by James Wisher
“Oh?”
“Yes, sir, only reason I marked it was on a count of it was a late addition to the caravan. A woman practically begged the boss to take it. Paid double the usual fee too.”
“Very interesting. Thank you for your help. Please enjoy the use of the cottage until you’re fully recovered.” Jeremiah turned to go.
“You give them bastards hell, sir. The lads deserve a little pay back.”
Jeremiah tuned back. “They will answer for their crimes, rest assured. Good day.”
Jeremiah and Marcus left the cottage and started back to the main house. “What do you think?” Marcus asked.
“First and second squads should be able to handle this. Go get them ready, Loken too, we’ll need a tracker.”
“Aye, sir.” Marcus turned off toward the barracks.
Jeremiah continued toward the main house alone. He’d laid out his weapons and armor last night and need only strap them on. He’d promised Gabriel he could help. The boy was eager to learn about being a knight, even how to strap on armor. Jeremiah sighed; he wished Xander showed as much interest.
Alexandra waited just inside the door. “How bad?”
“Just some bandits that think they can hunt in Lord St. Jaques territory. It shouldn’t take more than a week to hunt them down.”
“You’ll be careful?” It sounded half question and half order.
“I will, never fear. Where’s Gabriel? He’s to help me dress for battle.”
Alexandra smiled. “He saw a spot of tarnish on your sword and went to polish it. Gabriel!”
The boy raced around the corner a moment later, Jeremiah’s sheathed sword slung over his shoulder. “Sorry, father,” he said between gasps. “I was tending your sword.”
Jeremiah took the weapon from him. “As a good squire should.”
Father and son retreated to the armory where it took five minutes to get all the bits of steel plate strapped in place. When they finished they found Alexandra waiting in the great hall. “Where’s Xander?” Jeremiah asked.
“In the library, where else?” Gabriel said.
“Get him, won’t you dear?” Alexandra said.
“Yes, Mother. XANDER!”
“That was not what I meant, Gabriel.”
Xander appeared at the top of the stairs, hopped on the railing, and slid down to join them. “Off to smite the unwashed hordes, Father?”
“You’ve been reading the Princess and the Barbarian again haven’t you?” Jeremiah said.
“Yeah.”
“Well in this case the horde is small though still unwashed.”
“Fight well, Father,” Gabriel said.
“Yeah, carve’em up good.”
Jeremiah dropped to one knee and hugged both boys. In another year he wouldn’t have to kneel to include Xander in their goodbye hug. “Be good for your mother.”
“Why do you always look right at me when you say that?” Xander asked.
Alexandra kissed his cheek and closed the visor on his helm. “Come back safe.”
* * *
The flapping of ravens’ wings and the scream of crows announced their arrival at the ambush site. Bodies, both human and animal lay strewn about the dirt track. Jeremiah shook his head and dismounted. He’d seen death often enough, but he never quite got used to it. He’d decided long ago that if he could ever look at the aftermath of a battle and feel nothing he’d retire.
“Loken?”
“Aye, sir.” The scout dismounted, his mottled brown and green cloak swirling around him, a quiver of arrows on his hip, a longbow slung over one shoulder.
Jeremiah watched while Loken studied the ground then turned his attention to the bodies. He bent down for a closer look at one of the many arrows pin cushioning the bodies. It was ash, sanded smooth, and fletched with gray goose feathers, high quality weapons, no doubt stolen from some unfortunate hunters. He frowned. Burt said the leader wore expensive gear. Maybe he’d bought the weapons and armed the bandits, but why?
“Sir?”
Jeremiah looked up when Loken spoke. “Report.”
“They went northeast, through the forest. The bandits made no effort to hide their tracks. Judging by the prints I’d say your informant was right on about their numbers.”
“Probably figured no one would be after them for days,” Marcus said.
Jeremiah thought much the same. “Good work, Loken. Let’s get after them.”
They rode out, Loken in the lead. The trees slowed their horses but the forest floor was largely clear of undergrowth so they maintained a steady trot until dusk. They made camp in a clearing near a creek. While the men tended the horses Loken approached. “We’re getting closer.”
