“What are you thinking?” Swech’s voice broke his contemplations.
He looked at her and thought carefully before answering. “I think we might need to be cautious.”
“About?” He had her undivided attention.
“I’m not sure yet. But something is not right here.”
Swech nodded and her hand tapped the table three times, a casual enough gesture, but not a nervous habit that she normally used. Merros had been around the woman for weeks and had observed her when she was eating, when she was speaking, even when she was sleeping. Her gesture wasn’t exactly out of character, but it wasn’t casual, either.
Around him the other Sa’ba Taalor continued doing what they were doing, eating or conversing with one of the locals, but all of them responded in small ways. Hands patted the table or made gestures that would have meant nothing at all to most people, including Merros himself had he not been watching for it. Still, he had no doubt at all that the people were communicating with each other. Tataya had used her sorcery to allow him to speak the language of the Sa’ba Taalor, but only one of the languages. As near as he could figure, they had at least three separate languages. He could only guess that she had alerted the others to be aware and that they, in turn, were reporting back.
Swech leaned in closer to him and her hand ran suggestively across his forearm. Her eyes did not show affection. When she spoke it was in her native tongue, almost ensuring that no one else would understand outside of their party. “No one is certain what is wrong, but a few of the others have sensed there might be trouble brewing. We are alerted. We will keep a close watch.” Her voice was low and the tone light, as if she were merely making a suggestion between two lovers.
He smiled and nodded and leaned in closer himself. “We should not stay here.”
“You suggest we leave during the feast in our honor?”
“I think it would be best if we leave as soon as the feast is done.”
She nodded her head, keeping her tone light. “We will do so. We will also expect troubles.”
Marsfel stood up and cleared his throat. Immediately the people under him quieted and with moments everyone was looking toward the monarch. His voice was clean and deep when he spoke – actually a good deal deeper than when he talked normally. “We have asked Emperor Krous for a solution to our troubles with the Guntha, and he has responded by sending us the very people with whom we now dine.” The king bowed formally. “I can but offer our thanks for the generosity of the Sa’ba Taalor, who have taken care of the threat to our kingdom.”
Swech stood up in response, and carefully repeated his bow. “We are grateful for the feast you have offered in our honor. We welcome the chance to call the people of Roathes our friends.” Her words were met with a small round of applause from people who looked uncertain as to exactly what was going on. Merros found himself wondering if most of the locals knew of the troubles with the Guntha or if that trouble had been kept from the general populace. He’d been with the royal army long enough to know that not every ruler felt the need to share news of potential problems with their people.
Marsfel smiled and excused himself a few moments later as the celebration continued. Merros watched on as the people around them consumed food and drink alike.
“We are leaving now.” He spoke a command without even thinking about it. He had no authority over the Sa’ba Taalor and he knew it, but his sense of urgency was growing, not dwindling.
Swech did that trick with her hand again and nodded her head. Within moments all of them were ready to leave.
There was no subtlety to it. They rose and they left. If their host took offense, Merros intended to be well away before he could do anything to make his dissatisfaction known.
“Explain to me again why we are running away from the man we just helped.” Swech’s voice was tense, annoyed. Merros couldn’t really blame her, but they had to do it this way. The wind was cutting across them as they moved, and Merros had to lean in very close to hear her and to be heard. Their bodies were pressed half together and he did his best to ignore the situation. Among the Sa’ba Taalor there was no apparent awkwardness about the way his body responded. At home he would likely have been hearing about the inappropriate and discourteous actions he took for weeks. Then again, he would not have been riding behind a woman on the same animal at home. At least not without extreme circumstances.
“Because if he decides to do something to us, we are vastly outnumbered and it could lead to problems between your people and mine.”
“What sort of problems?”
“Well, if the king of Roathes decides that we should all be executed for killing the Guntha on his beach, we all die. That’s rather a problem for me. I don’t much care to die. I’ll do it if I have to, of course, but I prefer to keep living.” Swech looked over her shoulder at him her eyes narrowed a bit as she contemplated what he’d just said. He smiled to show he was jesting. “There’s also the problem of your people taking offense to having you killed by strangers. We have no idea how they would respond to that.”
“Of course we do.”
“Really? And how would that be?”
“They would take it as a challenge against the honor of our people and our kings.”
“Meaning they would send more people down here to deal with the king and the executions.”
“Of course.” Her voice was casual as she answered. There was no doubt in her mind.
“So why wait around in a situation we know is not going to end well?”
“Because there is never a good reason to run from a fight.” Her voice was strong with conviction.
“I don’t agree. If there are four thousand people ready to hang you for a crime you did not commit, it’s a good time to run.”
“That is not a fight. That is a mob.”
“Semantics. There are people who would use this situation as an excuse to cause troubles between your people and mine and I wanted to avoid that.”
Swech nodded, satisfied. “Then I can accept your wisdom in this.”
He resisted the urge to respond with sarcasm and instead enjoyed the view of their surroundings and the speed of the animal moving under them. The great beasts were in a running mood apparently, and were charging across the land at a hard run.
