“Shall we?” Alaric asked Hammlich, who had been staring with some admiration at the tree-fox. His words made the scout start but the little man nodded and continued along his path. The others trailed him across the room, doing their best to ignore the feline remains off to one side, and to the antechamber beyond. Alaric was wondering how they would escape the small room, since the chute they had used ended well above their heads and was far too slick to climb, but Gunther had obviously thought of that. He nodded to Hammlich, who fired an arrow up the shaft. A moment later a rope appeared.
“Smart,” Alaric admitted. The lieutenant had left one or more of his men up above for just such an eventuality.
“I plan ahead,” Gunther replied, and something about the way he said it made Alaric uneasy. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, so he followed Hammlich up the rope with Dietz right behind him.
It was a relief to see the sky again, and Alaric allowed himself to breathe deeply as one of the guards gave him a hand out. He sprawled to one side of the tunnel entrance, staring up at the night sky, thankful their journey through the amazing, awful tomb was finally over.
They numbered eleven and all but the guards who had pulled them up were wounded to some degree. Therese had suffered a minor scratch from one of the statues and Dietz had taken a grazing blow to the temple from a skeletal guard. Alaric had a few small cuts and scrapes from the various encounters, and Gunther and Hammlich looked to be in the same shape. Woldred had a cut to one arm and was limping from a blow to the leg and Goran’s left arm was all but useless. Both of the guards who had been below had taken blows from skeletons and statues, and were bruised and bloodied. They were all a mess, but they had survived.
Gunther and his men had all the treasure they had taken from the treasure room, and Alaric had the gauntlet. He wasn’t sure why he’d taken it, but he had a feeling it was important.
Everyone was out, and Gunther was speaking to the two guards who had remained above. Alaric turned to say something to Therese, who was sitting up next to him, sipping from a water skin Woldred had handed her. As he watched she jerked, the skin falling from her hands, her eyes grown wide as she stared down at the crossbow bolt blossoming from her chest.
“No!” Alaric reached for her and caught her as she fell, her blood drenching his hands where the bolt emerged from her back. Even as he held her, the mage’s eyes glazed and dimmed, and her face slackened. Her body shuddered one last time and went limp. Alaric stared down at her. He hadn’t known Therese long but he had liked the quiet woman with her sparkling eyes and shy, lovely smile. For her to die now, after surviving the horrors of the tomb, was more than he could stand.
He turned to Gunther, to demand an explanation, just in time to see the lieutenant draw a long knife and slash Woldred’s throat from behind.
“Damn you!” Alaric shouted, dropping Therese’s body and scrambling to his feet, his hand reaching for his rapier. He had lost the bronze hook-sword somewhere in the tomb. The lieutenant just laughed as he and his men arrayed themselves against Alaric, Dietz, and Goran.
“Did you really think I would let you live?” Gunther asked quietly, his sword raised as he approached Alaric, “After you knew the way in, and to the treasure room? I can’t risk your coming back here to take what’s left, or telling anyone else about it. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound very apologetic but he didn’t seem to be enjoying the betrayal either. Alaric suspected that it wasn’t personal.
That didn’t make it any easier for him, Dietz, and Goran. The big fighter, enraged at Woldred and Therese’s murders, smashed one of the guards aside with his shield, despite his own injuries. He swung his sword at another, blocking the guard’s own blow and bringing his blade back around to stab the man through the stomach. Then he stabbed downwards, his blade driving deep into the chest of the guard he’d knocked aside. Hammlich slid up behind the big man and stabbed Goran in the side while his sword was still caught in the guard’s torso. Goran dropped to his knees, trying to retrieve his blade and defend himself even as the life drained from his body. Then he collapsed and did not move again.
Gunther advanced on Alaric and made the first move, lunging forwards, his longsword sweeping across to carve Alaric’s chest open. He blocked the blow and took a step back, giving himself more space to manoeuvre, and parried the next blow before assaying a strike of his own. The tip of his blade licked past Gunther’s defence and caught him on the cheek, leaving a line of blood there.
