I found Her Majesty not much different than when I departed a year and a half ago.” Bitter. Angry. Fearful.
The two men glanced at each other. “A careful answer,” Vilios said.
Nidon shrugged. He wasn’t one to bother with subtlety, but events were not going as planned and he had enough trouble as it was.
“It seems to me,” Nidon said, “that the queen’s rule is absolute. Does no one ever challenge her? Maybe the greater nobles or the Council of Judges?”
“The Judges are her men now,” Vilios said. “She’s made appointments in the king’s name, even added two seats so that she now has a majority.”
Denne glanced around the room before speaking. “The nobility is not what it once was. The Wasting and the Battle of King’s crossing took their toll. The queen replaced the fallen nobles with her own men.”
“And her father’s,” Vilios added. “And instead of military service, she demands taxes. She uses the money to employ paid soldiers. She doesn’t depend on the loyalty of the nobility any more.”
Denne laughed. “The nobles thought they were getting the better end of the bargain, but when they gave up their armies they gave up their ability to resist her oppression.”
Oppression. Nidon hid his surprise at the strong words behind a gulp of wine.
“Her father holds the Ducal Seat of the West Teren,” Vilios said. “And soon, with his aid, the queen’s man, Baron Grax will secure the south.”
“What of Duke Avran?” Nidon asked.
“Fallen gravely ill, and with his son killed in a tournament the line is contested. The queen supports Baron Grax, although his claim is weak.”
“That leaves only the east,” Denne said. He looked expectantly at Nidon.
“The East Teren is weak,” Nidon said. “Drained by the Wasting and war. Its men hold the Dragon’s Pass against the Rigarians. But the people are brave and loyal to the king.”
“But still, you brought three hundred men here….”
“Because the Dragon’s Gate is secure. And they have served their feudal obligations.” And it was true, although the merchants clearly did not believe him. But what do they think I am doing?
Vilios stabbed a piece of cheese with a small knife. “You said the East Teren is loyal to the king. But there are some who say the king is not ill.” Vilios kept his voice low. Nidon could hardly hear him over the rain pounding the patio roof just outside.
Nidon didn’t reply. He had heard the rumors as well. Some said the king was held prisoner. Others thought him dead or even knocked out of his mind by the blows he had taken at King’s Crossing. Nidon thought the last most likely.
After a pause Vilios continued. “Word is that he is held captive in the tower.”
Nidon shook his head. “King Boradin is a great elementar. What bonds could hold him?”
“His wounds were grievous when he returned from King’s Crossing,” Denne said. “Even as he recovered the queen kept him drugged. His magic cannot free him because he is in a stupor.”
I wouldn’t put it past her to keep him drugged. Nidon was careful to keep his face neutral. “There’s nothing to be done about it.”
“Maybe—” Vilios started, but was interrupted by the loud arrival of horses outside. Men shouted and to Nidon it sounded as if a fight were about to break out.
Denne leaned back and peered out the window. “Eight men in armor,” he said, his voice pitched high with fear.
Booted feet pounded up the porch.
Nidon knew the sound of danger and stood, quickly putting the table between himself and the door. He didn’t know the nature of the quarrel, but wasn’t going let it overtake him with his back to the door.
A crowd of men burst through the door, all knights or men-at-arms. None wore helms, but all wore aketons and gauntlets and carried swords unsheathed. A few held pole-axes. All were drenched.
“There’s the traitor!” the first man to enter shouted. He pointed an unsteady sword at Nidon.
Nidon recognized him. He was one of the guards who had escorted him to the queen the day before.
Gods, the man is drunk.
The two merchants pressed themselves against the wall by the door. They would flee the moment an opportunity presented. The four guild masters scrambled for the back entrance.
“You!” the knight shouted. “You dare threaten the queen?” The men with him fanned out. “Kill the traitor!”
Nidon had never won a fight letting himself be surrounded. In one sweeping move he hurled a chair at the soldier. It struck him in the face and chest, halting his advance.
Grabbing another chair, Nidon ran for the back hall, but tables obstructed his path and three of the intruders outran him.
Nidon parried a sword thrust from one and then raised his chair to block a heavy blow from the other’s warhammer.
The chair shattered, but absorbed the blow. Nidon struck the man’s face with the remaining half chair, driving him back, and then shoved past the man in front of him, but his hip gave way and he was turned aside. As the man recovered his warhammer, Nidon punched him in the face.
He drew his short sword and backed into the corner. How many can I kill before I die?
“Kill him!” the leader shouted. His lip bled from where the first chair had struck him.
The front door was out of the question, but he could still make the back hall. The swordsman blocking him seemed to hear his thoughts and took up a strong guard. More soldiers closed in.
