“Seems bandits were sighted on the road,” he explained.
“No!” she said.
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “They were seen heading west, away from Cara so you and your family should be safe.”
“Well,” Scar said as he stood. “We must be going.”
“Yes,” Potbelly said as he stuffed the last of his meal in his mouth and grabbed his pack. “Good speaking with you.”
“And to you as well. Be safe.”
“Always.”
Once out of the inn, they mounted and headed down the road.
“I just don’t get it,” Potbelly said.
“Neither do I,” Scar agreed. “But this is going to make things dicey.”
“Are they even after us?”
“I would assume that they are until we learn otherwise.”
“If they know we’re going west, they may also know we are heading for The Rested Traveler.”
“Matlin, like Tork, could have set them on our heels.”
“I don’t know,” Scar said. “Matlin didn’t seem the sort to go out of his way for anyone, good or bad.”
“We need to avoid that inn.”
Scar glanced to his friend. “Agreed.”
It was two hours later when the first person coming from the west appeared on the horizon. A pair of riders, man and woman, they rode along at a good clip. When they drew near, Potbelly held up his hand.
“Pardon us,” he said.
The couple slowed and the man’s hand went to the hilt of a long sword.
“We were hoping you could tell us how far to an inn called The Rested Traveler? We understand it to be on a crossroads?”
The man eyed them suspiciously while the woman grew reflective. “I believe it is a little over a day away,” she said. “Nice inn. We stayed there night before last.”
Potbelly gave her a nod then nudged his horse into motion. “Thank you. Safe travels.”
“It’s a safe bet Garrock will be there.”
“Or his men,” Scar added.
“If we set a brisk pace,” Potbelly began, “we could cut northwestward cross country before nightfall and meet up with the road heading north from the Inn with no one the wiser.”
“Good idea.”
Nudging their horses to a faster pace, they raced down the road throughout the rest of the morning and into the afternoon. Periodically, they would question travelers as to how far yet to the inn. It wasn’t until the sun hung midway in the sky on its descent to nightfall did a fat merchant with two guards and a heavily laden wagon said it was less than an hour away. They left the road.
The forest in this area was much sparser than around Cara. They easily forged their way through and after a short time reached cultivated land. They skirted fields that looked freshly plowed and planted to avoid drawing attention.
By sundown, they had yet to encounter the road heading north to the Gorge of Waterfalls. Scar spied a barn with a small herd of cattle off away from the nearest farmhouse. With the sun fading fast, it was their best bet for shelter until morning. They made for it.
Quite aromatic but not nearly as bad as some inns they’d had the misfortune to stay in. The barn was enclosed on three sides and boasted a small loft where the farmer stored bales of hay and miscellaneous farming equipment.
Potbelly climbed the ladder to the loft. He broke open several bales and laid them out for bedding. An old blanket that had seen better days lay draped over a crossbeam and he pulled it down to spread over the hay. Then lying down atop the makeshift bedding, he sighed. “Better than some inns.”
Down below Scar secured their horses. They left them saddled in the event of a quick getaway. He climbed up and joined Potbelly on the hay.
“Not bad,” he agreed. “Though I would wish for more appropriate company.”
Potbelly laughed. “Who wouldn’t?”
The night deepened and then passed uneventfully. Then up before the dawn and they left the barn behind. Two hours later, they reached the road heading north.
Dotted with the occasional farm or orchard, the road meandered its way through rolling hills. Far to the north rose the peaks within which they would find Crystal Crag and the treasure.
Not long after they gained the road did the first village appear.
A score or more small dwellings sat huddled close together on either side of the road. Two were larger than the rest. One being a tavern with a few rooms off to the side; the other looked to be a general mercantile. They stopped at the mercantile to see about acquiring warmer clothing for the higher elevations.
Three people stood in the back of the shop. One was a younger woman wearing an apron, the other two were boys of roughly her age; all three were laughing.
She broke off from the boys and greeted them after they entered.
“Something I can help you find?” she asked.
Scar glanced around the shop and spied a stack of thick leather jackets with fur-lined interiors. “Those?” he said, pointing to them.
“Oh yes,” she said. “With colder weather on the way, these will certainly keep the cold at bay.”
Nearby were fur hats, mitts and thick blankets. “We’ll take two sets of all this.”
Her eyes widened and she grinned. “Fantastic. Please try them on and let me know when you are done.”
The two lads who had been speaking with her made their way to the door and left the shop.
Fully dressed in the winter clothing, Potbelly turned to Scar and asked, “How do I look?”
“Like a tick about to pop,” he joked.
“At least this tick will be warm.”
The sound of horses whinnying out front drew their attention. Scar raced for the door.
“Damn! They’re stealing our horses.”
Potbelly shot for the door, fur-lined clothes flying as he flung them off.
Scar had sword in hand as he burst outside just in time to watch the two lads that had been in the shop when they entered head south out of town with their horses.” Tethered in front of the shop across the road were four horses. Several men stood in and around them.
