Or nearly so. The only noise came when Silas loosed the occasional bit of laughter as he guided the sleigh down the empty road. No one had been this way since the last snowstorm and no one would know they had been through, either, as the runners left no marks. It almost felt like they were ghosts. Hopefully any Carttoom patrols braving the cold would find them equally difficult to locate. At their current speed, they should leave Carttoom behind in another two or three days. It couldn’t come soon enough for Yaz. He wanted very badly to get somewhere no one was looking for them.
Their leave-taking had been blessedly brief. It almost felt like the other villagers were embarrassed or afraid to see them off. That was a shame, as Yaz felt no ill will towards them for choosing the safety of the Kingdom of Rend over an uncertain future back in the valley. It was a sensible decision. Even so, he couldn’t deny a little bit of disappointment. When their mission was finally over, life was going to be far different than what they’d gotten used to.
Beside him, Brigid adjusted their heavy fur blanket. It had been a final parting gift from General Rend and when the wind hit them it was a welcome one. Cold as it was, Yaz doubted that was what was bothering Brigid. He glanced her way, but she didn’t seem to notice, her mind far afield.
“Scale for your thoughts?” Yaz said.
She looked up as if realizing he was there for the first time. “Sorry, I was just thinking about my parents. They weren’t terribly supportive when I told them I was going with you. It’s like as long as they were safe, they didn’t care about anything else. I know that’s probably not fair, but that’s how it felt.”
“They’re just worried about you,” Yaz said. “They are your parents after all. Worrying about you is in their job description.”
She offered a weak smile at his poor joke.
“It’s not just that,” she said. “They don’t trust me to take care of myself. Even after I helped rescue them, they still think I’m just a little girl. My father especially. He didn’t say anything, but I suspect deep down inside he still harbors the notion that he’s going to marry me off to Owen Chase. Frankly, I’m glad we left when we did. One more day of their sidelong glances and vague suggestions and I might’ve gone crazy.”
Yaz wasn’t sure what to say to reassure her. He would’ve given just about anything to have his parents there and worrying about him. Not that his parents were great worriers, but once in a while they felt the need to offer a bit of parental concern. Dad more than Mom if he was honest. His mother was usually too engrossed in a project at the tower to be overly concerned about him.
He sighed. Soon enough he’d find them.
“This is great!” Silas shouted. “I wish you guys could feel the spirits’ joy when they pull the sleigh. It’s like they’re fulfilling some divine purpose.”
He seemed blissfully unaware of his companions’ concerns. Beside Silas, Wicked rested on the driver’s bench. The little skull’s eyes seemed to be glowing especially brightly today. Probably in reaction to its master’s pleasure. That seemed a wise decision and Yaz decided to emulate the undead familiar.
Yaz planned to enjoy everything he could for as long as he could. The danger would begin again all too soon. And when it did, the gods alone knew what might happen.
Chapter 2
Gator Alley was only a fraction colder in winter than it was in fall. Moz disliked both seasons. Give him the heat of summer any day. They were far enough south that the swamp never froze, though the gators were no doubt hibernating by now. The hunters too for that matter. Everyone would have to live off their earnings until spring when the beasts woke up.
Moz guided his horse down the main street, the mud sucking at its hooves. He hated the mud, but when you lived this close to the swamp you tended to get used to it. Still, he was sure the Dark Sages would eventually bring Ariel here and when they did he’d be waiting.In his saddlebag, on a dirty tunic, Ariel’s little dragon slept curled up in a ball. It seemed all the beast did was eat his jerky and sleep. The stub of its severed wing had gained an inch or so of length. At this rate, it would regenerate fully in a few months.
It was just past midday, and the street was empty. But the sidewalk wasn’t. Half a dozen strangers lingered along the boardwalk. Two outside the tavern, one man with his boot up on the wall of someone’s house, a smoking pipe clamped between his teeth. The other three were waiting around outside the buyers’ warehouse.
Moz had never seen any of these men and he doubted six new hunters had moved in since he left. That said, they didn’t look like the sort of mercenaries the Dark Sages hired. For one thing they weren’t dressed in black armor. In fact, their armor didn’t look all that much different than his, though the scales of theirs were made of metal instead of actual dragon scales. They each carried a curve-bladed sword at their waist and they watched Moz with hard, flinty eyes as he rode past. These were men that had seen more than a few fights he was certain.
Something strange was going on here, but for the moment, Moz was content to ignore them, assuming they returned the favor. He had enough to worry about without starting fights with men that may or may not be his enemy. He left the center of town behind along with the watching men. At the end of the street he spotted someone sitting on the rail outside his house. Frowning, Moz reined in in front of him.
The stranger looked up from filling his pipe and asked, “Can I help you?”
“I hope so,” Moz said. “You can start by telling me what you’re doing standing outside my house.”
“I think you’re mistaken,” the man said. “This house was abandoned when we arrived. Seemed a shame no one was getting any use out of it so me and a few of my friends decided to move in.”
Moz dismounted and tied his horse up. “It didn’t occur to you that the fact the door was locked and there was furniture inside might indicate someone planned to come back?”
“Can’t say as we gave it that much thought. Me and the boys needed a place to sleep and this house was available.”