“You’re sure?”
Loken nodded. “We’re only a few hours behind them now. I’ll wager a week’s pay we catch sight of them by midday tomorrow.”
Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at that. “No bet, you’re too good to wager against. Spread the word, no fires tonight.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jeremiah heard little grumbling about the lack of fire. It was approaching summer and the nights were warm. While Marcus set guards for the night Jeremiah found a likely patch of ground and spread his blanket out. They were a day from home and everyone had fresh food to eat. He was curious to see what Alexandra had packed him.
He opened his pack and on top, wrapped in white cheese cloth, sat a peach tart, a bit crumbled after bouncing around all day. Jeremiah smiled and took a bite. Xander must have nicked it from the kitchens and snuck it in his pack. He’d have to remember to thank the boy when he got home, right after he gave yet another lecture about not stealing from the kitchen.
* * *
The next morning they were on the road once the sun cleared the horizon. It was a beautiful day, clear and bright, the humidity of summer still far off, a shame they’d have to spoil it with a battle. After three hours steady riding the trees thinned then opened into a wide field. In the distance the field rose into a steep ridge.
Loken reined in at the edge of the trees and Jeremiah eased his horse up beside the scout. “Do you see them, sir?”
Jeremiah squinted but his aging eyes couldn’t make out anything. “Where?”
“Halfway up the ridge angling to our left, a line of men, it’s got to be our prey.”
Jeremiah squinted again then shook his head. “I’ll take your word for it, Loken. What’s our best approach?”
“If we ride after them now they’ll hold the high ground and we’ll be riding into the teeth of an archery barrage. Best if we let them get a little further ahead. Once they’re out of sight we can cross the field unseen then catch them on the flat ground up top.”
Jeremiah nodded. “We might even let them make camp and hit them after dark. Watch them and let me know when it’s safe to move on.”
“Sir?” Marcus said.
“The men can eat if they wish. We’ll be here a little while.”
Jeremiah got a strip of jerky and gnawed on it. He wasn’t hungry but once they got moving he might not have another chance to eat. What he wanted was to sit at the scouts right shoulder so he could ride the instant the bandits cleared the ridge. That wouldn’t get the bandits moving any faster and it would annoy Loken. Better to keep his distance, the scout was a professional, when it was time to move he’d say so.
“They’re clear,” Loken said. It had taken over an hour for the bandits to clear the ridge. All the while Loken crouched, unflinching, as he watched the tiny figures moving ever further away. It grated on Jeremiah to let the bandits get even a step further away from justice, but he accepted the necessity.
The horses pranced in place, sensing they’re riders’ eagerness. “Let’s go,” Jeremiah led the way across the field. At the base of the ridge they found a narrow path that switch-backed its way up the slope. Loken was right, if they’d tried to take the bandits on the path they wouldn’t have stood a chance.
At the top of the ridge they found anoth
er field and in the distance a scattering of trees, no way they to close the gap on horseback in broad day light. “Loken, scout ahead,” Jeremiah said. “I don’t want to blunder into them.”
The scout dismounted and tossed his reins to the closest man. “Keep a good distance back,” Loken said. “I’ll double back when I find their camp site.”
* * *
The sun had almost set when Loken appeared out of the shadows. They’d ridden a couple miles from the ridge, Jeremiah having set a sedate pace. “You found it?” Jeremiah asked.
Loken pointed. “Three quarters of a mile. They’ve already started drinking. If we’re lucky, by the time we get in position they won’t even know which end of the sword to hold.”
Jeremiah eased his horse over to a clump of trees and dismounted, his men followed suit. “We’ll leave the horses here and move in on foot. When we arrive, Marcus, you take half the men to the far side of the camp. When I give the signal we’ll take them from two sides. Questions?” No one spoke, so they followed Loken through the gloom, quietly as men wearing armor could.