“There!” Scar yelled as he pointed across the street. He and Potbelly raced to the horses.
The man standing beside the one Scar ran for turned at his approach. “Here, now…” he began but Scar connected a right cross to his jaw and sent him sailing. Then untying the reins from the post, he vaulted into the saddle.
Potbelly bowled another man over as he went for the reins of another. “Sorry,” he said. Reins in hand, he swung into the saddle. As he kicked the horse’s flanks, he said, “We’ll return them shortly!”
A flurry of activity erupted as they tore out of town in hot pursuit of the horse thieves.
Scar had a couple lengths lead on Potbelly. The boys had an even greater lead; but not so much that Scar couldn’t catch intermittent glimpses of them through the trees along the winding road. From the boys, Scar heard laughter and was ready for murder when he caught them.
The road entered a series of turns cut through the hills. Glimpses of the boys kept Scar on track, but then he came to a straightaway and the boys were gone. He pulled back on the reins and stopped.
“What happened?” Potbelly said when he arrived a second later.
“Lost them.”
Turning about, Scar returned along the road through the hills, keeping careful watch on the ground. A hundred feet back, where a nearly invisible trail led off between two sides of the hill, hoof prints broke from the road and followed the new trail.
“Got you,” he said. Kicking his horse into motion, he followed.
The trail was narrow and difficult to maintain any great speed. Scar pushed the horse as fast as he dared. They splashed through a small stream created by a cascade of water down one side of the hill, then the brush grew dense and the trail narrowed even further.
Then all of a sudden they were through to a boxed canyon bordered by steep hills. A line of boys and youn
g men, sixteen in all, stood in an arc facing them. The two who had stolen their horses were among them. Two men in their twenties held crossbows, the others bore various weapons from cleavers to swords.
Scar came to a halt; Potbelly stopped next to him. His gaze flicked beyond the armed line to where his horse sat tethered to a rail outside the only building in the canyon. Potbelly’s was next to it.
One of the two with crossbows stepped forward. “Get down off the horses, drop your packs and any other valuables you may have and we won’t kill you.”
Scar laughed. “I have a counter proposal. Lower your weapons, give us our horses, and we won’t kill you.”
Many of the boys laughed and snickered at that.
The crossbowman was obviously the leader of this little band of outlaws. He raised his weapon and took aim at Scar. The other crossbowman leveled his weapon at Potbelly. “I don’t think you are in any position to make demands. Now, get down off those horses…Now!”
Scar sighed, and unslung his pack from around his back. Potbelly did the same.
“Toss those down here real gentle,” the leader said.
“You ready?”
Potbelly nodded.
“Now.”
Scar leapt up in his stirrups while at the same time slapping his horse on the rump and shouting “Hyah!”
The horse shot forward and Scar lifted his legs to allow it to pass beneath. The crossbow fired and the bolt struck Scar’s pack a split-second before the horse broke through the line of men before them, knocking several to the ground including the leader.
When Scar’s horse shot forward, so too did Potbelly’s. Unlike Scar, Potbelly kept his seat and headed for the second crossbowman.
The man fired, the bolt went wide and before he had time to react, Potbelly’s sword sliced into his neck.
Scar raced forward behind his horse, both swords at the ready. He impaled the leader as he passed, and took out another of the young men, one that held a long sword, with a slice to knock the sword aside and a thrust that penetrated his gut. Kicking the man to free his sword, he turned in time to face four of the older boys who rushed him.
The first to reach him tried an overhand, two-handed hack that put the boy off-balance. Scar easily dodged to the side, hit the weapon with one blade while leaving a bleeding furrow across the boy’s chest with the other. The three other boys hesitated at seeing so many of their number already down.
Scar caught sight of the one that had stolen his horse trying to flee back to where their horses were tied. Yelling at the three hesitant youths sent them running which opened the way to the horse thief.
Potbelly felled another young man and with knife and sword, stood encircled by four boys. Two were barely teens; one with a pitchfork and the other with a blacksmith’s hammer. The other two were a bit older wielding short swords.
“Throw down your weapons,” he shouted loud enough for all to hear, “and lie on the ground. We’ll kill anyone standing with a weapon in their hand.”
The boy with the pitchfork charged. He deflected the attack with his sword and came in with his knife. Instead of a killing blow, he sank the blade into the young man’s shoulder and then knocked him back into his fellows with an elbow to the face.
That was enough for the rest. They threw down their weapons and threw themselves to the ground. The one with the knife wound tripped and fell. He laid there groaning for help but the others stayed where they were, their eyes full of fear and riveted on Potbelly.
Scar reached the teen just as the boy gripped the saddle and was in the process of swinging up. Grabbing the boy’s shirt, he pulled him off and threw him to the ground. The thief hit the dirt, rolled and stopped when he saw the point of Scar’s sword inches from his chest.
The boy froze, fear of impending death naked on his face.
“I should kill you right now, boy,” Scar said.
“Please,” he wailed. “I have a mother who needs me.”
Scar quickly scanned the battlefield and saw Potbelly was the only one still standing.
