by A Clarkson
Magnus held his hands up in concession, not even trying to hide his grin. Ira did her best to ignore him.
“Do you have more of that ointment?” She would accept that her leg was hurting, and that cream had been pretty amazing at soothing the pain.
“For a price,” he responded, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Ira paused in rolling up her trouser leg, looked up at Magnus, then started rolling her trousers back down again.
Magnus laughed and slipped a hand into his pocket to retrieve a small tub.
“I just want to know how you injured it,” he explained, offering the tub in a peace offering.
“I hurt it at work,” Ira mumbled quickly.
Magnus raised a brow at her, clearly expecting more of an explanation.
She growled to herself and admitted, “A slug ran me over.”
He was silent a moment, brows slightly furrowed as though not quite following.
“Why didn’t you just move your leg out of it’s way?”
Ira looked at him in exasperation. “Well obviously I should have done that! I didn’t expect it to keep going!” She looked skyward, praying for patience. “They don’t like moving over things usually. Their underbellies are very sensitive, so normally they won’t move over any obstacles. So I thought when it came up to my leg it would -- you know - move around? Or something.” Ira closed her eyes and sighed. “Definitely not one of my brighter plans.”
“And when it didn’t move out of the way?”
“I just kept expecting it to stop.” She reached to explain, “But it just kept coming and coming, and then it was just on me! And those things are huge! And so heavy.” She glanced down at her leg despondently.
A pained noise came from Magnus and Ira looked up to see him trying valiantly to smother his laugh.
“Agh, go on.” She waved a hand at him, “it is hilarious.”
As if she opened the floodgates, laughter exploded out of Magnus.
It was a joyous sound, and Ira couldn’t find it in herself to be irritated at his mirth in the face of such merriment.
After rubbing more of the soothing ointment onto her skin, Magnus pushed the tub into her hands and told her to keep it for later.
The pain eased almost instantaneously, and Ira wondered if it really was a magical cream. Not only did it lessen the pain, but Ira knew that the injury was healing faster than should have been possible. She had been moving and riding on that leg as though the injury was several weeks old, when it happened only a few days ago.
Chapter 14
The Ambush
A small blond woman with severe horn rimmed spectacles stood bathed in green light before a large window, her hands clamped in fists as she silently sobbed.
“How could you do this?” she asked softly. “How could you leave me with this?”
Turning away from the window, she looked beseechingly at a small plant with delicate purple petals and choked on a sob, bringing her hand up to clamp a chain around her neck. In a sudden flash of anger she swiped the plant from the table, bringing it crashing to the floor, as she demanded, “How could you come back into my life only to be taken again like this?”
As though horrified at the unexpected violence, the woman dropped to her knees and tried frantically to gather the fragmented pieces of the small ceramic pot. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she muttered desperately as she scooped the scattered sand and purple petals into a pile around the slightly crushed flower.
Sitting back on her ankles, the woman gazed upon the bruised plant, pain and sorrow written across every feature. As though coming to a decision, her posture straightened, and a look of determination crossed her features as she said, “I will do what you asked John, but I can’t let him get away with what he has done. He needs to pay.”
Ira awoke with a gasp. God she hated these dreams! Maureen’s pain felt so real it was suffocating. The agony of loss had been like a vice around Ira’s heart as she felt Maureen’s grief over losing John. Clearly seeing Gary’s distress at learning of Maureen’s death yesterday affected Ira more than she realised.
Maybe if Ira gave herself a minute to feel her own grief her brain wouldn’t be forcing her to feel the pain of others, she mused.
As she lay in her small cot in Margie the gardener’s adobe, Ira felt the dream already slipping from her mind. These dreams were so vivid, so visceral, dragging Ira through a torrent of emotions that weren’t her own, before spitting her back out like a piece of chewed tobacco. It was jarring.
More frustrating was that they always vanished the moment she awoke. Slipping from her mind as though they never happened. It had been like that her whole life whenever she experienced these strange dreams. She would awake as a child distressed from whatever she had just seen, just experienced. And when Bill would ask her what she dreamed, she could never recite a single detail, it would have vanished from her mind. The only exception was the recurring dream of the men fleeing in the woods. That one she experienced so many times her brain was now unable to forget it.
Rolling over, Ira prayed to the gods of sleep for a few more hours of rest free from confusing nightmares.
***
They left the compound early the next morning.
Chelsea decided to spend a few more days with the compound’s residents.
“I’m not sure when I’ll see them again,” the usually jovial woman admitted in a sad voice to Ira when she came to see them off. “When this place is sold, who knows where they will go. I want to get as much time with them as I can.”
Chelsea looked out into the desert beyond the gates with a sad smile. “You know I was here only days before it happened?” she asked Ira. “I feel so lucky to have had that time with him in the end. It made me realise that I shouldn’t put off spending time with people I care about. Who knows how long until they leave us?”
Ira understood that feeling all too well. The regrets she had over missed opportunities with Clarisse and Bill were too numerous to count.
