by Guy Antibes
That kind of fun made Trevor angry. He would have shot the men who held Brother Yvan up, but he didn’t have a bow and arrows.
“I suppose all we have to offer are your lives. Do you all want to die, even the pair of you that remain in the cabin?” Boxster said.
“We will kill him if you attack.”
“You are going to kill him anyway. Why would you keep a middle-aged man hostage if there is no one to pay a ransom? We certainly don’t have much money,” Boxster said.
“Five against three? I am sure you can count on your fingers well enough to know we outnumber you.”
“Talk, talk, talk. You probably don’t know that two of us won the last tournament in Tarviston. That was the competition with swords and the contest with lances. Against five amateurs?” Boxster shook his head.
The brigand looked a little less sure of himself.
“Besides, we are mounted, and you are on the ground. Don’t you think we have an advantage? I will give you my final offer. Let Fenton go or pay for it with your lives. If you kill him, we will kill you. It’s your choice,” Boxster said as he slowly drew his sword. Trevor and Win followed.
“I will count to ten,” Boxster said. “One, two, three.”
He charged the pair holding Yvan while Boxster cut down the leader. Win was at the door when the other two ran out. The fight was over quickly. Win helped Brother Yvan to his feet. It looked like he was uninjured, or at least as uninjured as any of them.
“You said you’d count to ten,” Win said.
“Oh,” Boxster said. “Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. I didn’t say anything about waiting that long.”
Boxster had spoken the absolute truth, but the confusion couldn’t have hurt their efforts to defeat the brigands. They pulled the bodies around the cabin and looked around.
Bundles of weapons were stacked in a corner. There must have been a hundred swords. They were all old and in need of repair, but Trevor found a blade shaped like the Jarkan sword he had left behind after escaping from the queen. It was made in the same style, and it had the same superb balance. It could have come out of the same forge, made by the same craftsman following the same pattern.
“I will take this,” Trevor said. The grip needed replacement, and the edge had lost the crispness of his old sword. The scabbard was old and shabby as well, but it could be restored in the future. It came with a sword belt that went over his shoulder like Boxster’s former sword.
He rummaged around and found a long knife that matched it. “These are old pieces,” Trevor said, “but they are wonderfully made.” The blades had oxidized enough to hide the mottled steel he was sure would be revealed during polishing.
Boxster found a long sword with a double-edged blade. It, too, had a strap that allowed him to wear it on his back. The sword might have been too long to wear at his waist. Win needed a little help with his selection and ended up with the sword Trevor had brought with him from Tarviston Castle.
“I’m good,” Brother Yvan said. “As long as I can keep the thing in front of me to fend off the enemy’s blows, I am satisfied.”
“But you were captured,” Win said.
“Captured, but not dead,” Yvan said.
There were a few armor bits, but nothing good enough to take with them. Trevor found a good bow, but the string had stretched too much. He could fix that, so he tied a few quivers of arrows on the packhorse and a single one on his when they left.
The brigands had split three tree trunks that they had dragged across the washed-out creek, making a bridge six feet wide. The four of them had found the path across the stream, and when they reached the trail, they found it was more trampled than the one heading toward the monastery on the other side of the creek.
“I’m leaving it to you to put healing salve on my bruises,” Brother Yvan said to Boxster as they rode through the woods.
The brigands had cleared the trail, enabling them to ride. Brother Yvan included them in a prayer to Dryden when they stopped for the night at a more modest meadow that sat at the bottom of a tiny valley. They rode into Bumblebee Ford the next day. It was a bit smaller than Trevor imagined. He guessed that was the case since it wasn’t on a direct trade route to Tarviston.
As they rode through the market in the town square, Trevor noted that a lot of the merchandise came from Viksar. He guessed that the Viksarans lost their chance to annex the place since they didn’t participate in Lilith’s takeover.
They returned to the inn and ate a hearty meal. It was different from the one the monks had served them and better than most country inn dinners.
“It’s too bad the robbers didn’t have more money,” Win said quietly. “We might have stayed in the fancier inn across the street.”
“This food is more than good enough for me,” Brother Yvan said.
“I agree,” Boxster said, “and as long as the sheets are clean, I can sleep on any bed, lumps or not.”
Trevor agreed with Boxster. He finished his meal and stepped outside to see what happened at night in Bumblebee Ford. Boxster joined him sitting on rocking chairs lined up on the inn’s porch.
“This is a nice night,” Boxster said in the dark, “and a nice place to be.”
“For most people that would work,” Trevor said. “I am still going to be a soldier of fortune. Do you want to stay here?”
Boxster snorted more than laughed. “I’d have to find a compatible woman, first. I doubt if I can settle down on my own.” He abruptly sat up.
From across the street came music that Trevor had heard only once in his life. The trio of Brachian troubadours, or another set of Brachians, played for patrons of the nicest inn in Bumblebee Ford.
Chapter Thirty-Three
~
“Y our Brachian friends are over there?” Trevor asked Boxster.
“Friends is not the term I would use. I’m not sure what to do.”
