by Scott Moore
“We can turn around and hope that Seline is better suited for our needs,” Malik said.
They had wasted an entire night walking to Lake Bridge. Now they would spend most of the morning backtracking in hopes another town would offer them more. If Malik had just listened to Abrie, this would have all been different. Instead, Malik had ignored Abrie’s demand to go west, bringing them right into the makeshift camp of mercenaries.
“Stop,” yelled a voice from somewhere behind Malik.
Malik turned to see two outpost guards running toward them. Both men were in full armor as if they expected a war to break out at any moment.
“Where are you coming from?”
“We took a wrong turn is all,” Malik lied. “We are looking for the town of Seline.”
The guard nodded his head. “Seems you should have gone west when you went east.”
“I see, I appreciate your help.” Malik turned away from the guard, but the other guard spoke up before Malik could start down the path.
“What happened to your old friend?”
Malik’s shoulders slumped out of instinct. That voice sounded like trouble.
“Fell down a hillside.”
“Lots of hills coming from Opallum?”
Malik nodded before thinking about what the guard had said.
“So, you are coming from the Queen’s court?” The guard pounced on the mental error.
“No, we are King Bently’s men.”
“Yet, you turn away from the pathway toward the city?”
“We are bards. We are looking for a place to rest our heads and fill our bellies.”
It was the truth. Abrie always said that the best lies were the truth in disguise. Malik remembered a few lessons from Abrie, even if the old man thought he never listened.
“Bards would have a great story to tell in the courtyards.”
Malik supposed he was right. Any bard with ambition of being a legend would head toward the city walls. Malik wanted nothing to do with bard glory. His mind still itched to head toward the castle of Bently. If he made it there, the chances were small, he would have a shot at getting revenge for his village.
“We have no interest in glory.”.
“I am not so sure I can believe you.”
The guard moved around toward Mollie, placing his hand on the hilt of her sword.
“This sword is much too big for a lady like you.” He made to pull the sword from the sheath on Mollie’s back.
Mollie didn’t move at first but when the man had the sword halfway from its holding place, Mollie stepped on his foot before kicking at his knee.
The man stumbled backward, falling onto his rear.
“That was a dumb move!” The first guard pulled his sword free from his hip.
The other man stood, pulling his own short sword. “Now you will see what a real warrior can do with a sword.”
Everything happened fast after that. Mollie backed away from the guards. She didn’t reach for her sword. Malik ran to Sally who held the small amount of luggage they had left. Malik pulled open his small lyre case. There sat his small unstrung bow. He pulled it out from the case, slipping the string through the bottom clasp.
He wasn’t as fast as Abrie. Abrie also shot better, but Malik would try his best to save Mollie. Malik grabbed an arrow, aimed, let out his breath, shooting toward the first guard. His arrow missed by four feet. Malik had hit a small squirrel in the dark but here in the morning light, he missed by a mile.
It was because he was nervous. Killing a man differed from killing an animal and he knew that. Mollie had been right. They had ambitions to kill the Tempre, but it seemed as if neither of them had the hunger to take human life.
Malik nocked another arrow. This time he did not aim at the back of the guard. He instead aimed for the knee of the closest one. He drew back, visualized his target, saw the arrow’s path, and then let go. This time the arrow went true. It didn’t hit the man’s knee but drove into the back of his thigh. The man yelled out in pain, making his partner jump in surprise.
When the second guard looked to see what had caused the panic, Mollie jumped forward, striking him with her fist. The guard stumbled backward for a second time, falling again.
“Stay there this time,” Mollie said.
Malik grabbed the reins of the mules. They would need to make a beeline out of this place.
“Let’s go!”
Mollie jogged to catch them.
“We have to get out of here before others arrive,” Malik said to her.
He knew that if others arrived, they would not get lucky a second time. They would need to be a long distance away before those two made it back to camp, alerting all the other mercenaries.
He didn’t know if that would be possible with Abrie hobbled and him not having any idea where to hide.
“Do you have any ideas?” he asked Mollie.