Nidon feinted low, slipped the parry, and thrust his sword at the soldier’s exposed face. The man desperately twisted his head aside, but not enough to stop Nidon’s sword tip from cutting his throat just under his chin. He fell back, blood streaming from under his fingers as he clutched his throat.
The man’s retreat gave Nidon an opening
and he rushed a warhammer-wielding soldier. Nidon ducked a wild swing and drove the man into a table with his shoulder. Before the man could recover his balance, Nidon stabbed him through the thigh and he fell crashing to the floor.
But now Nidon was trapped against the side wall, near a large stone fireplace. The tables were thrown clear and he faced three men, two with swords and one with a pole-axe. Their companions crowded behind. Nidon grabbed an iron poker and crouched in a guard.
And so it ends.
The leader was in the middle. Not the best to go after. But the one Nidon most wanted to kill. And he was beyond tactics now. It was time to die like the Champion of Salador.
Before he could strike, there was movement from the back of the group. One of the attackers cried out and fell. From behind the fallen man sprang a black-clad figure with a battle sword held two-handed.
With a single stroke, the newcomer beheaded the leftmost of Nidon’s attackers. Before the head hit the floor Nidon charged the man to his right. The man fell back at the sudden onslaught. Nidon turned the man’s sword, swept his leg, and drove his sword through the man’s armpit as he fell to the floor.
The stranger had killed another attacker, nearly severing the man’s arm at his shoulder. The last three attackers fled for the door, the stranger close on their heels. He stabbed the slowest in the back as he collided with another at the door. The stranger’s one-handed sword thrust easily penetrated the man’s mail and padded aketon.
Nidon left his sword in his last opponent, picked up a battle sword, and ran for the door. The stranger jumped over his victim and exited. Nidon followed only to find another attacker dead on the porch, his blood flowing in streams along the floorboards.
The last attacker stood in a defensive stance by the horses at the front of the inn. The stranger stood before him, his sword poised for a thrust.
“I yield,” the attacker said.
The stranger, his face shrouded by not only the hood of his cloak, but by a black mask, didn’t reply. Then, faster than anyone Nidon had ever seen, the stranger struck. The attacker didn’t have time to flinch before the sword penetrated his armor above his heart. He toppled onto the wet stones of the street, dead.
The stranger turned, gave Nidon a sword salute, and ducked around the corner of the inn, back toward the stables. Nidon ran down the porch and jumped the stairs, landing heavily, but keeping his feet.
He turned the corner, but the courtyard was empty. A steady rain fell, but not so much that it could hide a man. The stable doors were open, and Nidon ran in that direction. Town watch horns blared nearby. “Rayne!” Nidon shouted toward the stables. “Rayne, you there?”
The boy’s face appeared in a doorway. He frowned at the sight of Nidon’s sword. “What—”
“Did you see a man? A man in black? Did he enter the stables?”
“No, Sir Nidon.”
Nidon stopped and glanced around the inn’s courtyard. There were only three exits, the gate Nidon had passed through, the stables, and the closed back door to the inn. No man could have reached the back door to the inn before Nidon turned the corner.
Nidon’s gaze swept the rooftops.
No normal man, at least.
Chapter Eleven
Hadde and Calen woke well before dawn and were riding before sunrise. They pushed their horses hard. Too hard. She was desperate to get ahead of the Idorians. And their horses had to be tired as well.
The night’s storm had broken the worst of the summer heat for a time, but it was late morning now, and the sun had returned full force. At least they weren’t on the Kiremi plains, where the heat would be unbearable. And Landomere was crisscrossed by small streams. Water was never far.
“I think we should turn west,” Hadde said as they crossed a low ridge. “We will either hit the column or cross in front of it.”
“Do you think we’ve gone far enough?”
Hadde could hear the concern in Calen’s voice. “I want to attack them once or twice before evening. I want to force them to make camp early. Come on.”
They rode four arrowflights west, sheltered from sight by the ridge to their south. Twice Hadde rode to the top of the ridge to check for signs of the column, but she saw nothing.
“Stop here,” she said. “We’ll leave the horses and go to the top of the slope on foot. They’ll come this way, maybe not right on top of us, but within an arrowflight I suspect. We’ll ambush them and then run for our horses. By the time they’re up the slope, we’ll be gone.”
Calen just nodded in reply.
“Three arrows, Calen. Loose three arrows and we run.” Hadde dismounted, groaning at the pain in her side.
“You’re bleeding,” Calen said. “We just rebound your wound this morning and you are bleeding again.”
Hadde looked down at the blood soaking through her tunic. “I opened my wound. I’ll be fine.” She tried not to show it, but the wound ached terribly. There was nothing to be done for it. She would bind it again later and hope for the best.