Trevor frowned. “You haven’t been unsure of yourself very many times since I have known you.”
“You haven’t known me long enough,” Boxster said. “I felt a bond when we first met them in Red Forest, but then came the assassination attempt.”
“Maybe Crookwell was after me, after all.”
Boxster frowned. “I’m not that unsure. Tork, the man who accompanied the two women, is surely being paid by Duke Worto, and I can’t fully trust a magician’s music.”
“Does that mean the others are fellow conspirators?” Trevor asked.
“I’m sure they are spies of one kind or another,” Boxster said.
The music stopped, and Mara, the young woman with the beautiful voice and the magic that made Brachian music so stunning, walked out of the inn, casually looking up and down the street, rubbing her arms to keep the chill off.
Trevor rose from his chair. “Don’t come with me. I’m going to spy on the spy.” He stepped off the porch and sauntered across the street just as Boxster withdrew into their inn.
“Your name is Mara, right?” Trevor asked.
“It is. What business do you have with me?”
That wasn’t the warmest of replies, Trevor thought. “I met you in Red Forest on the other side of Presidon.”
“You now have a beard. You were with the pri—” She cleared her throat. “The Brachian. How is he?”
Trevor frowned. He didn’t want to lie to such a pretty girl, but he did. “Dead. A bad business. It cost me my commission, and I’ve been wandering around ever since.”
“What brings you to Bumblebee Ford? It is a ridiculous name, isn’t it?” Mara seemed to loosen up a bit and giggled.
“My connections didn’t fare very well during the recent unpleasantness in Tarviston, so I’ve decided to seek my fortune in other countries. I might end up in Brachia before I’m all done.”
Mara looked a bit disappointed. “You will become a brigand?”
Trevor laughed. “No, not at all. I will become a soldier of fortune and help others achieve that which they can’t on thei
r own.”
She looked into the inn at her two companions, eating at a table by the window. “Sometimes I wish I could do something like that.”
“You have the wandering part down. A soldier of fortune never stays long in any place, or he ceases to become a soldier of fortune,” Trevor said. He thought he said something witty, and he hoped she would at least smile.
She pursed her lips, but it hid a grin. “That sounds like something you read in a book.”
Trevor thought for a moment. “I suppose I did.” They laughed together. “I could use a magician. You mentioned the magic that you use.”
“It wouldn’t be proper without a chaperone.”
Trevor scoured his memory and came up with the other woman’s name. “Hanna?”
“She will never leave Tork’s side. They were together long before I joined them.”
“In Brachia?”
Trevor could see Mara color a bit in the light from the inn’s window.
“We started from there. It has been a long trip, and now we are on our way back home, playing as we go. It will still be months before we return.”
“I have a Dryden cleric and my oldest friend with me, as well as another ex-soldier whom I trust,” Trevor said. “Could the priest be a chaperone?”
Mara gave him a sad smile. “I suppose that depends on the priest.”
“I suppose it does,” Trevor said. “Maybe we could talk about it.”
Mara looked deep into Trevor’s eyes. He had to admit that look stirred something inside him. She really was a pretty young woman, and he did need a magician.
“I would like that. We are giving our horses rest for another day before we head into Viksar. Could you meet me here tomorrow at two hours before noon?”
“Will your companions be with you?”
“Mara,” Hanna said, walking out onto the wooden sidewalk. “You need to have something to eat before our next performance.” The older woman looked more closely at Trevor in the dim light. “We have met before, but I don’t remember where. We visit so many places.”
“He saw us not long after we entered Presidon. He was a soldier.”
Mara looked Trevor up and down. “You aren’t dressed too badly. I suppose you aren’t one now?”
“King Henry…” Trevor said.
“Oh, you were a loyalist, not that it does you a snippet of good in the coming days. Are you going to Viksar?”
“We were thinking about it,” Trevor said.
“We? You are part of a group?”
“He travels with two friends and a Dryden priest.”
“Unusual, I am sure. Perhaps you can join us on the road for a bit. I’m sure Mara would like the company of a handsome young man.” Hanna looked at Mara. “A few more minutes and inside you go.” She turned around and left them standing in the dark.
“I don’t even know your name?”
“Bill. Bill Denton,” Trevor said. “We can still see each other tomorrow?”
“I’m even more certain, now that Hanna has seen you, but we will have to travel together for a week or two before I can make sure your group is one I can travel with. I’ll look forward to talking to you tomorrow. I have to go in.” She gave Trevor a tiny curtsey and left him standing on the sidewalk, wondering what he was going to do.
He walked back to their inn and turned back to see Mara standing at the window, watching him go through the door.
“You took your time coming back,” Boxster said.
Trevor shook his head. “Under other circumstances—”
“What? What happens if things were different?” Brother Yvan said, sitting in the small lobby with Trevor and Boxster.
“I might do what Boxster said he would…under other circumstances.”
“Which is?” Brother Yvan said.
“Settle down with the right woman.”
Yvan looked across the street. “With the spies?” He said quietly.
“Only one,” Trevor said.
