by A. C. Cobble
“He’s even better than my rangers,” whispered Commander Rish. “Where did you say you found him?”
Ben grinned. “A town called Farview.”
The commander of the rangers frowned, as if he recognized the name but couldn’t place it.
“I grew up with him,” explained Ben. “At least, when he wasn’t stalking through the woods. He was out there every day. I think he spent more time under the trees than he did in our village.”
“Looks like it,” said Rish.
The commander glanced back at his men. They were lounging on the sides of hillocks, staying quiet, but many of them had let their eyes sag closed, or they were busy shuffling through their gear. Muttering under his breath, Rish slinked off to admonish them to pay attention.
The men had been tested during the hunt for demons in the north. They were veterans now, but after the battle with the demon-king, they’d had the assistance of mages, blademasters, and guardians. They had the advantage over the smaller swarms. Now, they were in the field with two massive armies on either side of them. The mages were back in Issen or had departed for the City long ago. If they ran into trouble, they were on their own.
Ben watched the commander move through his men, and in his wake, they repacked their bags and gained a wakefulness in their eyes. Ben saw them watching their surroundings, and no one appeared to be drifting to sleep. A reminder that sudden death was a possibility would wake a man up, it seemed.
“They’ll be fine,” said Lloyd. The blademaster was seated beside Ben, twirling a long blade of grass between his fingers. “Every fresh recruit in every army in the world is told to grab some sleep whenever the opportunity presents itself. The idea is that they are so busy they need to take advantage of any chance to rest. It’s bullshit, of course. The amount of time an army spends marching or fighting is almost nothing compared to the amount of time they spend sitting around doing nothing. Hurry up and wait, they say. When you’re waiting, there’s nothing wrong with a little snooze, but when you’re on the verge of battle, well, it’s best to stay awake.”
Ben chuckled. “Maybe we should explain it like that.”
“I’ve tried,” muttered Lloyd. “We’re overcoming years of indoctrination. Believe it or not, these rangers are much better than most. If we had regular soldiers back there, they would already have the campfires started. They’d be boiling beans, playing cards, and drinking cheap wine. I’d bet my sword at least one of the fools would be playing a fiddle.”
“A fiddle?”
“It’s an instrument,” explained Lloyd. “Almost as popular amongst soldiers as the flute, but it’s got strings and a bow. Any time you see someone carrying a fiddle, know that they can’t fight worth a damn. No one who’s serious about swinging a sword is going to strap such a fragile piece of equipment to their back.”
Ben grinned and then turned to study the gap between the hills where Serrot had disappeared. He tried to wait patiently, and a bell later, the woodsman came wriggling out of the grass. Ben breathed a sigh of relief. Serrot had been gone twice as long as they’d expected.
“Anything wrong?” asked Ben.
His friend frowned. “I’m not sure.”
Ben gestured Lloyd, Rish, and Prem closer.
“The place looks abandoned, just like we expected, but it doesn’t feel right to me,” continued Serrot. “There are no signs of life, but it feels like… I don’t know, like someone was recently there.”
“The villagers evacuated almost a week ago,” remarked Rish. “It’s possible scouting parties could have been through here. I saw the map. They’re thick around this area.”
Serrot looked concerned but didn’t dispute the commander’s thoughts.
“Did you see any reason we shouldn’t approach?” asked Ben.
“Nothing I can put my finger on,” admitted Serrot.
“With three hundred men,” said Lloyd, “we should be able to handle any scouting party. From the way the village was described, it’d be difficult to hide a force much bigger than ours.”
“Let’s go,” said Ben, “but we move slowly and in small groups. If something is amiss, let’s find out before the entire group is in the village. Squads of twenty at the most. Lloyd and Rish, you direct the men into different units. Prem, you lead the way and see if you can sense anything out of the ordinary.”
“You think there might be wards?” asked the former guardian.
“I think if Serrot feels something is off, then something is off,” confirmed Ben. “What is it? I don’t know.”
Standing in the center of Melchin, he still didn’t know.
One by one, squads of men streamed into the village and were directed inside wood-framed, sod-covered buildings. The place was comprised of several dozen of the low-slung structures that clustered along a muddy waterway. Someone must have shipped thick wooden beams from elsewhere, and then, they’d covered them with heavy plugs of grass and dirt. The grass still grew on most of the buildings, making them look like tiny copies of the hills around them. It was a cheap and efficient way to build a town, but Ben wondered why it had been done.
“Why is this place out here?” he asked, spinning around in the center of the village.
Prem, standing beside him, shrugged. “It’s on the water, and that water connects to the river, and the river connects to Issen. They could ship products down to the city from here.”
“Products?” asked Ben.
“Grass…” responded the former guardian.
Ben scratched at the scar on his arm and began to stroll around the village. It made no sense to ship grass, and there were no other crops growing anywhere they’d seen. Prem walked beside him as they watched more squads file into the place and get directed into hiding.
“There are no docks,” said Ben suddenly. He was peering between two sod-covered domiciles at the muddy bank of the river.
Prem frowned but didn’t have an answer.
The sound of running feet drew Ben’s notice, and he saw Serrot dashing into the village.