“Where’s your partner?”
“What?”
“Your partner,” Scar said with as much murder in his voice that he could muster, “the one who took my friend’s horse. I don’t see him.”
“He…he must have ran.”
Scar spat. “Coward.”
The boy started to cry. Scar was disgusted.
“Whether you live or die, be a man.” He took a half step back and motioned with his sword for the boy to get to his feet.
“You’re not going to kill me?”
Scar shot him a look that weakened the boy’s knees and loosened his bowels.
“You have rope here?”
The boy nodded.
“Then let’s get it.”
The area outside the mercantile shop was filled with angry villagers. Stories both true and imagined made their course as everyone seemed to have a different perception of what had happened. Most were absolutely certain on one point; two strangers had stolen a couple horses and rode south out of town.
So it was with no amount of surprise when those same strangers came riding back in leading the two horses they had taken as well as a string of young men and boys, each with their hands tied before them.
One lad was trussed up and secured belly down on the back of a horse.
“Loren!”
The girl who worked in the mercantile shop raced through the crowd to the young man tied on the horse.
“What have you done to him?” she demanded of Potbelly.
“Not as much as was our right to do to him for stealing our horses,” he replied.
“The horse thieves!” several people exclaimed.
At first Scar thought they meant the lad tied on the horse. But then he realized people were looking angrily at him and Potbelly.
“We apologize for taking the horses.” He then gestured to the steeds secured in line behind them. “But when our horses were stolen, it seemed the only course of action if the guilty were to be brought to justice.”
The men who owned the horses came forward. The owner of the horse that Loren was tied to cut his bonds and set him to the ground. The girl pulled the gag from Loren’s mouth.
“They killed Peter, Stark, and Jimmy,” he shouted, accusingly.
The crowd murmured and hate-filled looks were directed at the two pit fighters.
“Murderers,” one woman cried.
Scar cut away the tether holding their prisoners from the back of his saddle. “Horse thieves every one. Do with them what you will.” He started to ride toward the mercantile store when the crowed closed in around them.
“Let us pass,” he said.
The crowd closed ranks and it looked like it was about to get ugly.
“Our horses were stolen, we borrowed two horses to get them back and have returned them unharmed.” He gestured to the boys and young men they had brought in. “We brought the guilty in for justice. Some died when they tried to rob and kill us. I will not apologize for that.”
A murmur went through the crowd and he could tell they were on the verge of attacking.
“They were just children,” a female voice said.
“Children play,” Scar replied. “Children work at the side of their parents. Men steal; men kill; and men pay the price for their actions. These ‘children’ left childhood behind when they decided to rob from us and attempt to take our lives.”
Raising his voice he said, “Enough blood has been shed this day. We will buy what we need at yonder shop and then leave this place.” He drew his sword, “We will not be interfered with or by the gods such a bloodletting will descend upon you that mothers and wives will weep for lost sons and husbands.”
He lowered his sword to point at the man standing directly in his way. “Step…aside.”
Fate hung on the edge of a coin. Scar was not sure which way it would fall. But then the man took a step to the right, others followed suit and a path was cleared
. Nudging his horse into motion, he made his way through the crowd.
At the mercantile shop, he said to Potbelly, “Go in and get what we need.”
Potbelly eyed the crowd uncertainly. “You sure you can handle this?”
Scar nodded. “Just be quick.”
Dismounting, Potbelly entered the shop.
Women took charge of the boys, others lamented those that had not returned. Some were egging their men on to do something and throughout it all, Scar prayed Potbelly would hurry.
Finally Potbelly emerged with their winter clothing. He didn’t even bother to pack it away, merely tucked it under one arm and swung up into the saddle.
Scar nudged his horse into motion and they made their way northward out of town. Behind them, the crowd watched until they passed from view.
-11-
“Didn’t think we’d make it out of there alive.”
Scar nodded. “It was dicey, and no mistaken.”
Once out of sight of the town, they quickened their pace to put as much distance between them as possible. They paused only a moment to store their newly acquired gear.
“Think they will come after us?”
“I doubt it,” Scar replied. “If they were going to do anything they would have done it then.”
“Matlin was right.” When Scar glanced at him, Potbelly said, “He said not to trust the villages along this road.”
“And we will not in the future,” Scar agreed. “Next village we should try and stock up on travel rations. Matlin didn’t say how long it would take to reach Crystal Crag from here.”
Later that afternoon they reached the next village. It was a little smaller than the previous one and didn’t even have a shop of any kind to speak of. Just homes and shanties lining the road. They opted not to try and seek rations there and instead continued on down the road.
Villagers eyed them as they passed. None offered so much as a salutation; merely kept to themselves. Scar felt a few had scrutinized them a bit too much, as if taking stock of their possessions and gauging the odds of being able to get them.
Scar stared them down and hoped to have instilled fear and feelings of unease at any thought they might harbor for a successful thieving venture.
The Improbable Adventures of Scar and Potbelly: Ice Terraces of Crystal Crag Page 12