“We just need to get moving.”
Malik couldn’t think of anything better, so he started down the path. They could leave the path, he thought. Then again, how lost would they become without the path to follow into another village? Even if they reached that village would the mercenaries stop if they wanted them? A local lawman wouldn’t stop an entire mercenary unit. Malik tried not to let panic drown him. He just needed to keep his focus. If he kept putting one foot in front of the other, then maybe they could get far enough away that the mercenaries would tire of chasing them.
After all, they were not worth the hassle. They had no supplies to steal. They had no coin to rob. There was nothing special about them. He hoped that the two guards had been guards for a reason, that no one thought them capable of doing much else. Maybe they were friendless in the camp. Maybe they would get ridiculed for losing to two young children.
Malik found hope. They wouldn’t be pursued. He let that fuel him onward. They were going to get away. In Seline they would find a doctor for Abrie and food. Then they would continue.
That was the way Malik saw it play out in his head.
Abrie stirred when Callie became spooked, lifting her front legs into the air. When Abrie came to, he grabbed Callie’s fur to keep from spilling into the dirt. Malik turned to see what had spooked her. There, on a massive horse was the ugliest man Malik had ever seen.
With all his scars, the man looked less like a human and more like a beaten piece of leather. His lips were almost nonexistent, and chunks had been gouged from his face. His eyes roved over the group, stopping on Abrie. When Abrie turned his face drained of all color, his jaw hanging open as if he had just seen a ghost.
The gnarled hand of the stranger came up pointing at Abrie. “Old friend, we have been looking for you for quite some time.”
Malik found it interesting that the man could talk with so much damage to his mouth. Malik also found it odd that Abrie had not only one friend, but two.
“Who are you?” Malik asked.
He hoped that this beat up man was just as helpful as Guinn but something about him made Malik doubt that.
“You have collected a boy?”
Abrie struggled to reply. Malik wondered if his leg zapped all his energy from him but figured it was more that Abrie looked fear struck.
“You forgot to answer my question,” Malik said.
Malik tried to draw the man’s ire from Abrie. Maybe Abrie had enough left in him to get to his lyre case. Malik couldn’t count on Mollie to help them out of this situation.
“Do you teach all your pets to talk?”
Abrie held up his hand before Malik could reply again.
“What are you doing here?”
The man laughed. “Do you not find joy in seeing me again? We were once like brothers you and I.”
Abrie swallowed the lump of fear that Malik could see in his throat.
“Once I was a lot of things that I am no longer.”
“You have hidden from us for quite some time. I can’t say that I am mad at you for it. Matter of fact, I am impressed that you
managed it.” The man’s tongue darted twice from his mouth like a serpent. “When we get back home, maybe you can tell us all about how you managed it.”
“I do not plan to go anywhere with you, Sweet Tongue.”
Malik’s heart dropped into his stomach. He felt like he could almost faint from the name. It wasn’t just the name that hit him; it was what the name associated with. Malik didn’t know the man sitting on the massive war horse, but he knew who he worked with. The Tempre Warriors, the men who had killed his family.
Malik looked over to Mollie who had drawn her sword. Either Sweet Tongue didn’t notice Mollie, or he didn’t care. Either way, he continued to focus on Abrie.
“Well, plans have a way of not always going our way.”
Abrie slid down from Callie’s back, but Malik could see him favoring the hurt leg. Abrie leaned against Callie to keep from falling.
“Injured, are we?”
Abrie let go of the mule, stepping forward.
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“You always were a brash man.”
Malik had never considered Abrie brash. Malik couldn’t recall a time that Abrie had ever become angry or even upset. Abrie had always been the greatest example of peace and tranquility.
“I am no longer the man you used to know.”
Malik wondered how Abrie knew Sweet Tongue. How Abrie knew a member of the Tempre Warriors? A group that Abrie had always steered Malik away from; how much did Abrie know about them?
How much information had the old bard gathered for his stories? Had they threatened him to stop him telling his tales? Is that why Sweet Tongue had known about Abrie?