“We’ve got a bell before the main force arrives. Half a dozen scouts are moving a quarter bell in advance of them,” called the woodsman. “Two hundred, just like what was reported. The net’s in place, so we just need to get out of sight and prepare the ambush.”
“Just two more groups,” called Lloyd from across the village. “We’ll be under cover with time to spare. We’ll take the scouts quickly and move them out of sight. When the main group arrives, they’ll get a mouthful of arrows once they’re in the center of the village. We’ll follow with cold steel. As long as they don’t see us before we attack, we should make short work of them.”
Ben stood at the edge of the village, studying the muddy bank, barely hearing his captain. Why wasn’t there a dock? Even if the place didn’t have merchandise to ship to Issen, it would still cut the trip in half by moving over water instead of the plains. Even if not for transportation, the village should have boats for fishing.
“What is it?” asked Prem.
Ben turned and studied the village, letting his eyes drift until he found what he was looking for. Two ruts in the grass, impressions worn into the soil. Small wagons or carts passed that way often enough to leave a mark even a week after the village was abandoned, but where were they going?
Ben raced across the village and found where the ruts entered. Then, he followed the tracks across the dirt street. Something heavy, and frequent, passed that way. Even on the packed dirt in town, the tracks went the same way every time. They led to one of the tallest buildings. Peeking in, Ben saw two squads of men waiting in a large, empty room.
“Sir?” asked one of the men.
Ben stepped inside and glanced around. Hard-packed dirt floor and thick wooden beams supported the walls and ceiling. The walls were dark earth, and despite the size of the room, there were no windows.
“What is it, Ben?” questioned Prem.
“Wagons come from across the plain and then into this
building. Why?”
She shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’m not familiar with trading patterns out here.”
Ben knelt and felt where the wagon wheels rolled into the room then stopped. In the hard-packed dirt, they didn’t leave as deep an impression as they did in the turf outside, but it was clear they came in and had been doing so for a long time.
“Sir, should we be doing something?” asked one of the rangers.
“Empty this room,” instructed Ben. “Find another location to stage the ambush.”
“But, we were told—”
“Do it,” barked Ben. “Quickly. We have half a bell before the scouts arrive.”
“I don’t understand,” pressed Prem. “What’s going on?”
“Whatever it is that is transported into this room explains why this village is here,” stated Ben. “Think about it. What other purpose would this place have for existing?”
“I don’t know, but I can tell this room is empty,” said Prem doubtfully.
“It could be for warehousing,” mused Ben, still circling the room. He stopped and knelt again. On the floor was a scattering of broken glass and ash. Ben stirred the ash with his finger and then smelled it.
“What is it?”
“Durhang, I think,” he murmured. “They smuggle durhang through here.”
“What is durhang?” wondered Prem.
“It’s a drug. It’s illegal just about everywhere,” explained Ben. “They must be using Melchin somehow to stay below the notice of Issen’s soldiers.”
“Where do they take it, then?” asked Prem. “There’s no dock to travel by water and it doesn’t make sense they’d stop here if they’re traveling by wagon on to Issen.”
Ben moved to the back of the room and gestured for Prem to come closer. “Look at this.”
She took his side and peered at the wall.
Ben knocked his fingers against it and winced. From floor to ceiling, nearly impossible to spot in the dark room, was a giant black stone.
“Runes,” murmured Prem, leaning close and studying the stone. Her eyes widened. “Runes like on a node gate.” She traced the runes with her fingers. “I don’t have a key to this gate, and I don’t have the skill to activate it without one. If my father was here, he could. Or a mage, of course. Maybe we can get one of the ones in Issen to… Oh.”
Ben felt a well of bile in his throat. Quietly, he guessed, “If they’re smuggling durhang through this village, there’s only one place they’d go with it, and I don’t think these two hundred men are scouts.”
Prem stared at the gate like she was trying to see through it. “They built this village here because it’s on a node line.”
“We have to go,” barked Ben, grabbing Prem’s arm. “We need to stop the ambush and make sure everyone stays out of sight. When we’ve done that, warn your father what is happening.”
“Ben,” called Lloyd from the doorway. “We have a quarter bell, if that. Why’d you send those men out?”
“Get everyone out of sight and make sure they lay low. Call off the ambush until I give the signal. We have to figure out where they are going.”
“Where they are going?” wondered Lloyd, confusion on his face.
Ben hastily explained as they stepped outside and began calling orders to the rangers. With a lurch, he realized that to see where the gate led, they needed to be inside the room.
“Lloyd and Prem, you’re with me. Everyone else, stay low. The scouts shouldn’t enter any building except this one. Be ready to come running if we shout, but wait until you hear us.”
The few stragglers on the street scrambled to respond, and Lloyd and Prem followed Ben back into the warehouse.
“Ben, there’s nowhere to hide,” complained Lloyd.
In response, Ben drew his longsword and moved to a corner of the room. He stabbed the blade into the earthen wall and yanked it down, pulling a shower of dirt with it.
