02 - Night of the Daemon

by Aaron Rosenberg - (ebook by Undead)

  “Pardon me, coming through!” Alaric galloped into the fray, his polite words hanging in the air as his horse ploughed through the remaining ruffians. Alaric laughed with delight at his little ploy, but the rapier in his hand was wielded by a master as it snaked out and removed a short sword from one of the men’s grips. Dietz grinned. Sometimes his friend had impeccable timing.

  “You took a while,” he said, although he was still grinning. Alaric snorted in reply.

  “Perhaps if you’d told me you were going to throw yourself into someone else’s affairs, I’d have been here sooner.”

  The charge had taken out one more ruffian, leaving four still standing, although one of them had lost his blade to Alaric. Those four were angry now, rage driving fear or even caution from their minds, and they leapt at both riders, snarling wordlessly. It was past the time for jokes and playful manoeuvres.

  The first bully, the one with the club, rose from Dietz’s far side while another ruffian swung at him with a heavy axe. Dietz had already raised his club to block the blow, but the first man advanced towards his exposed side, sword poised for a fatal strike.

  There was nothing else Dietz could do. His left hand maintained the block with his club while his right dropped to his belt. In one smooth motion he drew the long knife there and threw it in a quick sideways arc, the blade gleaming as it spun through the air and caught the man in the throat just as his arm pulled back to lunge.

  The ruffian toppled, blood spurting from the wound. The other man attacking Dietz shouted, a wordless cry of fear and anger, and Dietz used the distraction to grip his club in both hands, twisting it up to knock the axe aside, and then swivelling it around to catch the man a solid blow to the temple. He toppled with a groan and Dietz glanced around for the rest of the pack.

  Alaric had apparently kicked one into another, and the two bullies had fallen in a tangle of limbs and steel. The one on the bottom did not get up but the other rose shakily to his feet. A third had attacked Alaric clumsily and the blond nobleman’s rapier had made short work of him, since Alaric had reflexively gone for a killing blow to the throat rather than some lesser wound.

  That should leave one more, Dietz realised. He glanced around and finally saw the remaining ruffian. He was crouching behind their intended victim, over by the fence post, and was busy setting a bolt into a heavy crossbow that had apparently been waiting there, unnoticed.

  “Morr’s blood!” Dietz kicked his horse and it responded by leaping into motion, its first steps carrying it almost to the man. The second flurry of hooves struck the bully in the chest and head, and Dietz didn’t need to hear the crack of bone to know that this bully would never threaten anyone again.

  Alaric had disarmed the remaining man, and rather than attack again the man showed surprisingly good sense. He grabbed his fallen friend and ran off, as did two of the others. There were two more on the ground, unconscious at the very least, and three fit for burial.

  One very frightened former victim, probably a farmer judging by his dirt-stained hands and mud-caked clothes and boots, cowered back from Dietz and Alaric as if they were to take their turn at beating him next.

  “Quite invigorating,” Alaric commented, dismounting and wiping his blade on one of the men’s cloaks before re-sheathing it. “You do find ways to keep our trips interesting, don’t you?”

  “Me?” Dietz started to point out all the times Alaric had got them into trouble, and then stopped. It wasn’t worth the time and aggravation. Besides, Alaric was joking, or so he thought.

  Instead he dismounted, reclaimed his knife from the dead man’s throat, and turned to the farmer.

  “Are you all right?”

  The man continued to stare, but when Dietz repeated the question he finally nodded. Then at last, rubbing his wrists where the two ruffians had held him, he spoke.

  “Shouldn’t ’a done that.”

  “Well, there’s gratitude for you,” Alaric muttered.

  Dietz just stared.

  “What?”

  “Wouldn’t ’a killed me,” the man continued, taking a shaky step away from the fence post. “Just rough me up some.”

  “Why?” Dietz asked.

  The farmer looked embarrassed. “Didn’t pay,” he admitted, shuffling his feet in the trampled, blood-spattered dirt and grass. “Should’a, but didn’t.”

  “Why should you have paid?” Alaric asked, leaning forwards, “Just to avoid being beaten?”