“How about we just pretend we never saw each other?” Malik chimed in again.
He doubted that the statement would work, but if Sweet Tongue looked away from Abrie, maybe he could find a last ounce of energy to retrieve his bow from Sally. Sweet Tongue didn’t turn from Abrie. The man wouldn’t be fooled by such an underhand tactic.
“Tell your pet to be quiet. Maybe I will let them live if you can get them to shut up.”
Abrie held his hand up again. “Malik get out of here.”
“Yes, run away now children,” Sweet Tongue urged. “I have no need to drag you all along. I have enough to worry about without the added baggage. You leave the storyteller here and you can mosey on down the road. I hear that Seline has amazing views this time of year.”
Malik wouldn’t go anywhere. He wouldn’t leave Abrie. Malik glanced over to Mollie who hadn’t moved to take Sweet Tongue up on his offer either.
“I think we will stay here and take our chances.”
“Malik and Mollie, take the mules and head toward the next town.”
Malik felt like Abrie stabbed him in the gut with the urging. Why did he want them to abandon him? Sweet Tongue was a member of the Tempre Warriors, but he was only one man and they were three.
“We can do this together,” Malik replied.
Abrie shook his head. “No, we cannot.”
Malik could hear the defeat in Abrie’s voice. Malik looked at Sweet Tongue again. The man was ugly, scarred, and lined with muscle. However, he was not large.
“Why are you urging us to run?”
Sweet tongue slid off his mount. On his feet, Sweet Tongue was no taller than Malik. He looked no stronger than any other soldier Malik had seen before. Somehow though, Malik knew that he wasn’t like any other man. Something about the way he moved showed confidence of an experienced killer. He was not invincible, however. When he stretched out his legs Malik could see one of them wasn’t his. Sweet Tongue wore a metal brace over what used to be his calf muscle. Now it was nothing more than a metal hinge. The hinge moved down into a well-crafted metal foot.
“He looks like he has taken a few licks before.”
Sweet tongue shook his leg. “This old thing?” He tapped the metal leg with his knuckles. “This is courtesy of an old friend, right Abrie?”
Abrie didn’t reply to Sweet Tongue. “Go!” The word was raspy and forced, like Abrie’s throat swelled shut.
Malik didn’t move. The plan hadn’t changed, he couldn’t leave Abrie. He had already failed one family.
“It is a fair fight now,” Sweet Tongue said, looking down at his metal leg. “You are hobbled, I am hobbled, I am paying attention this time.” He looked up. “I will have fun with this, you not so much, Abrie.” Sweet Tongue licked his lips. His eyes bore into Abrie with a hatred Malik hadn’t seen from many people.
Malik looked to Mollie. She had not grabbed her sword or made to run.
“I am happy your toys have stayed. I will take you prisoner, Abrie. There is much we need to discuss. However, your toys are of no interest to anyone else in the world. I can carve them up. Feed them to my horse. I will even let you watch.” Sweet Tongue circled Abrie. His sword had appeared in his hand. Malik hadn’t even seen him grab it.
Abrie had no weapon. His bow still lay strapped on Sally. Malik still held his own from the altercation with the guards.
“I see there is no talking my way out of this then,” Abrie said.
Sweet tongue shook his head. “They call me Sweet Tongue, but I was never as honeyed with words as you, now was I?”
Abrie didn’t answer. “I guess it comes to this then.” Abrie lunged off his good leg catching Sweet Tongue off guard. The two rolled on the ground one over the other. Abrie landed on top of Sweet Tongue when they stopped.
Malik felt his heart jump. Abrie would win this fight. Hobbled leg and all, he would kill a Tempre Warrior. Malik felt elated. This would be the revenge he had always wanted. He had no way of knowing if Sweet Tongue had been there during his village’s attack, but it was of little consequence.