They heard the camp before they saw it, shouts and laughter ringing through the quiet spring night. A bonfire illuminated the clearing where the bandits and sprawled, sacks of loot scattered here and there. Filthy men lay in the dirt, some wrestled and others ate joints of meat from what looked like a wild pig roasting on a spit over the fire, it had to be near raw. A short distance from the fire, sitting alone, brooded a man in bright mail that had to be the leader Burt described. At his feet sat a small chest.
Jeremiah and Loken eased closer while Marcus made his way to the far side. Loken pointed right and left, a sentry at either end of the clearing. Jeremiah nodded and pointed at Loken’s bow. The scout nocked an arrow and nodded. Jeremiah gestured for the other men to ease up closer. When everyone was in position Jeremiah patted Loken on the leg.
Loken drew the arrow to his ear and loosed. Before the first arrow hit a second was in the air. The first arrow took the far sentry in the throat, he fell without a sound. The second sentry took an arrow in the chest and he died screaming. Jeremiah surged forward, his men right on his tail.
Confused, drunk bandits staggered around looking for weapons. Jeremiah slammed one man to the ground with the flat of his sword. Another charged him, hatchet raised. He slapped the crude attack to the side and cut the bandit from shoulder to waist. All around him the battle surged. His men handled the bandits with little trouble, the only real resistance centered on the leader and a knot of four men standing back to back.
Hoping to avoid unnecessary bloodshed Jeremiah looked to where he’d left Loken and his bow to watch for runners. He whistled to get the scout’s attention, pointed to the leader, and tapped his shoulder. A moment later Loken’s bow twanged and the leader flinched, just enough that the arrow rammed into his neck instead of his shoulder, rocking his head back and knocking him to the ground. Damn it! Jeremiah wanted the leader alive. He charged toward the still standing bandits. “Surrender and you’ll be spared!”
One bandit made a clumsy thrust with a short sword but Jeremiah batted it aside and decked the man with a mailed fist. The bandit’s head twisted around and he went down in a heap. The sight of their comrades dead or down must have convinced those still standing to surrender because as one they tossed their weapons down and raised their arms.
“Sergeant, secure these men. If they give you any trouble run them through,” This last bit he added for the benefit of the bandits. None of his men would kill an unarmed man. “Loken, go fetch the horses. We’ll camp here tonight and ride home in the morning.”
The victory was one-sided for the most part. Once they sorted out the chaos of the battle they had ten prisoners. The rest were dead and dumped in a heap outside the clearing. As for his men, one unlucky corporal got a deep gash on his cheek and two others took blows to the body that would be sore for a few days.
“The prisoners are secure, sir,” Marcus said when they’d finished tying up the survivors. He held a belt pouch in his hand. “I took this off the leader’s body, thought you might want a look.”
“Excellent,” Jeremiah took the pouch. “Post a guard detail and tell the rest of the men they can get some sleep. We ride at first light.”
Marcus saluted and went to carry out his orders. Jeremiah walked over and sat down beside the little chest that appeared to have caused all this fuss. He hefted it; it weighed maybe a pound or two. The lacquered wood gleamed, and the catch showed no sign of damage. The bandits hadn’t attempted to open it after three days in their possession that seemed odd.
Jeremiah set the chest aside and dumped the pouch out on the ground. By the light of the fire he studied the contents: a used silk handkerchief, no monogram, that went into the fire, a folding, ivory handled, pocket knife that Jeremiah appropriated, it would make an excellent gift for Xander’s birthday next month, and a three inch long scroll case. Inside the case he found a rolled up strip of paper covered in vertical and horizontal lines. If it was a language it was one Jeremiah hadn’t seen. He replaced the scroll in its case and tucked it away in his own pouch. Maybe Alexandra could make sense of it, her father worked as a scribe so she knew a lot about languages.
Jeremiah yawned and got to his feet, tucking the chest under his arm. He didn’t plan to let it out of his sight until he had a better idea what was happening. Loken had returned with the horses and it was time to get his bedroll and try to sleep. It would be a long ride home at the pace the prisoners could walk.