  “Taxes,” the man replied, shrugging. “Gotta pay ’em. I was going to pay next week.” He glanced around quickly, and Dietz didn’t need words to know what the man was thinking now: How am I going to pay enough to make up for this?

  “So these men,” Alaric asked, “they were not mere bullies or brigands?”

  The farmer actually laughed at that, showing a few broken teeth. “Bullies, sure,” he agreed, more relaxed now that he’d decided he wasn’t in immediate danger from the two strangers, “but they ain’t no brigands.” He pointed towards one of the fallen men, and nudged the body with one foot, indicating the large brass-buckled bracer the man wore on his left forearm. The same bracer, Dietz realised, that all the ruffians had worn, almost like a uniform.

  The farmer continued speaking, words that Dietz had begun to suspect and fear but could not stop: “They’re the town guard.”

  “Ah, excellent,” Alaric said with a sigh. “A fine welcome indeed.”

  “How was I to know?” Dietz protested again. They had left the farmer with a few gold coins to help cover not only his taxes but also any punishment he might receive for the recent events. Although, truth to tell, he wasn’t to blame for that. Any sensible man would see that the farmer had merely been the cause of the violence, not its instigator. No, the ones responsible for the death of at least three town guards were the two strangers who were riding towards Akendorf as quickly as their horses could carry them. They had no choice, the valley was the only way to continue south and the town was the only way through, unless they wanted to trample through the surrounding farmlands. That would not only slow them down, it would leave them exposed to anyone watching. Besides, why would anyone go that route instead of through the town unless they had something to hide? Their best option was to get to and through Akendorf quickly, before anyone found out what had happened.

  “No way,” Alaric admitted. He shook his head. “Even if it had been bandits, as you thought, why interfere? They would have beaten him up, taken whatever money he had, and left. End of story. Everyone still alive.”

  “You don’t know that,” Dietz protested. “They might have killed him!” He couldn’t believe Alaric was suggesting they turn a blind eye to such things.

  Apparently Alaric couldn’t either. “I know,” he said after a second’s pause. “You’re right, we couldn’t just stand by, but now we’re heading straight for a town filled with guards whose fellows we have just killed. Not the ideal way to enter a region, would you say?”

  Dietz didn’t bother to respond. He just spurred his horse on.

  They reached Akendorf’s north gate, a large gap carved into the stout wall of rough logs that tapered to crude points up above. A pair of sturdy doors stood open, guards standing at either side. Several more guards stood above, evidently on a catwalk behind the wall, their weapons aimed casually down at the approaching travellers. Alaric and Dietz slowed their horses as they approached, keeping their hands in plain sight of the guards.

  “What is your business here?” one of the guards shouted as they neared, swinging his crossbow towards them.

  “Just passing through,” Alaric replied easily. The guard nodded and stepped aside for them to pass by, and Dietz followed his friend into the city.

  “Perhaps they haven’t returned yet,” Alaric said too softly for the guards to hear, although his tone suggested he was not going to rely upon that.

  Dietz nodded and clucked at his horse, guiding it along the narrow street. Up close and within the walls, Akendorf was even bigg
er than it had seemed before, a substantial town that might have expanded further if the valley had allowed it. Buildings lined the street, wooden signs overhead proclaiming the businesses within, and people thronged the hard-packed dirt street, some selling wares from carts and small stands while others shopped or simply moved from place to place. Several stopped to stare at the strangers, but no one barred their path except a few urchins asking for loose coins and a man offering them the finest in food and drink if they would just follow him.

  Alaric refused the last offer with a heavy sigh. So there was a decent tavern here, possibly even an inn. It was too bad they could not stay to sample its wares.

  They kept riding, instead, navigating through the crowd as they worked their way across the town. This was the main road and would have been wide enough for two or even three wagons across if it wasn’t for the people and horses and carts everywhere. It was a teeming throng of humanity, and Alaric longed to lose himself in it for a few moments, soaking up the sights and sounds and smells. Akendorf was hardly Nuln or Middenheim, or his beloved Altdorf, but it was the largest settlement they’d seen for weeks and held many of the luxuries they’d forgone on their journey.