Grunting, Lloyd and Prem joined him. Quickly, they hollowed out three man-sized cavities in the thick, sod walls. They pressed themselves back, and Ben lowered his longsword, pushing it against his side and into the dirt next to him. A glimmer on the steel would give them away in an instant. His heart raced as they waited, only their breaths audible.
Finally, Ben heard voices, and half a dozen men entered the room.
“Bitch isn’t here, again,” growled one man.
“She’s highborn, captain,” said another. “She thinks her time is more valuable than ours.”
“It’d make it a lot easier if she just gave us the key,” complained a third. “Then, we wouldn’t have to deal with this and wait on her every time.”
“This’ll be the last one,” said the man they’d called captain. “About time. I’m ready for some action. When I signed up, we was promised the spoils of war. Wine, women, and gold. Pssh. That coward Argren just wanted to build and build until he had half the continent marching under his banner. Not sure we ever would’ve made it to battle. Not in my lifetime, at least.”
“At least the new king ain’t afraid to get his hands dirty,” said the second man.
“Maybe,” drawled the third. “I ain’t seem him do anything yet ‘cept issue orders.”
“Why don’t you test him?” asked the second. “See if he really knows how to swing that sword.”
The third man didn’t reply.
“Whatever you want to say about him,” barked the captain, “the king’s leading us into Issen right under the noses of the Coalition and whatever highborn they still got left in that place. Whether he leads the charge hisself or whether he lets us try’n take those walls, I’m ready. You best be ready, too. We got a chance to sack one of the richest cities on this continent. It’s unspoiled, boys. If this goes as planned, we’ll each be carryin’ all the gold we can lift.”
“And rapin’ our way from one end of that city to the other,” crowed the third man.
The captain snickered. “Rape all you want. Just remember we got some fightin’ to do first.”
“Rape,” said a voice from the other side of the room.
Ben couldn’t see the speaker, but the voice was pitched high and near cracking from tension. It sounded familiar.
“Rape is a capital crime in Issen,” continued the speaker, a woman, Ben realized. “Your new king has promised to uphold the law, even after the transfer of power. If you speak unkindly to just one woman in Issen, I’ll personally see the six of you hang. I don’t care which one of you does it. You’ll all dangle together.”
The second soldier snorted. “We ain’t in Issen yet, are we? Is rape a capital crime in whatever this flyspeck village is called?”
“Captain, this man is—”
“Captain,” interrupted the soldier. “We don’t need this hussy anymore, and it’s a quarter bell till the rest’a tha men arrive. How about we have a little fun with her? You know, clear our minds for the attack tonight.”
“What are you—”
“Come on, cap’n. Look at that pretty little piece. We can slit her throat after and tell Saala we don’t know where she went. Or we could pass her to the boys when they get here. Quarter bell, cap’n, that’s enough time for me to get mine done, however you want to end it.”
“I go first,” growled the captain.
“I will not have you speak like this in my presence!” shouted the woman. “I am Lady Inslie of House Tand, and if you say one more uncouth word where I can hear it, I will have your—”
A meaty slap cut her off, and Ben imagined the captain had just knocked her across the face with the backside of his hand.
“Sorry, lass. Quarter bell ain’t much time for the six of us,” apologized the captain coldly. “Now, you gonna lay down and make this easy on yourself, or are we gonna have to hold you down?”
A sharp scream and the sounds of a struggle followed. It seemed she wasn’t going to make it easy on herself.
Lady Inslie Tand was working with the Alliance, Ben realized.
She was sneaking their men into Issen for a surprise attack. Saala did have a secret plan, apparently. Ben knew Prem would be warning her father immediately, but they didn’t know where the node gate opened to, where the attack would come from. Ben had to find out.
He stepped into the room and saw by the light from the door, six plainly-clothed soldiers were wrestling a silk-clad woman to the floor. She was putting up an impressive fight, scratching and biting anything she could sink her fingernails or teeth into, but she was powerless against six strong men. As Ben watched, they slammed her to the dirt floor, and a man wedged himself between her legs, pushing her skirts up with one hand, trying to unbuckle his belt with the other.
Ben raised his sword.
The men heard his steps, but he was on them before they could react. Venmoor steel cleaved through the captain’s neck, separating his head from his shoulders and sending a grisly spray of blood spurting onto Lady Inslie.
Another man tried to gain his feet, but he stumbled on the lady’s dress. Ben plunged the tip of his longsword into the soldier’s back, pushing the steel deep through muscle and into the man’s heart. He yanked it out and in the same motion, whipped it into the side of another soldier’s skull. Bone shattered from the impact, and the man was thrown to the side. The other three soldiers stumbled away.
Ben was blocked from pursuing them by Lady Inslie, who was thrashing on the ground, slapping and kicking at phantoms, futilely trying to blink the soldier’s blood from her eyes.
Lloyd appeared at Ben’s side, and they split, circling the lady and closing on the confused soldiers in the gloom of the dark warehouse. Still recovering from the shock of an unexpected attack, the men didn’t last more than a moment against Ben and the blademaster.
As soon as the last soldier fell, Ben turned and saw Inslie had disappeared. He began a string of curses. Then, Prem shoved the missing lady back in the doorway, the tip of a long knife held against her pale throat.