They were almost to Tyrne, and would likely not stop until they got there. That suited him just fine. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the company. It was that he wanted to be home, sleeping in a decent bed and not worried about whether or not he was going to be killed for any possible slight.
“You understand that I am not upset with you. I simply do not like running from a fight.” Swech’s tone was conversational.
“I did what I felt was necessary. I wanted to keep you safe.”
“I would have been safe.” She shook her head. “It is not my time.”
“How do you know that?”
“I just do.” Her voice was teasing. He wished he had that sort of confidence.
“Not to worry. I didn’t think I’d offended you. I would apologize if I had.”
She tilted her head. “Why?”
“I do not mind offending my enemies, Swech, but I don’t consider you an enemy.”
“That is good.” She nodded her head and said no more.
Twenty minutes later, as the ride was beginning to lull Merros into a semi-doze, a horn sounded three short, sharp blasts. He woke right up.
“What the hell?”
“We are followed.” Swech’s voice was calm. No, it was more than that. She sounded almost happy about it.
Merros turned his body and looked back. In the distance a fair way down the king’s highway, he could see horsemen. A good number of them.
He called out to Swech, “Do you plan to stop?”
“Not yet. We will slow down and give them the opportunity to make themselves known to us.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I know this about you.” Her voice was p
ositively amused.
Swech raised her left arm above her head and waved it slowly back and forth. Behind and around them the other riders slowed. Blane rode closer, his long hair free-flowing for the moment, but even as he pulled alongside them he drew the hair back and quickly tied it down with a thick band of leather. “We wait on them?”
Swech nodded her head. “Merros is hesitant of starting a war.”
Blane looked toward him and shook his head. “You are worried that they should strike the first blow if this is to be an attack?”
“We don’t know what they want. I merely think we should find out.”
Blane shook his head a second time and the great beast under him mirrored the gesture. “Then we should stop. I grow impatient.”
Swech looked toward Merros. “Blane grows impatient.” She raised her hand again and this time made a fist. At the same time Saa’thaa slowed and then stopped. Blane’s great beast did likewise. In a moment all ten animals had come to a rest, many of them panting lightly, barely giving credence to the notion that they had been running for hours. His admiration for their stamina went up a few notches.
Blane dropped from his mount and immediately the others did the same. Merros watched Swech nimbly shift her body until she was sitting sideways and looking at him. “You will join us?”
“Of course.”
He hastily slipped from the saddle on Saa’thaa’s back and the animal grumbled a small sound of relief. Aside from that noise you’d never have noticed a change in the animal’s demeanor.
As he watched, the Sa’ba Taalor gathered their weapons of choice. Few of them were the same from individual to individual. There were several devices that he could barely recognize as particular weapons, though there was little doubt that each and every device was designed for combat.
The girl Jost carefully tested a length of chain between her hands. At each end of the chain was a weight with several spikes and Merros was reminded of what Tusk had said about how deadly a weapon a chain could be. He also remembered the long line of scars on the man’s arm from a similar weapon. He resisted the urge to shiver, even as adrenaline began kicking into his system.
The riders came closer and Merros tried counting. He lost the exact number but it was greater than twenty. They rode their horses with the sort of posture that came from working on horseback a great deal. They wore armor and carried weapons of their own. What they did not do was wear any particular colors. Every regiment in the Empire sported indicia, but not this group. And while they were wearing military issue armor, in most cases they most decidedly were not soldiers. Not anymore at least.
Mercenaries then. He understood all too well. He was a mercenary himself these days.
“And a good day to you.” The head of the riders pulled up slowly, his eyes staring almost exclusively at Merros. His accent was clipped, sharp. He was not from Marsfel’s kingdom. At a guess he was from much further to the west, and just possibly from as far away as Morwhen, much farther west than Merros had ever travelled. Morwhen was best known as a land of savages. The soldiers out there earned their pay. As he stopped, the rest fanned out with careful deliberation. The road was wide here – it was the king’s highway after all – but even so a few of the riders left the road proper and moved around to the sides until they had better access to Merros and the Sa’ba Taalor.
“And to you. What can we do for you on this day?” Merros kept his hand on his sword hilt. The gesture was obvious and the intent clear. The head of the mercenaries noticed it, too. His lip twitched upward in a half-smile for only a moment. He was very, very confident.
“King Marsfel feels that you left rather abruptly. He wished to extend his offer of hospitality.” The man had a lean, hard face. He was weathered and he was scarred. He was, in short, a military man. There was little doubt that he and his knew how to use their weapons. All of the men held their hands in their laps. They were armed and prepared to use those arms immediately.
“And while we would hardly wish to offend His Majesty, we are on business for the Emperor himself and must return home to make our reports.”
Swech listened intently, her eyes moving from one man to the next. Around her the rest of her people were similarly alert.
The head of the mercenaries nodded his head. “Marsfel seemed quite insistent.”
“Emperor Krous will be certain to explain the urgency of the situation when the time is right.”