“We would have left,” Alaric said quietly, trying to force back the rage building within him. The lieutenant was a good enough warrior for him to need a cool head to beat him. “We would have stayed away.”
“I couldn’t take that risk,” Gunther replied, trying another attack. This time he pulled a long knife from his belt and used it to block Alaric’s sword, stabbing with his own at Alaric’s head. Alaric managed to twist and avoid the blow, but he left his side open as a result. Gunther did not miss the opening and stabbed him in the gut with his knife, sending a spike of pain through Alaric’s stomach and leaving him weak in the legs.
Alaric caught a brief glimpse of Dietz as he went down, his friend fending off one of the remaining guards while Glouste clawed at the face of the other. Then he was on his knees, peering up as Gunther raised his blade for the killing blow.
A shot rang out.
Gunther looked down in surprise, and Alaric stared up, both of them fixated on the gaping hole that had suddenly appeared in the lieutenant’s chest. Gunther managed to turn before he fell, staring at the face of his attacker.
It was Hammlich.
The scout stood there, pistol still smoking, his face utterly blank of emotion. Alaric idly wondered where he had found the firearm, and then realised it had been Gunther’s own. His assistant must have taken it from him at some point during their flight.
Dietz had clubbed his opponent with his plundered mace and stood a few feet from Hammlich, staring at the gun. Alaric knew his friend was wondering if he could reach the scout before he could reload or draw a new weapon.
“Don’t,” Hammlich warned, stepping back a few paces. He dropped the pistol and crouched, and when he stood again he had a shortbow in his hands, an arrow already nocked. It was his own bow, Alaric realised, he’d seen it on Hammlich back when Levrellian’s troops had first arrived, what seemed like ages ago now. The scout must have left it here when they entered the tomb, and now he was armed again, and could shoot one or both of them before they could get close enough to harm him.
“Kick that over here,” Hammlich said, jerking his chin towards something in front of Alaric. With a start he realised it was the gauntlet, lying on the sand where he must have dropped it. Alaric did as he was told, nudging it with his foot, and Hammlich nodded.
“I’m taking this,” he said, taking a step forwards and kicking the gauntlet behind him a few paces. Then he backed up so it was in front of him again. It was a smart move, Alaric thought. Even if they rushed Hammlich he might still have time to grab the gauntlet, stand, and fire at least one arrow. “I leave, you live, everyone’s happy.”
Dietz glanced pointedly at Gunther’s body, and the scout laughed.
“Fine, everyone left is happy,” he corrected. He looked at both of them. “Agreed?”
Alaric nodded. There was little else he could do. With the wound to his stomach he couldn’t even stand, let alone fight, and he could see that Dietz knew it.
They both watched as the scout reached down, grabbed the gauntlet, and stuffed it in the sack at his side with the rest of the treasure he’d taken. Then Hammlich was backing up, his bow still sighted on them. The scout scooped up the other three sacks where Gunther and the two guards had dropped them, slinging each one over his shoulder in turn. Once that was done he continued backing up to the valley’s far wall. He reached the path Alaric and Dietz had taken to get down into the valley and started up it. After a few paces he turned, un-nocked his arrow, shouldered his bow, and ran. Within minute
s Hammlich had vanished over the rise.
Dietz had run over to Alaric the minute Hammlich had started his escape. The older man sank to his own knees, helping Alaric lay back on the cool sand. “How bad?” he asked, his fingers already gently probing the wound.
“Bad,” Alaric admitted. He was feeling light-headed and alternately burning hot and freezing cold. Dietz offered him a water skin and he drank a little, even though it hurt to swallow.
“We’ll get you patched up,” Dietz assured him. “I’ll bandage this and then we’ll get out of here. We’ll go slowly.”
He was reaching for his backpack and the meagre supplies there when a voice stopped him.
“Slow is good,” it said. “So lift your hands, real slow, and keep ’em there.”
Alaric looked up. A man stood nearby. Apparently he had come over the cliff while they were watching Hammlich. He was short and stocky, with sandy, greying hair, but what Alaric noticed most was the crossbow aimed at him, and the short sword pointed at Dietz.
