by Mark Eller
* * * *
“You’re my gal and I told you true,
that I thought you nosy.
You picked an ax from off the ground,
and cut off my toesies.
Well, my love, you know it’s true,
My breaking heart belongs to you,
but my darling can’t you see,
that you’re too rough for me.
Yes, you’re too rough for me.”
“You’re not all that good at this,” Ludwig hazarded.
“True,” Harlo agreed. “Never could sing worth a lick.”
“I wasn’t talking about your singing. I would have more confidence if you treated this seriously.”
Harlo grinned. “Been in the same position more than a dozen times. I’ve reached the point where I make plans and then wait to see what happens.”
“Only problem is if your plan fails, we could all wind up dead.”
“Wouldn’t be fun if it was predictable,” Harlo responded. “However, if you really want my plan to work, I suggest you keep your attention on your job and not on my singing.”
Grunting, Ludwig looked away from his friend and peered through the covering trees.
The track they had traveled along was a thin animal trail leading up a mountain slope, littered with boulders, jutting trees, and arvid dung. If the thing owned a straight line, it had done a good job of staying hidden after they took its left hand fork and followed it until Harlo found a reasonable spot for an ambush. From his position high up on the slope, Ludwig could see nothing but twists and jagged turns along most of the trail’s length, but just past the fork almost thirty men climbed the start of the path. One kept far in front of the others. Califrey? Most likely. There would be other scouts out, too, but they were well hidden.
“Plan might work better if you shut up,” Ludwig muttered just loud enough for Harlo to hear.
“It doesn’t matter if they hear me,” Harlo responded. “Nedross has promised us success.”
“Now I am worried.”
The hunters grew closer, though they were still distant. The scout, it was Califrey, looked up, but his eyes focused nowhere near them. He was close enough Ludwig could feel the fringes of the man’s magic, and this meant if Califrey came any nearer he would know where they were, giving him warning enough to prepare his defenses.
Ludwig sighed. “Here goes.”
With a gut deep feeling of regret, he pulled on the thong tied around his neck. The thought of all those rugdles didn’t seem quite so appealing with the fight near. Tirelle, a dark amulet shaped like a naked fat woman, rose to meet his fingers. Shrugging because the decision had been made and there was no backing out now, Ludwig broke the thong and popped the amulet into his open mouth.
When his saliva covered her, merged into her, Tirelle’s essence came to life. Far below, Califrey’s head instantly twisted to focus on their position. His hand rose, pointing.
Ludwig froze. He tried to move a hand and failed. He lifted an arm, but the arm would not lift. The only part of him he could shift was his head.
“You might want to do something about this,” Harlo calmly observed, but it was obvious he, too, was frozen in place.
“I’m trying,” Ludwig muttered past the amulet in his mouth. Fortunately, his eyes and jaws and neck still worked. Eyes narrowing, he focused all his attention on Califrey. Grimacing, he concentrated for a moment before sending every erg of his amulet’s power straight at the man, smiling when Califrey staggered and hunched. The smile faded when the magician straightened. Watching with disbelief, Ludwig’s jaw dropped open, almost causing him to lose the amulet. At a time when the man should have been chittering with fear, when he should have been running pell-mell down the trail, he straightened.
“Uh-oh,” Harlo muttered just loud enough to break Ludwig’s concentration. “I suggest you try harder.”
“Shut up!”
Ludwig tried again. Clamping his mouth shut, he narrowed his eyes once more, focused his concentration, and, desperate, bit down on Tirelle. Hard.
She screamed. When her thin voice resonated through his skull, he wanted to release his own scream but doing so would only have once again risked him dropping the amulet. Teeth clamped tight in aural pain he inadvertently parted his lips, allowing her scream to fall down the hillside. Tiny hands scrambled around the inside of his mouth. Fingernails tore at his gums and small teeth bit into his cheek. Knowing his precious life was at risk, Ludwig accepted the punishment and bit down harder, tasting metallic blood trickling down his throat.
Ludwig ground his teeth deep into the wood.
Tirelle screamed louder.
“Good lad,” Harlo called from behind Ludwig’s shoulder. “You’re getting to him.”
The scream tumbled down the hillside, pushing torn grass and debris before it. Califrey’s figure staggered again and fell beneath the heavy weight of the amulet’s pain. Ludwig’s paralysis instantly left his limbs when Califrey’s attention wavered. Straightening, Ludwig pushed his face resolutely forward and pursed his lips so the scream’s effect was narrowed. Califrey started to rise, fell again, and then— slowly— he stood. Like a fakir climbing a rope, he pulled himself from the ground in a series of jerky movements which left him clinging desperately to a tree. Focusing on Ludwig, Califrey struck.
Pain like he had never known surged through Ludwig. Falling to his knees, he gasped, coughed, and Tirelle was suddenly lying on the ground before him. Despairing, Ludwig bowed his head and fought death while Califrey’s attack continued unabated. Sweat poured from his face. His heart stuttered, faltered. The amulet’s glittering eyes watched him with satisfaction.
“See how you like it!” her tinny voice cried out.
“Save me, Nedross,” Harlo gasped. “My firstborn son’s life to you, I swear.”
The pain coursing through Ludwig flickered, surged, and stopped. Ludwig straightened, his face damp, feeling nothing but whole. Feeling normal.
“Gods,” Ludwig muttered. “Nedross is real?”
“I always thought so,” Harlo said shakily, moving to stand beside Ludwig. “Then again.” He gestured with his hand. Looking down toward Califrey, Ludwig saw the man’s body lying loosely on the trail. “All I wanted was for you to distract him. They did the rest.”
A pair of drovers, bows in hand, were clambering up the slope. Further back, the brigands ran toward them.
“It’s just as well they did the job,” Harlo added, “for I’ve no idea which whore’s belly I planted my firstborn son in.”
His eyes grew suddenly huge. Gasping, Harlo jerked his sword free and shoved Ludwig to the side. A whisper of steel hissed above Ludwig’s head.
Ludwig struck the ground, rolled, and was up again, seeing a cloaked figure thrust at Harlo. Frozen, Ludwig watched, stunned by the suddenness of the attack. The man Harlo fought moved like a master swordsman. His blade flickered so quickly it seemed a flash of silver light. It struck once, paused, struck again, and blood ran down Harlo’s left arm. Calling on Nedross, Harlo stumbled back, and then renewed his attack.
“Could use some help here,” Harlo panted just before another wound appeared on his body. The strike had been so quick Ludwig did not even see it.
Face wet slick with fear, Ludwig pulled his own blade and made a clumsy lunge. The cloaked man dodged, but his dodge put him at a disadvantage. Harlo’s blade slid smoothly into the man’s chest and out his back.
Without a gasp, without a curse, the cloaked man fell, taking Harlo’s sword with him. Harlo leaned down, grasped the sword’s hilt, and pulled his blade free with a quick jerk. When he stepped back, sunlight captured Garland’s features, and Ludwig blinked with astonishment at seeing the caravan master there.
The two archers scrambled over the top of the slope, Jorge and Charle
“Time to play decoy,” Jorge panted, “and we better get a move on. There’s a lot more of them back there than there are of us here.”
Harlo placed his hand
on Ludwig’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”