“My friend is hosting a meeting next week to talk about the de-privatization of the fields.” Ira said, giving Chelsea a quick hug. “Public opinion may be shifting again, I think people are getting sick of waiting for the Guild to do something about the slugs. You should come.” Ira had quickly grown to like Chelsea even if she couldn’t help but envy the easygoing confidence that seeped into the woman’s every interaction.
“I’ll think about it. But I’m not sure if I can start that fight again,” Chelsea admitted.
From what Chelsea said, she started that campaign years before it came into the public eye. Ira couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have years of work disappear down the drain in only a week, when the end was so near in sight.
Accepting Magnus’ offer of a hand up onto Sophie - Ira’s leg was still healing after all - she waved to the other woman. “Well, if you change your mind, it’ll be at Flor’s. I know you would be very welcome.”
Waving in thanks, Chelsea flicked her eyes in Magnus’ direction before wiggling her eyebrows at Ira suggestively.
Laughing at the woman’s antics, Ira moved to follow the convoy out of the open compound gates, stopping briefly at the flash of purple running up the wall.
“What plant is that?” Ira asked softly, wasn’t it in her dream last night? The memory was already so hazy, but Ira felt certain it was the same delicate flower Maureen tried so desperately to save.
Glancing where Ira indicated, Chelsea smiled sadly, “That’s a sand verbena. It was John’s favourite.”
They rode hard all morning. Magnus’ men fell into a relaxed silence born of years of travelling together. Ira was envious of their comradery. She disliked many elements of her job, but perhaps the worst was the solitude. Field guards tended to be competitive loners who worked poorly in teams, and Ira found herself longing for the easy friendship these men shared.
The sun was at its peak when Magnus called for a break under a small copse of trees that would offer the
illusion of shelter from the blistering heat. They were only a few more hours' ride from Drisden, and the small town in the distance would be the last community between here and the port city.
Ira longed for the humid stench of the rybrum fields and the cool shade it promised as the sun beat down on them. She wasn’t much of a rider, preferring to get around Valverna on foot or rickshaw where possible, and two days in the saddle combined with the heat made her distracted and tired.
Years spent dodging predators while hunting in the woods had her instincts suddenly tingling and Ira had the intense sensation that someone was watching her. Without thought she moved a step to the right just as an arrow whistled by, embedding itself into the pack strapped to Sophie's side, inches from Ira's head.
The horse screamed at the impact, kicking her legs and throwing Ira to the ground just as another arrow sailed past, burning a line along Ira's arm and sinking into Sophie's flank.
Before she could think, Ira braced her arms over her head and rolled toward the trees. With Sophie taking off, Ira’s only cover was gone and she needed to make herself a smaller target. Sophie’s cry alerted Magnus and his men to the attack and they quickly fell into defensive positions.
“Two archers in the shed five hundred feet northwest," someone called just as Ira darted behind the small patch of trees out of the archer’s line of sight.
A blinding pain burst through her right shoulder and she released a pained yell, as Magnus shouted, “Get down! Another shooter firing from behind!”
A crossbow bolt was lodged deeply into her shoulder. The pain was agonizing.
Staying low, Ira pulled a knife from her belt and scanned for the crossbow shooter. She pivoted her legs behind her, trying to make herself a hard target. Four of Magnus’ men moved off to intercept a group of attackers that filed out of the shed. The remaining team squatted around her and Magnus, who had taken up a guard position almost directly on top of her.
"Get off me!" she hissed at him, trying to see around the men now blocking her.
“You’re hit. Stay down.” Magnus ordered in a growl.
She promptly ignored him, rolling to her knees as one of the men guarding her grunted and fell, a bolt sticking out of his shoulder.
Dammit, they needed to take out the crossbowman. They were sitting ducks out here. With the archers keeping them pinned behind the other horses, the bowman had clear shots at them.
She scanned the horizon, looking for a break in the hazy desert landscape. Ira knew he couldn’t be far. The archers were shooting longbows to keep the men occupied from a safe distance. The bowman had been set up as the sniper to take out anyone hiding in the trees. It was a classic distraction maneuver that Ira used many times with Bill while hunting.
A slight movement caught her eye. A head of sandy blond hair was almost invisible amongst a patch of dry grass where the crossbowman lay hidden, on his belly, just over one hundred feet from her. He was so well camouflaged Ira only saw him as he shifted to reload the bow. Got you.
Aiming her knife, she threw. It was a long shot for a blade, but Lucien trained her well and her aim was true, the knife sinking into her target’s face.
She scanned the horizon once more, searching for signs of any other attackers hiding in the grasses, but when no other shots were fired, she turned back to where the battle continued. There were an additional six swordsmen and the two archers, one of whom had been taken out by Rhys as he returned fire from his horse where he rode toward the melee. At this distance Ira’s knives were no good, and even her bow would be little help, they were too far away.
She needn’t have worried, Magnus’ men made quick work of the assailants, using the bodies of their enemies as shields against any further arrows as Rhys finished off the final archer.
“Who were they?” Ira asked Magnus as he moved to look at her shoulder. She was still agitated, the high of the fight still pounding through her system, as she continued to scan the horizon for threats.