“Nasty wound,” the man said, glancing down at Alaric. “Good thing the price on your head is the same dead or alive.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Price?” Alaric asked, staring at the stranger, and clearly distracted by this strange new information. Dietz kept his own attention focused on the man’s weapons. They looked far too well used for his liking.
“Akendorf,” he reminded his friend quietly, “the ruler there.”
“Oh? Oh!” Alaric sat up straighter as he remembered what that self-styled Border Prince Levrellian had told them, and then winced as the motion caused his wound to shift.
“That’s right, Akendorf,” the stranger agreed, showing that his hearing was as sharp as the sword tip he kept pointed in Dietz’s direction. “Prince Rillian put a handsome sum on both your heads. I aim to collect.”
“Look, my friend is injured—” Dietz began, but the newcomer cut him off.
“Obviously.” He eyed Alaric as if he was a slab of meat. “The only question is: will it be easier to bring him back injured, or dead?” From the look in his dark eyes Dietz didn’t think the man was joking.
“Look, let’s discuss this like reasonable men,” Alaric said, keeping one hand pressed tight to his side. Dietz could see blood welling up around his friend’s fingers despite the obvious pressure on the wound, but Alaric managed to keep his voice steady, even pleasant. “I’m sure we can work something out.”
Sometimes Alaric’s friendly manner swayed people unexpectedly, but not this time.
“Why don’t you work out that blade of yours?” the stranger suggested, although his tone made it clear this was not a request. “Just kick it away from you, nice and easy.”
“He’s hurt!” Dietz shouted, resisting the urge to leap at the man. He knew doing so would mean both their deaths. “He can’t kick anything!”
“Then you do it,” the man said, “and toss that fancy club of yours over there, too, while you’re at it.”
Growling under his breath, Dietz did as he was told, collecting Alaric’s rapier and tossing both that and his own plundered mace several feet away.
“Toss those little blades, too, while you’re at it,” the man added, and Dietz cursed softly. He’d hoped the stranger wouldn’t notice his knives but of course the man was too sharp for that.
“Fine, they’re gone,” Dietz said, flinging the knives over by the other weapons and turning back, hands raised. “Now can we talk?”
“Now you can lie down, face in the sand,” the man replied. When Dietz didn’t move, the crossbow swivelled from Alaric to him, the bolt centred on his heart. “Now.”
Gritting his teeth to bite back a retort Dietz complied. He felt the stranger walking closer, and standing over him. Then suddenly a knee landed in the small of Dietz’s back, forcing all the air from his lungs in a swift gasp, and something cold and metallic clinked tight around his right wrist. The left followed, something rattling between them, and then both ankles.
“Better.” The man stood and hauled Dietz to his feet. His hands were bound behind him, but Dietz could see the heavy iron manacles around his ankles, the thick chain between them long enough to allow him to take short steps but nothing more. He realised that he’d been shackled like a common criminal.
A groan distracted him from his own plight and he glanced at Alaric. The younger man was turning pale and swaying slightly where he sat.
“Look,” Dietz began again, turning back towards his captor, “we—Oh hells, I don’t even know your name!”
“Is that all?” The man grinned, although his eyes stayed cool as he executed a rough bow. “Merkel Lankdorf, bounty hunter, at your service.”
“Dietz,” Dietz replied, lifting his chin, “and that’s Alaric.” He glared at Lankdorf, “and he’s badly wounded!”
“I can see that,” the bounty hunter agreed. “Stomach wound. Blade of some sort, I’m guessing a dagger.”
“Well, help him!” Dietz pleaded. “Or let me do it!”
Lankdorf stepped back a pace and studied Alaric for a moment. Then finally he shrugged. “Don’t matter to me if he’s alive or dead,” he admitted, “but I don’t much like lugging a corpse around. The smell tends to bother the mule.” He had sheathed his sword at some point, probably when Dietz had been facedown on the ground, and now he gestured Dietz to back up several paces, away from both him and the weapons. Dietz did so, careful to avoid the corpses that littered the ground. He also stayed well clear of the temple ruins and well away from the massive doors that led down into the tomb. Going in there once had been more than enough.