Chapter 2
Ick shrieked and waved his hands at the sky causing the branch he perched on to shake. Below him, in a little clearing in the woods four days travel from the nearest settlement, six of the master’s thugs looked up, frowning, at their tiny master. The humans’ fear washed over the little demon and he reveled in it. For three days they’d waited for the rest of the humans to arrive with the master’s package. Even allowing for the general laziness of humans, the bandits should have arrived two days ago.
After one last shriek at the universe Ick turned his attention to his servants. They were filthy, diseased creatures too stupid to be trusted with even simple tasks without his supervision. The absolute dregs of Lord’s Way, Ick smelled their sweat and the remains of their last meal rotting between their decaying teeth even from his perch far above them. Reaching into their minds Ick read their anxiety and a desire to collect the gold they’d been promised so they could spend it on alcohol and females. Disgusting.
Ick drew on his innate magic and sent his thoughts streaking through space to his waiting master. The vermin have still not arrived, master.
Even the edge of his master’s fury sent a thrill of pain though the little demon. If they haven’t arrived yet they’re not going to. You may return. Gorn will be waiting.
Yes, master.
His master severed the connection and Ick allowed himself a gleeful chuckle. Gorn would pay the humans in blood and Ick’s misery would be washed away in it. “Humans, the meeting has been canceled. I will take you to collect your payment now.”
Relief and excitement oozed out of them. They wanted out of the forest and back to what passed for civilization. It was a couple miles hike to the edge of the forest where they were to meet Gorn and Ick was as anxious to get there as the humans though for different reasons. The little demon spread his wings and leapt from the tree, gliding east to where his brother waited, the humans trotting along behind him.
They reached the edge of the forest a few minutes before noon. Ick sensed Gorn’s presence even though he wasn’t in view. They emerged from the forest and found Gorn sitting on a boulder. He wore the form of a human warrior in black spiked plate armor. In the ground at his feet sat a cloth pouch. The humans eyed it licking their lips, eyes shining with greed.
“Your reward,” Ick said. “Go collect it.”
The humans needed no further prompting. The raced forward, each wanting to be the first to collect their payment. The humans were so foc
used on the pouch they never noticed Gorn hop off the boulder and straighten to his full seven foot height. Once the first human was within reach Gorn lashed out, striking the man with such force that his fist went all the way through the bandit’s chest and blasted out his back in a shower of blood.
The moment he struck the illusion that cloaked Gorn in the shape of a man faded, revealing his true demonic body. Pebbly, reptilian skin covered a massive, broad shouldered figure. Bat wings sprouted from his back and a barbed tail lashed behind him. Gorn ripped his hand free of the human’s chest; in his clawed hand he held the human’s heart. The demon popped the morsel into a mouth lined with three rows of shark teeth and ground it up.
The horror that was Gorn held the other humans rooted in place as surely as chains. Gorn flailed left and right, crushing the humans under his fists. All the while Ick flew over head chattering like a mad thing, dancing through the air around spurts of blood. Far too soon for Ick’s liking nothing remained of the humans but piles of quivering flesh.
Gorn reached down to collect the pouch then gestured for Ick to join him. The little demon would have liked to play in the blood a little longer but he knew better than to keep his unpredictable big brother waiting. Ick landed on Gorn’s shoulder and the two of them teleported away.
* * *
Knight Commander Eric Ericsson contemplated the two inch tall pile of papers on his desk, each sheet detailing either a crime under investigation or one that his officers had solved. As a whole the stacked represented the corruption that was Lord’s Way. Sometimes Eric thought it would be best to wipe out the city and start fresh, like a farmer mucking out the stables.
Eric picked up the top sheet, but before he could look at it a tingling in the back of his head interrupted. Eric leapt to his feet and tossed the paper back into the pile. He hurried over to his office door, locked it, and sat back down. With slow deep breaths he calmed his thoughts, preparing his mind to accept the master’s will. When the tingle became a steady buzz Eric pictured a door in his mind then he opened it.