Hadde checked her belt quiver—twenty arrows. Another ten in the bowcase attached to her saddle. “How many arrows do you have?”
“Forty, maybe.”
Hadde nodded. It wasn’t many. “Come on.”
She led him up the slope. It was steep, but not difficult. It would be easy enough to run down. She knelt at the crest, scanning the forest. “See that rock?” she said, pointing thirty strides to her left. “You hide there. I’ll find cover behind this tree. Make sure you can see me. I’ll hunter-sign you.”
He licked his lips. “Which way will we ride when we escape?”
“It depends which direction they come from.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “Just three arrows and then we run. Go.”
Hadde took cover behind her tree as Calen jogged to his hiding place. A low sawbush grew next to the tree, completely concealing her from the approach below. She knelt behind the bush, took three arrows from her quiver and held them under the fingers of her bow hand.
A bird trilled a warning call. Hadde glanced up to see the spirit bird on a nearby branch. The same bird? She couldn’t be certain, but she thought it was. The bird looked right at her. It trilled again and flew off to the south. Hadde’s eyes followed the bird’s flight until it disappeared.
And where it disappeared she saw the Idorians. Three at least, riding abreast and coming straight for the slope. She gave herself a smile—she had picked well.
Hadde gave Calen a whistle. Enemy approach. Three, she signed.
I see. He stared off into the forest, his bow ready.
Hadde turned her attention back to the forest. The three scouts approached at a trot. They traded safety for speed. They want to be out of the forest. And it wasn’t far. They couldn’t be more than a dozen arrowflights from the Kiremi plains.
Each rode twenty strides from the other. They held their crossbows ready and alertly scanned the forest ahead. And then she spotted a fourth.
She turned to warn Calen, but he already held up the sign for four. Fifty strides behind the scouts came more riders. They rode closer together—eight or more of them. The rest of the column would follow. Including Maret and the children.
Wait. Shoot close, Hadde signed.
He didn’t look pleased, but nodded before turning away. He wanted to loose some long shots and flee, Hadde thought. But she wanted to be sure to shoot down at least two of the scouts. And long shots with flight arrows wouldn’t do it.
Hadde breathed deep, willing her heart to slow. Patience rewards the hunter. She could hear her father saying the words. She had heard them enough growing up.
The crossbowmen rode closer. At fifty strides the slope became steeper. That would be when she would loose her first arrow.
And she hoped Calen would do his part.
The Idorians continued their approach. They didn’t slow, but Hadde could see that they were wary of the slope. Their eyes passed right over her hiding place, but they gave no sign they had seen her.
Hadde glanced to Calen and gave him a nod. It was time. The rider closest to her started up the slope. He was a young man with a serious, intent face. Hadde drew, took aim, and let fly.
Gone were the days of doubt. His life meant nothing to her.
The arrow struck him in the left shoulder, close to his chest. His face writhed in agony. Wounded, but not a deadly wound.
He was out of the fight. Hadde turned her attention to the soldier to her right. At first she couldn’t see him. She pressed forward a little and spotted him—his crossbow raised and aimed at her.
She yanked herself back as the bolt sank itself into the tree. A few heartbeats of safety as he spanned his crossbow. She glanced left as she nocked her next arrow. The horse in front of Calen was down, an arrow in its chest.
The rider had rolled clear, but had injured himself. From the corner of her eye saw Calen loose another arrow.
The Idorian nearest Hadde shouted out a warning. Someone in the column sounded a horn.
Hadde sprang forward and drew her bow. The crossbowman had dismounted and taken shelter behind a tree. She saw him working the lever on his crossbow, but she had no shot.
She twisted left to see what had become of the fourth scout. He was eighty strides off, also spanning his crossbow. He had also dismounted and taken shelter behind a tree, but he had sheltered himself from Calen, not Hadde. She let fly, but didn’t wait to see what had become of her arrow. She jumped back behind cover and nocked another arrow.
“Run, Hadde!” Calen shouted as he dashed up the slope.
“Wait! Not yet!” The next group of Idorians had also dismounted, most of them at least. They ran forward in a loose line abreast, their crossbows ready. The rider she had wounded rode hard for the column. She loosed an arrow at one of his dismounted companions.
“They’ve dismounted. Stay and fight!” she called to Calen as he disappeared over the crest. As quickly as she dared, she ran fifteen strides along the ridge and took cover behind a large tree. She ducked back as a bolt whipped past her head.
Hadde took aim and loosed an arrow at the same man, striking him in the stomach. He reeled and fell to the ground, but before she could draw another arrow he had scrambled back behind a tree. She didn’t know if her arrow had even penetrated his armor.