“Well, it’s no longer available. You and whoever’s inside need to get your stuff and leave. I’m moving back in.”
The stranger clamped his pipe between his lips. “Suppose we don’t?”
Moz’s right sword flashed out in a blink and the intruder’s pipe fell in two pieces to the ground. “Then I’m going to evict you. You won’t like that, I promise.”
The man gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his knuckles turned white and his hand trembled. Moz rested his left hand on the hilt of his second sword. He really hoped this idiot didn’t force him to do something he didn’t want to.
Finally, the man blew out a long breath and released the hilt of his sword. “Fine. It’s just me and two others. The rest are… working. We’ll be out of your place in a few minutes.”
Moz nodded and sheathed his sword.
The stranger gave him one last long glare before retreating down the wrap-around porch and inside. Moz figured it was a fifty-fifty shot whether he actually left peacefully or emerged with his friends, weapons at the ready. Just to be on the safe side, he moved to put his horse between him and the door. No sense making himself an easy target.
There were some bangs and thuds from inside along with raised voices. Moz couldn’t make out what they were saying, but someone was clearly unhappy.
The door slammed open and a second, bigger man emerged. He wore his hair in a long braid and had a deep, old scar across his forehead. A week of scruff covered his face along with plenty of dirt. He was dressed in Moz’s gator-skin hunting leathers and carried a broad-bladed great sword over his shoulder. He stared at Moz who came out from around his horse.
“This was your house?” the man asked.
“No, this is my house. Like I told your buddy, you need to get out. Oh, and you can leave my leathers behind. I’ll be needing them once hunting season gets going again.”
“My name’s Borus and I lead the Green Dragon Mercenary Company. Once I’m finished with you, you wo
n’t have to worry about moving back in or hunting ever again.” Borus took a fighting stance with his sword above his head ready to strike Moz down.
Moz drew his own swords and moved away from his horse. “You need more than ten guys to have a company. I believe gang is the word you’re looking for. If you want to fight, let’s get on with it. I’ve been riding for a week and I’ll probably have to clean the place to get your stink out before I can sleep.”
Borus roared and charged.
The great sword came down in a left-to-right arc.
Moz spun away from the heavy blow and countered with a double cross slash to the man’s throat.
With impressive agility, Borus twisted enough that Moz only creased the sides of his neck rather than cutting his head off like he wanted.
The two men recovered and squared off a second time, Borus looking a good deal less confident than when he started out.
Time for some offense.
Moz charged in a low crouch, his blades barely off the ground.
Clearly confused, Borus thrust at him.
Moz dove and rolled under the attack, sprang to his feet, and double thrust into the gap below his opponent’s armor. Both swords slid in and Moz ripped them to the side.
Blood and guts spilled to the ground as Borus collapsed.
Moz grimaced. Now he had to clean his leathers as well.
He flicked the blood off his weapons and looked at his house. “Everyone out and take your junk with you. If I find any of my stuff missing, I’ll hunt you down and give you some of what I gave your boss.”
Five minutes later, the man on guard duty and a second, tired-looking fellow came rushing out with rucksacks slung over their shoulders. They ran past him without even giving Borus a glance. Moz watched them until they were out of sight then turned his attention to the body at his feet.
Why was there always one asshole in every group that thought he was the toughest guy in the kingdom? While Moz had no problem with ridding the world of an extra idiot, he preferred to avoid it unless absolutely necessary. And he now had to get his leathers off this limp slab of meat.
When he heard footsteps coming from behind him, Moz spun, ready for another fight. Instead, he found a rather nervous-looking Cork making his way closer. Moz relaxed a fraction and returned to loosening the straps on the leather chest plate.
“Cork,” Moz said when the boy stopped in front of him.
“I wasn’t sure you were coming back. It’s good to see you, Moz. Need a hand?”
Together they flopped the dead man over and finished removing the leathers. Finally, they dragged the body over to the nearby water and tossed it in.
“Thanks,” Moz said. “What the hell’s going on around here anyway?”
“Kind of a long story,” Cork said. “Maybe we could go inside?”
“Sure, go ahead. I just need to finish with my horse.”
Fifteen minutes later, Moz set his saddlebags carefully on the floor so as not to wake the hummingbird dragon sleeping inside and dropped into his favorite chair. His unwelcome guests hadn’t done too much harm to the place. There was mud on the floor, and the remnants of some old meals in the kitchen, but otherwise no serious damage. Cork perched on the edge of the only other chair, his gaze darting all over the place as though he expected to be attacked at any moment.
Before Moz could speak Cork handed him a pouch. “This is your share from what I got off your lines.”
Moz shook his head. “Keep it. You did all the work.”
Cork set the pouch on the table in front of him. “They were your lines. You know the hunters’ code. Half the scale is yours.”
Moz took the coins and nodded his thanks. “So tell me what’s been happening.”
“Just before the end of gator season these thugs show up and start ordering people around. You can’t hunt here and you can’t hunt there. When old Smithy told them to pound sand, they beat him so bad he took two days to wake up. No one dared complain after that.”
“There’s only ten of them,” Moz said. “Surely all the hunters together could have taken them.”