“You tell me, they were aiming at you,” Magnus said in his usual calm quiet voice. He was always so cool and collected. Ira felt downright jittery in comparison.
She glanced at him as his words struck her. Sure enough, she had taken the most damage, and certainly been the target of both the archers and the bowman. Magnus’ men had only been hit as collateral damage.
Heart pounding, Ira moved to skirt around Magnus toward the men who attacked her, but found herself quickly blocked as Magnus placed himself firmly in front of her.
“I need to remove the bolt,” he said firmly in his calm voice while he held her gaze.
“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt,” she said, dismissing him. Who were these men? Ira couldn’t see any identifiable clothing. They were dressed simply in beige coloured trousers and shirts, and were all of mixed heritage.
“That’s because adrenaline is still flooding your system. I need you to sit down Ira,” Magnus continued calmly, not letting her pass.
Despite Magnus’ efforts to draw her attention away from the attackers, Ira’s mind was racing with questions.
Why would anyone want to attack her? Why would they do it here? Was it an ambush? Of course it was an ambush.
Why would they ambush her? How did they know where she was? Had someone told them she was passing this way or was it a freak attack?
Did they think she was someone else?
That was it, they must have thought she was someone else. Some wealthy woman travelling with an armed guard who they wanted to kill for some reason Ira didn’t know or care about.
Mentally nodding to herself, yes that made sense. She couldn’t have been the intended target. She - OUCH!
SONOFABITCHGODDAMNBASTARDDEVILSPAWN
Ira had become so thoroughly distracted that Magnus simply took it upon himself to remove the bolt, and was now holding the head in his hand.
“WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!”
“We need to move,” he barked. “We have just been ambushed in the middle of nowhere by a hired crew of mercenaries. We need to get back to the barge as quickly as possible to where the remainder of my men await. We need to find out what is going on, and who is responsible for this attack. Your horse is injured, as are you, and the remainder of the ride is hard and exposed and will be far more treacherous with the threat of archers waiting to ambush us. So you will sit down and let me get this bolt out of you!”
She had done it. She had made Magnus raise his voice. It was less husky than when he spoke in his usual quiet tone, as though the added volume smoothed the edges in his words, making him more polished and deadlier.
She sat.
***
Riding at a fast clip through the Blue Desert with an injured knee and a fresh shoulder wound was not an activity Ira would recommend.
Her body ached as the fatigue of injuries set in. Magnus was right, they needed to get out of the exposed desert.
The men quickly searched the attackers and found little more than a few bags of gold and supplies. Whoever planned the attack sent those men out with nothing that could be traced back to them.
Ira released a breath of relief as they rode into the streets of Drisden. Magnus and his men didn’t let up, pounding down the road at top speed, giving the people milling about the streets no other options other than to get out of the way, pronto.
Ira followed, slightly more cautiously, calling out weak apologies behind, to those being barralled out of the way.
When they reached the barge the men moved like a well oiled machine, one man this way, another that, packs being taken and horses untacked in a seemingly chaotic frenzy that was actually highly coordinated. Ira was swept off her horse and ushered into the belly of the barge before she could argue.
She quickly tired of Lee fussing over her injuries and Magnus hovering nearby like some kind of glaring broody gargoyle, Ira glared at them both and barked, “Enough! Call off your mother hen.”
At Magnus’ nod, Lee scampered off to fuss over some other poor invalid
.
“Did you threaten him if he didnt fix me straight away?”
A sly grin crept across Magnus’ face, dislodging the broody beast, “Perhaps”
“I’m fine!” she grumbled in exasperation.
Magnus moved toward her and with gentle fingers began to remove the field dressing he hastily applied only hours before.
“Do you really think they were after me?” Ira asked in barely a whisper.
“No.” She looked at him in surprise as relief washed through her. “Rhys will be able to tell us for sure, but I think it was likely just bandits and we were caught at the wrong place at the wrong time.”
He continued to stare at her as his hands carefully applied ointment to the wound. They were inches apart, and Ira didn’t fight the urge to return his gaze, staring boldly into his hazel-eyes.
“I’m glad you’re ok.” He said softly as he finished wrapping fresh bandages over her shoulder. “This is the last time you go anywhere without Margo glued to your hip.”
The large man appeared in the doorway as if out of thin air, interrupting any arguments Ira would have made in return. Magnus broke their gaze and, seeming satisfied with her condition, moved toward his drink cabinet.
“Report.”
“We think they were highwaymen,” Rhys said simply to Ira’s surprise.
Although Rhys’ confirmation that the attack had been random was welcome, it still sat badly with Ira. Something about it felt wrong. For one thing, she had never seen such well trained thieves in her life. But she had never been out of the city before, so maybe the highway bandits were more skilled than those who worked in Valverna.
“We believe they saw an armed party travelling through the desert and thought to take advantage,” Rhys continued.
“Why were they going after Ira?” Magnus asked, turning to wave a glass of rye at Ira, an eyebrow raised in question.
“She is the odd one out in our party. We think they targeted her assuming she was a client. I guess they hoped that if they took her out, we wouldn’t put up a fight to protect a dead woman’s gold.”