“Is she the pretty one? Boxster gave us a thin collection of details,” Brother Yvan said.
“Mara,” Trevor said. “I’m not done getting to know her yet. We are to meet in front of her inn two hours before noon.”
“An assignation,” Brother Yvan said. He looked much more excited about the prospect than Boxster did.
“And what do you hope to accomplish?” Boxster asked.
“We need a magician…”
“Her? Someone who might have been in on the assassination attempt?” Boxster said.
“I told her you were dead at the hands of Crookwell and Crookwell had been killed before he could say anything.”
“If she swallows your story. Did you forget they know me by sight?”
Trevor shrugged. “They are heading in the same direction at the same time.”
“We can leave Bumblebee Ford right now,” Boxster said.
“Our horses need a rest as much as theirs do,” Trevor said. “Let me talk to her tomorrow and see if I can glean any more information.”
“And what did you ‘glean’ tonight?” Boxster said with an unpleasant edge to his voice.
“They are finished in Presidon and are going to Viksar the day after tomorrow. She said they were headed back to Brachia, but that doesn’t mean they will go there directly or do more spying as they go,” Trevor said. “She said it would be months before they reached their home.”
“I’m glad you aren’t thoroughly smitten,” Boxster said, his voice sounding a bit less hostile.
Trevor grinned. “Perhaps I’m this much smitten.” He held up his fingers, showing a tiny gap between forefinger and thumb.
~
Mara showed up at the appointed hour, as Trevor spotted her coming out of the inn from his vantage point in the rocking chair on the other side of the street. He stepped into the street and walked casually to the other side.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you,” Mara said.
“Too much of a risk traveling with strangers?”
She looked away from him. “It was your companion in Red Forest that worries us.”
“Does us mean you, or does us mean Hanna and Tork, if I remember his name correctly?”
Mara frowned. “You have a good memory. It is Tork if you must know. He is the leader of our group.”
“I’m disappointed,” Trevor said. “We can still travel together?”
“We are having a midday performance and are leaving this afternoon, I’m afraid. I did think about going with you,” she said, “but…”
Tork ruled the group, and after Trevor gave Mara his best wishes, he returned to the inn across the street, feeling like a scolded dog, walking away with his tail between his legs. Trevor had never been one to worry about rejection since he just went on toward something else. For some reason, the more he had thought about Mara, the more he thought he’d like her around as they bounced around doing good deeds.
“Utterly rejected,” Brother Yvan said. “I can see it in every move you make and in every sigh you take.” He chuckled at the rhyme.
“They have even moved their departure up from tomorrow morning to this afternoon,” Trevor said.
“It is just as well,” Boxster said. “There would have been an awkward adjustment period. She would be suspicious of us, and I would certainly be leery of her.”
“Not a match made by Dryden?” Trevor said.
Brother Yvan clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t be too hasty. She hasn’t left yet. Why don’t you take Win out for a stroll through the market? It looks like they have a good one here.”
“I need windings for my sword and my knife. I still don’t know how I’m going to fix the old scabbard.”
“It has the patina of years of service,” Boxster said.
Trevor nodded. It appeared he didn’t have Boxster’s appreciation for that kind of patina. “I’ll do that.”
Win was more like a puppy than a friend when they strolled through the market, looking at the different clothing
styles, which were quite different from West Moreton and Presidon.
“Are you passing through?” the market seller, a middle-aged woman, asked Win, who fingered the hem of a tan-colored traveling coat. “Most people wear one of these, so you haven’t returned. Most strangers who come through here are coming from Ginster or Viksar or heading there. Both of you will need at least three of these in different colors. I have great ones. Look through the market at the other merchants. I’m sure you will return to my stall.”
Trevor laughed. “You have an abundance of confidence.”
The woman looked into Trevor’s eyes. “And so do you. They are both justified. Am I right?”
“At least half right,” Win said. “I’ll look around first.”
“Do,” the woman said, straightening the coat that Win had handled.
Trevor did as the woman said, and as he strolled through the market, he could see she was right, except for one thing. They hadn’t gone through any shops, and Trevor had a little more confidence in shopkeepers than market sellers.
“Let’s visit a few shops,” Trevor said.
The first shop they entered sold a better-quality traveling coat for a tiny bit more.
“They wear these all the time in Viksar?” Trevor asked.
“In Ginster, not Viksar,” the shopkeeper said. “Viksarans wear a different style with a cape that covers the shoulders that can be pulled up and used as a hood. The Ginster equivalent has tucks to make the waist smaller. Let me get a Viksaran cloak, and you will see the difference.”
The shopkeeper left for a bit and returned. “More people come through here from Ginster than from Viksar.”
Win held both coats up. “That isn’t what a woman in the market said.”
“You told her you were traveling west?”
“She asked us, and we answered yes,” Trevor said.
“You can always buy both,” the shopkeeper said.
“One is enough. We will get coats that are in the Viksaran style. One for us and one each for our two friends.”
They took the coats in wrapped packages and went to the armorer’s place of business that the shopkeeper gave them directions to.