Swech stepped closer to Merros, her hand resting on the hilt of a rather heavy looking bladed weapon. He couldn’t really call it a sword. More like an axe with a very long blade. “King Marsfel has been assisted. We are done. We are leaving.” That pretty much put an end to the argument as far as she was concerned. The way she spoke left no room for debate.
“No, lady. He was really very insistent.” The mercenary smiled. Behind him the rest of his men lifted the crossbows that rested across their laps and took aim at the individuals around them.
“Why don’t we settle this as gentlemen?” Merros looked at the man intently. He was still trying his best to end this as bloodlessly as possible. “Just you and me.”
“I am flattered, of course, that you would consider me a gentleman. But alas, no. I have been told to bring you back. If I fail to bring you back, I am not paid.”
He was still considering the remaining coin he’d been offered to cover expenses when Blane answered for him. His arm slid almost casually toward the closest bowman and a moment later the man screamed as his crossbow fell from a useless arm. A blade vibrated in the man’s wrist and a streamer of blood fell freely from the wound.
And the rest of the Sa’ba Taalor responded as well.
There are times when the world moves too quickly. Merros dropped down and to the side, praying to the gods he claimed to seldom follow that no bolts would enter his body. His prayers were rewarded but barely. A bolt cut across his ear, taking a small divot of flesh when it passed.
He hissed and drew his sword and then he charged the leader of the mercenaries. The man had a distinct advantage. He was on horseback. His enemy drew a sword as well and while he was preparing to hack away at Merros with the long blade, Merros came in closer, close enough to feel the heat of the horse, and jammed his dagger into the rider’s inner thigh.
The rider let out a roar and swept the blade of his sword at Merros, who barely managed to block.
And then he stepped back as the blood from the man’s severed artery fountained freely. The rider looked down and realized he was dead around the same time that Merros got clear of his weapon.
There are a few places where, when a man is cut, he simply cannot be saved. The open wound in the man’s femoral artery guaranteed a quick death. Still, he dropped his sword and tried to staunch the flow and Merros left him to it. There were others to deal with.
There was both good and bad news by the time he’d finished his simple exchange. The good news was that the riders around them had finished with their crossbows. The bad was that several of them were good shots. Blane moved past him, a bolt stuck in his chest. He roared as he pulled a rider from his horse. The man looked understandably terrified by the unexpected move. Blane was not nearly the biggest of the Sa’ba Taalor that Merros had seen, but he had strength enough to haul the rider from his seated position and drag him to the ground. That was all the time that Merros had to look around before another rider was coming for him, charging forward, his horse knocking aside one of the people from the valley. Whoever it was cursed as he fell under the animal and an instant later the horse let out a scream and staggered to the side. The rider tried to compensate for the sudden change in direction and was thrown for his trouble. He fell and rolled to his feet quickly, holding a short sword in a tight grip, his eyes wide and his mouth drawn down in a rictus scowl.
Merros covered the distance between them and brought his own sword up from below. The man blocked and did his best to strike in return, and then they were both swinging, blocking and doing their best to ki
ll their new enemy.
And damned if it didn’t feel good. Merros wanted to deny it, but it felt good to be fighting instead of merely existing.
And the Sa’ba Taalor seemed to feel the same way. Jost moved in a near blur, her body half-dancing as she swept her chain around a man’s arm and pulled hard. He screamed, fought to free himself and was unhorsed in the process. He did not recover quickly enough and the other end of the chain struck him a hard blow to the face, which tore his mouth into a bloody shred and shattered teeth besides.
Blane rose from the body of his enemy, his hands both covered in gore, with no apparent weapon in sight.
Swech brought her odd looking weapon down in a blow that shattered her enemy’s sword and drove the deadly tip into his collarbone. Before he could finish falling she hauled the weapon forward and split his skull sideways.
Merros felt his enemy’s sword tip cut into his forearm and hissed. He pushed the man back as their swords scraped each other and then stepped in closer, until the swords were useless. The dagger swept in again leaving a trail of red across the man’s chin. Before he could move in again his enemy stepped back and took a defensive stance. Once was all he was going to get with that particular trick.
The roar of voices, the clash of steel and the screams of a dying horse came together in a cacophony of bloodshed. Merros drove forward, slashing again and again at his opponent, not letting the man take the offense. He felt himself grinning despite the situation and watched as his enemy’s eyes grew wider. Merros was a captain in the royal army. He’d earned that rank by training constantly and by fighting well enough and long enough to live to achieve it. The mercenary was a good swordsman, but Merros was better. The fight ended when the point of his sword punched through the man’s throat.
And by the time that fight was done, the battle was finished as well.
Merros stood still, his sword held at the ready and looked around, breathing through his nose in harsh gusts. Swech leaned against her weapon, panting. The point of the odd blade was still buried in a man’s stomach and his body twitched as he died. She looked toward Merros, her expression hidden by that damnable veil. Jost looked at the horses around them as she cleaned her chain with an oiled cloth. She eyed the animals with curiosity and it occurred to him that she might well have never seen one up close before. Even the ones from the expedition had been kept mostly away from the beasts that the Sa’ba Taalor rode.
The Seven Forges Novels Page 20