“There’s only ten in town now, but there’s another hundred plus in the swamp. Once they made it clear they were in charge, most of them paddled out into the swamp in their own little navy of jon boats.”
“There’s a hundred of them out there?” Moz couldn’t believe it. What were they doing, pillaging ruins? He’d never heard of a group of looters that big. “Where, exactly, are you not supposed to hunt?”
Cork looked around again as though there was someone to overhear him. “The same place I took those bastards that killed the turtle farmers.”
Moz dug his stolen map out and showed Cork the circled area. “Here?”
Cork nodded. “Yup. They said anyone caught hunting in that area would get skinned just like a gator. No one I talked to had the guts to try.”
Moz folded the map back up. If these guys weren’t with the Dark Sages, then it seemed they had some competitors. Moz wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, but he was going to find out.
After a poor night’s sleep, Moz rolled out of bed and set to fixing breakfast. It wasn’t the fear of the thugs coming back in the night that kept him awake. Rather he couldn’t stop trying to imagine what the others were doing out in the swamp. What could be of so much interest to both the Dark Sages and whoever these mercenaries were? That question had been bouncing around in his head since he lay down. Today he meant to find the answer.
With himself and the dragon fed, Moz climbed into his skiff and poled off towards the forbidden section of the swamp. The little dragon was curled up in a ball on the floor of the skiff sound asleep. He couldn’t remember if she slept this much when Ariel was around, but he didn’t think so. Her slowly healing wing must drain a lot of her energy. Moz would’ve preferred to leave the dragon behind, but on the off chance he had unwelcome visitors, he didn’t want to leave the defenseless dragon on her own.
He glanced back over his shoulder but didn’t notice anyone taking any particular interest in his leaving. After what happened yesterday, he doubted any thugs would give them trouble. They might have been brave against hunters whose only combat experience was the occasional tavern brawl, but a real warrior was another thing altogether. No, it was the ones in the swamp that worried him. Evading a hundred men, even ones with little experience navigating the swamp, would be no easy task. Hopefully, their patrols wouldn’t be too thick.
Moz took a deep breath of the cool damp air. Despite all the problems, it was good to be home. He never would’ve thought he’d have missed the swamp as much as he had. Not that he regretted any of the decisions he’d made since leaving. He did what was necessary and would continue to do so. Still, being back in his skiff, the water whooshing against the hull, it all felt right.
When he reached the cypress canals, Moz paused and listened. There were no sounds of splashing or anything else that made him believe others were present. So far so good. While he wouldn’t have minded meeting another hunter to give him some intel, he was just as glad to keep noncombatants at a safe distance.
He chose a roundabout route to reach the forbidden part of the swamp, a direction that no one coming from the village would be likely to select. It would add an extra hour to his travel time but would be worth it if he avoided the patrols.
An hour into his journey, the little dragon crawled out from her space on the floor of the boat and up onto the prow. She perched there like a tiny figurehead, looking left and right, her tongue occasionally flicking out to taste the air. The dragon seemed perfectly at ease, which set Moz at ease as well.
“Are you glad to be home too?” Moz asked.
The dragon hissed, once again reminding him just how intelligent they were. He was beginning to believe that if they were capable of speech, he could easily hold a conversation with one. What they would have to talk about was another matter.
He put his fantasies aside and focused on pushing the b
oat as quickly and quietly as possible through the water. It took nearly two hours to reach the disputed part of the swamp. Moz paused again behind the thick screen of cypress trees. Twenty yards beyond them were two flat-bottomed jon boats, each holding four men wearing green uniforms over scale armor like the thugs back in town.
Two of the men paddled with two others carrying loaded crossbows. They passed slowly by Moz’s hiding place. The men appeared alert and their paddles made little noise as they entered the water. Someone had trained them in the basics of moving through the swamp.
Moz waited patiently and forty-five minutes later another patrol of two boats rowed by. Again he waited, this time an hour before a third pair of boats just like the first two went on by. Cork hadn’t been joking earlier when he said these people really didn’t want anyone intruding on their business. If there were this many patrols on the far side of the banned area, he could only imagine how many there were on the side towards the village.
He ended up waiting until well after noon to make his move. He gave the first patrol ten minutes to get out of earshot, then poled across the gap and into a narrow channel barely wide enough for his skiff. He doubted the wider jon boats would be able to follow even if they knew he was there.
Twenty yards in it became so dark he could barely see fifteen feet in front of him. Overhead the cypress limbs wove a thick canopy that only narrow shafts of light penetrated. It was a good thing he wasn’t given to flights of fancy; a nervous man might have imagined all manner of spirits and monsters out in the gloom. Moz was content to worry about men with crossbows.
He hadn’t been going more than ten minutes when the front of his skiff hit something. Moz set his pole down and moved to the front. The little dragon looked up at him.
“Yeah,” Moz said. “Looks like we’ve reached the island Cork told me about. Whatever’s going on, this is the heart of it. It’ll be a lot easier for me to sneak around without you perched on my shoulder. Why don’t you stay here and guard the skiff?”
The Sunken Tower: The Dragonspire Chronicles Book 5 Page 2