  Alas, they would have to forgo them for a while longer yet.

  As they rode, both men kept glancing around, both to see their way through the crowd and to look for more of the town guard. Several were in evidence, men in a variety of armour and carrying what must be personal weapons, but they were all marked by the same heavy bracers on their left arms. A few of the guards nodded at Alaric and Dietz, but seemed to be doing no more than greeting the newcomers and letting their own presence be noted. Alaric and Dietz both nodded back every time, half-expecting each guard to shout for them to halt and relieved when that did not occur.

  “Perhaps we did outrun them,” Alaric suggested quietly as the south gate came into view. “We did not see horses, after all.”

  Dietz merely grunted. Alaric knew his friend was too pragmatic to relax until they were well beyond the town, but he had begun to feel a bit more cheerful. The gate was not far ahead and they would be through it soon. Surely they were safe now?

  He always remembered too late that thinking such thoughts usually got him into trouble.

  The first hint was the wave of sound that washed over them from the rear. The street was filled with noise already, people talking and haggling, and animals snorting and chewing and clomping along. But this was a discreet thing, a sudden shift in the voices from mixed emotions to fear, anger, and even grief. Here and there they caught a few words from the tumult:

  “…guards dead…”

  “…strangers attacked them…”

  “…no reason…”

  “…Rillian’s own son…”

  “…said it was two men on horses…”

  “…blond and fancy…”

  “…lean and weathered…”

  “That’s them!”

  Alaric had no idea whether the last shout had come from a guard or merely a resident, but the result was immediate. People turned to stare at them, a collective gasp rose from the crowd, and everyone backed away.

  “Run!” Dietz suggested quietly. Alaric had had the same idea and was already spurring his horse back into a gallop. The two mounts leapt forwards side-by-side, racing down the suddenly cleared street towards the gate that waited so invitingly up ahead: the gate that guards were already rushing to close.

  “Stand aside!” Alaric shouted, drawing his rapier even though he knew it would not do much good. He was too far away to strike at the guards and his blade was not meant for use from a galloping horse. Strong as it was, the blade that Todbringer had given him would snap from the impart. He only hoped that waving it about would at least menace the guards into ducking back long enough for them to pass.

  Fortunately Dietz had a better idea. The older man drew the crossbow at his side, levelled it, and fired. Then he fired again, the mechanisms within raising a fresh bolt into the groove automatically. He fired a third bolt, each one striking not flesh but wood, the wood of the gate, where men had rushed to push it shut. The guards leapt back as the first bolt thunked solidly into the gate and wisely kept their hands to themselves as the next two bolts hit as well. Alaric knew his friend was a fair shot, but he also knew that no one could be expected to hit a target from a galloping horse. The guards didn’t know that though, and he was glad that they were erring on the side of caution.

  The gate had been pushed partially closed already but it did not close any further, and Alaric raced through it, followed closely by Dietz, who swivelled in his saddle, to keep the crossbow trained on, first the men by the gate and then the men stationed above it. One of the guards fired a crossbow of his own, the bolt narrowly missing Alaric’s cheek. Dietz loosed three more bolts, the third one chipping wood from the logs mere inches from where the guard stood, and the man did not make a second attempt.

  Then they were out of range, at least of crossbows. The valley stretched before them and beyond it the farmland faded and the forest beckoned.

  They kept riding, forcing their horses to maintain the gallop for as long as possible. Surely Akendorf’s ruler, the Rillian they had heard mentioned, would send mounted guards after them. Their only chance lay in maintaining their lead.

  Once out of the valley Dietz turned his horse sharply west and led Alaric off into the trees on the opposite side from the river. They slowed out of necessity, both because the horses were slathered in sweat and because it was too dangerous to ride full-speed through an unfamiliar forest, but they continued moving for several more hours before finally halting beside a narrow stream.

  “I think we lost them,” Alaric said quietly, and after a moment Dietz nodded.

