by Sam Ferguson
“Sorry,” Beven whispered with a wave.
Hound didn’t respond, but kept his eyes focused on the ground instead. What the man saw, Beven couldn’t say. Beven spotted scattered deer droppings here and there, but no sign of human activity anywhere. Still, Hound kept moving along as sure of himself as if he followed a trail marked by flags and stones. They wound their way up to the base of a large mountain that was carpeted with tall pines and scraggly oak trees. Only when they neared the trees did Hound raise a hand and call for Beven to stop.
Beven crouched low while Hound sniffed the air and gently placed his hand on a nearby tree, fingering the bark and then rubbing his fingers together as if testing some sort of residue. He then moved to the side and pulled a patch of pale gray usnea from a low hanging branch. He brought it to his mouth and lightly touched the tip of his tongue to it.
“They’re here,” he whispered as he tossed the mess of lichen to the ground.
Beven arched a brow, unsure if Hound was just putting on a show for his benefit, or if the man’s tracking skills were in fact more hound-like than human. “Which way?” Beven asked.
Hound shook his head. “They are watching us, I can feel it,” Hound said. Don’t look now, but there are two of them thirty yards to the east, just on the other side of a pair of oaks separated by a boulder. One has a bow, the other a spear.”
Beven remained quiet. He had been on similar missions before as part of his previous employment, but he knew better than to pester the senior member of this particular group. Seniority within the Spiked Badgers meant authority. Beven knew to wait quietly for his commander’s orders.
“We turn thirty degrees to the north, and then move east, let them think they’re hidden.” Hound moved and Beven followed. They moved in and out of the trees, quietly listening for the slightest sound. It was Beven, not Hound, who heard them first. He pushed Hound forward and then ducked behind a tree as an arrow sailed through the air where they had been a moment before.
Beven set an arrow to his bowstring and then wheeled around the tree. He let his arrow fly and caught the spearman in the chest just ten yards away. The man fell with a pained grunt and then went still upon the forest floor.
Hound was up and running for the enemy archer. Beven tried to cover his comrade, firing whenever he thought he had an opening, but the other archer was just as adept at dodging as Beven had been. None of the arrows hit their mark, and each step Hound took brought him closer to the danger.
“Come on,” Beven snarled. “Give me a shot.” He moved out from his cover and began charging the enemy archer as well, hoping to flank the man before Hound was shot. Arrows tore through low branches and leaves, thumping loudly into the trees around them, but Hound was quick enough to avoid death as he moved in.
The enemy archer popped out from a copse of saplings and took aim. Beven smiled and pulled back on his bow, the enemy had his back turned to him and had not seen him coming. The shot was open. Beven fired the arrow.
Ten yards before the missile struck its target, the arrow exploded in the air.
The enemy archer didn’t fire at Hound, instead he spun around and let his arrow fly at Beven. There was a flash of light, and then a searing pain the erupted in Beven’s arm. Somehow, he had flinched and moved his own bow into the path of the enemy’s arrow, but as the head struck Beven’s bow, it glanced off and turned for the man’s right shoulder, biting deeply into his flesh. Beven cried out in pain and doubled over, dropping his bow and clutching at his arm.
There was a gasping scream a second later.
Beven looked up to see Hound hack into the enemy’s neck with his hatchet and then lift the man off the ground with a thrust of his long knife that went up into the man’s lower back. Hound dropped the archer to the ground and stomped on the back of the man’s neck for good measure.
“Where’s the spearman?” Hound asked.
Beven panted for breath as he picked up his bow. “Dead,” he answered breathlessly. “Hit him first thing, right in the chest.”
Hound then raised his hatchet and threw it directly at Beven’s face. Beven cursed and dove to the ground. The weapon whirled through the air above him and then came to a stop with a wet, thawack! Beven looked up to see the spearman, arrow still lodged in his chest, standing just a few steps away. Hound’s hatchet was now firmly embedded in the spearman’s forehead.
Beven couldn’t believe his eyes as the spearman staggered forward, still clutching his deadly spear.
Hound was shouting something from behind, but Beven didn’t need coaching at this point. Fueled by the pain in his arm and the anger of embarrassment, he leapt to his feet and drew his short sword in a flash. Beven stepped in, batting away the enemy’s spear and then coming in with a savage hack that lopped off the man’s right arm just below the shoulder. Then, without waiting, Beven reversed his strike and thrusted up into the soft tissue under the man’s jaw. The point of his sword slipped in easily and then stopped just for a moment when the tip reached the roof of the enemy’s mouth. Beven snarled and pushed harder until his weapon broke through and slid up into the man’s brain cavity. A second later, the spearman went limp and fell to the ground once more.
Hound was there an instant later. “Tough mud-lover,” he said as he nudged the slain spearman with his boot. “Must have been from Stahlbor, I have heard tales of how strong their berserkers can be.”
Beven didn’t care. He yanked his sword free and wiped it on the fallen spearman’s clothes. “Either that, or he used magic.”