Once he was comfortable with the distance the bounty hunter gestured for Dietz to stop and sit. Then he set the crossbow on the ground behind him, within easy reach, and knelt beside Alaric, prying the nobleman’s fingers away so that he could get a better look at the wound.
“Nasty, all right,” he said after a minute, “not mortal, though, not with proper treatment.” Reaching to his belt Lankdorf removed a water skin and a small pouch. He poured some water directly on the wound, cleaning away the blood and eliciting a small gasp from Alaric. He took a large pinch of something from the pouch and placed it in his palm. Then he added water, mixed them together, and spread it over the wound.
“That’ll help stop the bleeding,” Lankdorf said, although Dietz wasn’t sure whether the bounty hunter was talking to him, Alaric, or himself. The man tore the rest of Alaric’s shirt away and ripped the still-clean portions into strips, which he bound around Alaric’s waist.
“Will he live?” Dietz asked when the bounty hunter stood.
“If he’s strong enough,” Lankdorf replied. Then he grinned that humourless grin again, “Leastways, ’til we get to Akendorf.”
The bounty hunter gathered the discarded weapons, not just Dietz’s and Alaric’s but those of the others in the clearing. He also searched the bodies carefully, removing anything of value. “Waste not, want not,” he said when he noticed Dietz watching him. Finally he searched Dietz and Alaric as well, which led to an unpleasant surprise as the bounty hunter reached towards Dietz’s chest.
“Myrmidia’s spear!” The man jumped back, shaking one hand even as he drew his sword with the other. Dietz did his best to back-pedal without tripping over those thrice-damned chains. Glouste, chattering like mad, bounded from her place in his jacket and scurried away, hiding behind Alaric when Lankdorf approached.
“It’s my pet!” Dietz shouted. She had hidden within his jacket throughout the trip into the tomb but must have somehow wriggled around to the side when he was being shackled. He whistled and Glouste ran towards him, ducking a half-hearted swipe from the bounty hunter’s blade and wriggling between Dietz’s bound arms and his back. “She won’t hurt you!”
“Hurt me? Damn thing already bit me!” Lankdorf snapped, examining his fingers carefully. Dietz could see a drop or two of blood, although it looked as if the bounty hunter had gotten off lightly. Glouste was capable of doing considerably
more damage when riled. “No one said anything about a pet,” the bounty hunter muttered, apparently deciding the wounds weren’t serious. He approached cautiously, he and Glouste eyeing each other warily. “What’s that, then?”
“Her name is Glouste,” Dietz explained as the tree-fox climbed up to her usual perch around his neck and butted her head against his cheek affectionately. “She’s a tree-fox.”
“Is it valuable?” He didn’t like the way the bounty hunter was looking at her now.
“To me, yes,” Dietz replied, “but no, I doubt she’s worth much to anyone else.”
Lankdorf sheathed his sword, slowly. “Well,” he said, “it stays over there and that’s fine, but it makes a try for me with those sharp little teeth and it’ll be turning on a spit. Got it?”
“She won’t bother you,” Dietz said, rubbing his cheek against his pet’s head, although she was bristling angrily. “She’ll be good.”
“Uh huh.” The bounty hunter resumed his search, but carefully, one eye on the tree-fox at all times.
“What’s this?” he said after a minute, pulling something small from Dietz’s pocket. It was the amulet that Glouste had found in the tomb. She must have deposited it in his pocket during their trek back out.
“I don’t know,” Dietz admitted. “We found it inside.” This was the first time he’d really looked at the jewellery and he could see immediately why Glouste had been drawn to it. The amulet seemed to be a pair of flattened silver discs, set one atop the other, although one had slipped slightly so that a crescent of the lower disc showed along the upper left. A large gemstone, pale green, took up most of the upper disc’s surface, with strange markings carved all around it. A small silver ring was attached to the lower disc right above the exposed section and that linked the amulet to a fine silver chain.
[Daemon Gates 02] - Night of the Daemon Page 13