Abrie drew back his fist, trying to drive it into the face of Sweet Tongue. Malik felt the elation sour when Sweet Tongue rolled, causing Abrie’s fist to slam into the ground. Sweet Tongue arched his hips to buck Abrie from him, but Abrie stayed on. Sweet Tongue had come with another plan. His left hand reached into his pocket pulling out a small knife. Malik saw it as if Sweet Tongue moved in slow motion. Malik saw the gleam of the sun’s rays as they bounced off the blade’s surface.
“Watch out!” Malik yelled too late.
While he saw things in slow motion, they happened fast. The knife was out of Sweet Tongue’s pocket and into the ribs of Abrie in less than the blink of an eye. Abrie grunted, falling to his side. Sweet Tongue shifted above Abrie, looking down at his ailing opponent.
“That won’t kill you,” Sweet Tongue said. “The same cannot be said of your pets.”
Sweet Tongue stood. His eyes lingered for a long time on Abrie, as if expecting him to stand. Abrie didn’t stand though. So much of his blood came from the wound that Malik doubted that he would survive.
Sweet Tongue turned to Mollie. “You are far too pretty for such an old man.”
Sweet Tongue moved like a lazy breeze. Mollie didn’t move. Malik raised his hand before he knew what he did. He drew back the bow. This time he wasn’t nervous. This time he wanted nothing more than to drive the arrow through Sweet Tongue’s throat. He envisioned it. Saw Sweet Tongue falling to the ground, writhing in agony. He imagined standing over his dying body, willing Sweet Tongue to remember his face. To remember the night that he had destroyed Malik’s home.
Malik let go of the arrow. It flew right into Sweet Tongue’s shoulder. Sweet Tongue let out a grimace, reaching up with his free hand. “That never stops hurting.” His hand came free of the shaft covered in deep red blood. “It is always such a downer to see your own life spilling from you.” The words were casual as if Sweet Tongue talked about the weather.
Sweet Tongue reached up a second time, pulling the arrow free from his body. No wince or cry of pain. No emotion at all. “I guess I should have known to start with you, boy,” Sweet Tongue jeered. “Always start with the mouthy ones.”
Sweet Tongue took a step forward ready to lunge for Malik. Malik tensed. A second arrow, not one of M
alik’s just missed Sweet Tongue’s head. Sweet Tongue stopped, looking back toward where he had left Abrie. Abrie was still there, not moving, dead or dying. Sweet Tongue looked farther into the clearing.
Malik looked too. There were three riders on small mounts, all of them held wooden bows that were much larger than the one Malik carried, or even the one Abrie had hidden away in his lyre case.
“You three have to be the luckiest people on Earth,” Sweet Tongue laughed. He didn’t sound happy. He backed away from Malik until he reached his horse. Sweet Tongue pulled himself into the saddle. “You will see me soon.”
Malik knew it was not a threat. Sweet Tongue wasn’t a man who made empty threats. This statement had been a promise. Malik would see Sweet Tongue again; very soon. Malik just hoped it was enough time to get Abrie to a doctor.
Sweet Tongue clicked his heel into his mount’s side, riding off toward Lake Bridge and the mercenaries. He would bring others with him now that he knew Abrie was near.
Malik ran to Abrie, forgetting for a moment that there were three riders behind him. Abrie wasn’t conscious. His body had lost a lot of blood and continued to do so with every beat of his heart. Malik doubted that he would make it another hour without medical help. He also doubted that there was any real medical service out this far.
“Mollie, we have to get him back up onto Callie.”
Mollie didn’t answer, but another voice did. “We can help you.”
Malik looked up to the men atop the horses.
“Who are you?”
“You take our help or your friend dies. You can ask your questions at another time.”
What choice did he have? Sweet Tongue had left him with no options.
“Fine, what is it you would have me do?”
The three men hopped down from their horses. Together they hoisted the limp body of Abrie.
“You two take him, I will follow with the others.” Malik figured the stocky man to be the leader of the group.
The others didn’t question, they urged their mounts, holding the reins of the third horse they made off toward the trees.
Malik hoped he had not made a grave mistake. Not that it would matter. Without the help Abrie would die anyhow.