Hound nodded and glanced toward the east, understanding full well the implications of such an observation. “We can’t go back to the camp,” he said. “I’m pretty sure this is just a thick-skulled Stahlborian, but the archer definitely had some sort of ward protecting his back that you triggered with your shot. I think he also used some spell to accelerate his return shot at you.”
Beven nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right,” he said as he recalled the flash. “So what do we do now?”
“We head further north. If the others can sense magic, then they will come here to where the magic was used. Magic-eaters can sense the energy left behind by spells. With any luck, they won’t be good trackers and we can get a head start on them. If they have anyone like me on their team…” Hound let his words trail off as he bent down and pulled his hatchet. “Come, we need to leave.”
Hound led them northward, stopping only when they found a suitable cavern after nightfall. Beven watched the entrance, bow in hand, while Hound went to work setting tripwires and other improvised traps. However, none of them would prove useful.
About an hour after Hound had finished the last of his preparations, there was a flash of light at the entrance of the cave. Beven barely managed to duck into a depression in the cave wall as a ball of roiling fire swept past him. The heat licked his body and singed his hair as the spell hurtled down the cavern. The tripwires were consumed instantly, and Hound yelped as he tried to find cover.
Then there was the vacuum of air that nearly sucked Beven away from the wall and choked off his breath. As if that weren’t enough, the ground shook and then the entrance to the cave fell in on itself. Massive slabs of stone crashed to the floor as dirt and dust were kicked up all around Beven.
“They found us!” Hound shouted from the back of the cavern.
Beven put a hand over his mouth and nose and then stumbled through the darkness until he met up with Hound. “You all right?”
Hound slapped Beven on the back. “I’m fine, but if we don’t think of something in a hurry, we’re both going to be baked alive in a stone oven.”
Beven handed his bow to Hound just as a faint, orange glow grew on the rocks that had closed off their escape. Someone outside was not about to let them dig themselves out. Thankfully, Beven had a much more powerful tool at his disposal. He took in a steadying breath and then stretched his naked hands out into the air. He felt the moisture in the cave calling out to him from the walls, ceiling
, and ground. He smiled when he realized there was more than enough for what he wanted to do.
“Whatever you’re doing, hurry it up!” Hound shouted.
“Give me a moment,” Beven said. He closed his eyes and called back to the moisture with his mind. A faint, but distinct sucking sound could be heard coming from the stone around them as Beven assembled water molecules out in front of them like a wall of water, pulling it from everywhere around them.
Next he assembled all of the remaining moisture he could and formed a large spike of floating water. “We’re going south,” Beven commented.
“We’re what?” Hound asked.
Beven turned and aimed his spike at the stone wall of the cave. He sent the spike into it and then focused his energy, agitating the water and spinning the magical spike. The stone was dry now, and cracked easily under the spell.
“Follow me,” Beven said. They walked through the darkness, following the sound of the drill, which grew larger with each passing second as Beven found access to new amounts of moisture in the uncovered stone around them. Soon he had enough to accelerate their escape. With a magical water spike the span of his height at the base, he turned his spell down at an incline and drilled a slide in the mountain. He sent the spike rushing through the earth ahead of them, careful to polish the surface smooth and sweep away the debris along with the spike.
“It will gain momentum now,” Beven said. “Come on, let’s see if you can keep up with me.” He turned and grabbed Hound, then he pulled the man down to the slide. The angle of descent was steep in several places, allowing them to speed up before continuing for long, flat stretches. After several seconds of listening to Hound shout in confusion, Beven heard the man start whooping and hollering with glee. Then, there was an explosion of light as the spell found the edge of the mountainside and spewed them out.
They flew out into the air some thirty feet above the trees.
Hound quickly returned to cursing and shouting, but Beven had prepared for just such an outcome. He called upon the water pooling upon the ground from his spell and conjured up a soft pillow for them. They splashed into a sphere of cool water just above the trees. They swam up to the surface of the floating bubble and then Beven smiled as he gently lowered them down to the ground unharmed.
“That’s a nice trick,” Hound said as he shivered in the moonlight.
Beven called upon the last of his magical strength to heath the water that still clung to their bodies. Hound sighed with relief and then a ball of steam spread out around them to fight the cold. “I would wager we are maybe a mile south of where we found their scouts,” Beven said. “But it won’t be hard for them to find us again with a spell like that.”
“Better to die in the open air than by fire,” Hound commented. “Come, we should warn the others.”
The two ran as fast as they could back to camp. Fortunately, they made it there without incident.
Grifter was the first to see them. “What happened?” he asked.
“We battled a pair of scouts, one of the scouts used magic, and then the magic-eater tracked us with that.”
Grifter spat on the ground. “Any more of them?”
Hound nodded. “Don’t know how many, didn’t get a good look at them. They had a fire-mage with them and he sealed us off in a cavern. If not for the greenling, we would have died in there.”
Grifter nodded to Beven. “Good work. Let’s prepare for a fight.”
Beven grinned a bit, it was nice to impress the boss, even if he wasn’t flowery with his compliments.
The group quickly gathered their things and prepared to march back toward the mountain. Beven was still huffing and puffing for breath when they set off to face down the foe. Hound, on the other hand, was barely breathing heavier than normal.