  “We’ll stick to the trees for a while,” he said, “just to be safe.” Then he dismounted and began rubbing down his horse.

  Alaric did the same. “The one with the club must have been the mayor’s son,” he said after a while. “He seemed like the leader.”

  “Would have been a lousy mayor,” Dietz pointed out. Alaric nodded. Yes, the man had all the earmarks of a classic tyrant: crude, violent and not too bright. The town was probably better off without him.

  “I would have liked to have tried the wine, though,” Alaric said with a sigh. Dietz tossed him a wineskin from his horse and Alaric caught it and took a long drink, but of course it wasn’t the same.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Crack!

  Alaric shifted and peered about blearily. “What was that?”

  “What?”

  “I heard something.”

  “It’s the wind. Go to sleep.” Dietz’s slurred words indicated he was still mostly asleep himself.

  “It wasn’t the wind,” Alaric insisted. “It sounded like a branch breaking.”

  “Then it was a branch. Go to sleep.”

  “Who would be breaking branches in the middle of the night? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”

  Dietz paused for a moment before responding, and Alaric thought he might have fallen asleep again. Then his friend spat out a single word, “Animals.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “Night animals.”

  “Oh.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “Fine.” Alaric lay back down and closed his eyes, trying to ignore his own misgivings.

  Crack!

  “Up!”

  Alaric blinked. “But you just said—”

  “Up! Now!”

  Alaric took the command literally and leapt to his feet, which proved to be a good thing. The space his head had occupied on the ground was suddenly beneath a hairy paw. A paw that was followed immediately by another, as a large wolf leapt into their campsite. Its fur was matted, its claws gnarled, its mouth open and slavering, and its eyes were glittering in the last embers of the fire. But the wolf wasn’t what held their eyes. No, what really demanded their attention was the figure mounted on the wolf, swinging a heavy war axe. Alaric du
cked just in time.

  A goblin wolf rider!

  Dietz had heard tales of such creatures, of course. They roamed the Empire as well as the Border Princes, although not as frequently or in such large numbers. They were goblins who had tamed wolves, or at least broken them enough to use them as savage steeds, and ride the wild canines in raids and battles. Now, a wolf and his rider had invaded their camp, the animal’s jaws snapping at Alaric while the burly goblin readied his axe for another swing.

  Unfortunately, one of the things Dietz had heard was that wolf riders never travelled alone.

  He grabbed his crossbow and fired, putting a bolt through the first goblin’s left eye. Then he spun and crouched just in time to avoid losing his face to a second wolf as it sailed into the tiny clearing. The goblin on its back had a spiked club and Dietz blocked the blow with the crossbow stock. The solid wood took the hit without splintering, but the force sent a shiver through his arms.

  A third wolf circled them, growling, its rider shouting something in the harsh goblin tongue, while at least one more prowled beyond. Fortunately they had selected a site within a small cluster of trees, boulders and low bushes, and the other beasts could not reach them. The horses were tethered within the trees and were snorting their terror, but the wolf riders ignored them. There would be time enough to handle the mounts once the men were no longer a threat.

  Except that Dietz intended to remain a threat for a very long time, and so did Alaric. The younger man had used the first goblin’s fall to distract its wolf long enough for his rapier to stab it through the eye and into the brain. The beast had collapsed, as dead as its rider, and provided an additional barrier blocking the other wolf riders from reaching them.

  Alaric took advantage of that, sheathing his rapier and drawing his crossbow from his saddlebags. It was not a self-loading model like Dietz’s, but he slipped a bolt into place quickly enough and paused to aim before firing. The bolt took the third wolf rider in the chest, knocking him out of his saddle. His wolf launched itself furiously towards the clearing, jaws snapping, and clambered over its fallen pack mate. It could not have made the climb while burdened with a rider, but the awkward scramble slowed it long enough for Alaric to drop his crossbow, grab the axe the first goblin had dropped, and swing it. He was not familiar with the heavy weapon and the attack was clumsy, but the wolfs own momentum imbedded the heavy blade in its skull and it collapsed, still trying to bite even as it died.