They spaced themselves ten yards apart so as not to bunch up along the trail. They used the light of the moon only, no torches, and absolutely no light spells. The march was slow and deliberate, each member of the Spiked-Badgers scanning the area for any sign of trouble. It was only twenty minutes into their journey when they found what they were looking for.
“Weapons and magic free!” Grifter shouted just as a large fireball hurtled toward him.
Beven watched helplessly as Grifter dove down the slope of a foothill, tumbling to a stop some twenty yards away. Ferret answered the attack with a fireball of his own. A silvery streak of lightning erupted from the sky and knocked Ferret’s fireball to the ground with a sizzling explosion of sparks.
“On the hill!” Pender shouted.
Beven turned to look up to the top of the hill and spied three men there. They each fired bows. As with the first archer, there were flashes of light behind each arrow. Only this time, Ferret was here and ready. He pulled a wall of earth and stone up to shield them from the archers.
Bones then ran off around the wall, using his spells to create forty additional warrior images.
“Greenling, to the rear!” Hound called out.
Beven turned to see a man riding upon what could only be described as a legless ghost-horse with tattered wings and long, shining fangs. The silver armor glinted in the moonlight as the man floated eerily toward Beven. A glowing, green sword in his right hand and a ball of blue fire in his left, he came in for an attack. Beven was certain they had found Wescot the Black. The newest member of the Spined-Badgers couldn’t use his bow with his right shoulder injured. Worse still, he had essentially used up all the magical energy he could summon in a single day, possibly even for several days with that stunt he had pulled at the mountain. All he had at his disposal was his short sword, and he was nowhere near as good with his left hand as he was his right.
The young warrior pulled his sword and prepared for a fight, but Hound was there in a moment, pushing him out of the way as a blue fireball rocketed toward him. Beven was caught on the side, his clothes igniting instantly as he tumbled down the foothill. He couldn’t see Hound, but he could hear the man shouting and cursing Wescot the Black as the sound of clashing metal and a shrieking ghost-horse filled the night.
Lightning and fire erupted all around them as Beven finally slid to a stop in the cool grass at the bottom of the hill. He patted out the last of the blue flames and turned to see what had become of Hound. Grifter had managed to reengage the enemy while Pender kept Wescot’s fire-mage in check with his bow. Swirling columns of fire snaked around the battle as hunks of earth collided with enemy soldiers. Wescot darted in and out of the fray, hacking down at the Spined-Badgers with his glowing sword and hurling fire at them with every chance he got.
Beven struggled to his feet, but he knew he was too far away to be of much help. The other bounty hunters were magnificent. They dodged and weaved around the enemy attacks, countered with blades and magic alike, and, surprisingly, turned the tide of battle in their favor very quickly. The archers at the top of the hill were the first to fall, unable to discern the real Bones until it was too late and he cut them down. Then, with two mages against the enemy fire-mage, Bones and Ferret made quick work of the man that earlier had nearly killed Beven and Hound.
Pender took down the ghost-horse with an exploding crossbow bolt that had been doused in his own “special recipe” of holy oil, and then Grifter and Hound managed to bring Wescot the Black down to the ground and take the man’s head.
The fight was over just like that. Each of the Spined-Badgers were now four hundred gold crowns richer. It was more money than Beven had earned in the last seven years put together by a factor of four, and he had hardly done much of anything at all.
As the others began looting the bodies, Bones illuminated the area with a massive orb of light. Beven trudged back up the hill to the others, his clothes still smoldering from the blue fire, and offered a sheepish smile and weak shrug to Grifter.
“Not to worry, Greenling,” Grifter said. “Not only did you survive the contract, but you can help us with the bodies.”
“Pile them up in one spot and Ferret will bur
n them,” Pender said as he clapped Beven lightly on his injured shoulder.
“Gah,” Beven growled as he winced and pulled away from Pender.
“I’ll help you,” Hound offered. “I owe you one for the cave. Come on, tonight we stack the bodies, tomorrow we stack the coins.”
*****
“Well? What did you think?” Jack asked as he pulled Simplin aside onto a new document. “He’s pretty cool, huh?”
“Bah,” Simplin said as he transformed back into his usual human form. “I could have done any of the things he did.”
“No. You couldn’t,” Jack said. “You don’t have half of Beven’s abilities.”
“Only because you have never bothered to develop me as fully as you could have!” Simplin shouted. “I mean, I faint at the sight of my own blood, and half of my spells fire the wrong way, but only because that’s how you write me. If you left me alone, I could be twice as good as Beven.”
“Okay, hot-shot,” Jack said. “Are you ready to go back to your own story now? Or are you too afraid to finish what you started now that you know how much you are lacking in skill?”
“Shut up,” Simplin said as he crossed his arms. “Just take me back.”
CHAPTER 2
(The real one)
“Satisfied?” Jack said.
“Let’s just get on with it,” Simplin replied, albeit a bit more humbly this time.
“Very well, on with Chapter Two,” Jack commented. “I’ll start right at the beginning again. No arguing this time.”
Simplin nodded. “Agreed.”
