by Ginn Hale
“Yeah, if it gets sketchy just come back,” Bill advised.
“I will,” John assured her. “I’ll see you both soon.”
He picked up his coat and ducked out of the shelter. Outside, a cool night wind rolled over him. Anticipation and fear surged through his body, making his heart pound and his blood rush in hot pulses. So much could go wrong, but so much could be gained. As he made his way down to the road, the black shadows of the woods seemed full of possibility and for the first time in months he felt real hope.
Chapter Eleven
The Bousim convoy wasn’t hard to locate. Dozens of lanterns beamed between the black tree trunks like beacons. The two coaches and three wagons were festooned with bright lanterns. Light glowed across the black lacquered surfaces of the coaches and glinted over traces of gold filigree. Reflections also gleamed along the lengths of the gun-muzzles and sharp bayonets of the uniformed men riding alongside the carriages and wagons. John counted thirty riders, but he knew he probably missed a few.
The animals harnessed to the carts and carriages and being ridden weren’t horses. John didn’t know why he had thought they would be. They looked more like deer or antelope. Sharp horns spiraled up from their heads. When the light caught their hides, John saw that they were a greenish tone of gray. A few of them were marked with pale dapples on their faces and hindquarters. He remembered Ravishan telling him that men in Basawar rode tahldi. He had to assume that these were tahldi.
The drivers of the carts and carriages were dressed in thick coats and wore wide brimmed hats. They hunched in their seats. One man looked like he had slipped into a doze. In contrast, the uniformed riders surrounding the carts and carriages held themselves with a militaristic tension that was hard to read. John couldn’t know if their alert stances and straight backs were evidence of discipline or apprehension. Their silence, too, might have been a code of conduct. Their expressions were set, almost blank, but their eyes moved constantly, searching for motion in the surrounding night.
Rashan’im, John thought. Cavalrymen like these were called rashan’im. They served in noblemen’s private armies.
John crouched in the underbrush at the roadside, half blinded by the brilliance. The convoy proceeded forward at a slow pace. After watching for a few minutes, he decided that the least threatening approach would be the best. He certainly didn’t want to leap out from the woods and get himself shot before he could say a word. It would be wiser to let these nervy men come across him in the open. John crept back farther into the woods. He turned north and sprinted ahead of the convoy. Then he walked out onto the open road to wait.
Months of staying under the cover of the trees and keeping away from the Holy Road made this sudden exposure feel unnatural. He caught himself moving slightly to the side of the road, where the shadows of overhanging branches offered him greater camouflage. He made himself stop and move back out to the center of the road.
Everything was dark. The slight shadows cast by a faint moon and distant stars hardly impacted the surrounding blackness. But to John the subtle differences between the black trees and the dark sky seemed glaring. He could pick out the shapes of leaves on the tree branches and individual stones in the cobbled road. It was probably the result of living so long without light, he reasoned.
John watched the steady approach of the luminous convoy. He could make out the exact shapes of the coaches. Their lanterns burned brightly into his eyes. John rested his gaze on the sharp silhouettes of the rashan’im.
The two men at the lead looked older than John, somewhere in their late thirties or early forties. One was clean-shaven; the other had a thick black beard. Both wore their dark hair clipped very short. The bearded man looked like his nose might have been broken at one time. The other had softer features and a more angular build.
John noticed the small steely insignias that decorated the chests of their coats and the backs of their gloves. Two crossed arrows. The same insignia decorated the carriage doors.
John found it odd that he could clearly see these men while they, still intently staring around them, had not yet noticed him. He wondered if it was just that he knew where to look and what he was looking for. These mounted soldiers didn’t know what they should expect to see. John was pretty certain that none of them were expecting him.
Suddenly the clean-shaven rider at the front pulled his mount up short and gave out a call. The entire convoy ground to a halt behind the front riders. John heard muffled whispering voices from farther back. A shadowy head popped out from the window of one of the coaches and then was jerked back in.
“Tumah.” John held his hands out in the gesture of peace that Ravishan had taught him.
The clean-shaven rashan lifted his short rifle and took aim at John’s chest. All the words John had rehearsed as he had raced through the woods now crashed in a jumble of fear. The formal greetings and proper titles that he had previously decided on seemed dangerously long-winded now.
“I mean you no harm,” the Basawar words came to John in a rush.
“Move aside, dog! The Bousim house has neither the time nor patience for your filthy begging.” The bearded man addressed John in the derogatory form normally reserved for animals.
Anger flashed through John and for a moment he considered obliging the highhanded demand and letting them just march on to their deaths. It was a terrible and petty urge and John ignored it.
“I am not here to beg, sir.” John straightened and lifted his head so that he looked straight into the other man’s face. “I live in these woods and I have come to warn you that there’s a trap ahead of you on the road.”
The clean-shaven man lowered his rifle, just slightly.
The bearded man, obviously the one in charge, continued, “Very well, dog. You may speak. Tell us about this trap.”
Again the man’s tone grated at John, but he ignored it. He was in no position to demand to be addressed with human respect. He wasn’t the one holding a gun.
“I overheard men planning to attack the Bousim family convoy. They said something about taking the ushiri candidate captive.”
“What else?”
“They’re mining the road. About three leagues north of here, I think. They didn’t say where exactly but it has to be this side of the river bridge. After that the woods get too thin to offer any cover. They’re expecting you to reach them by early morning.”
“How many of them?” the bearded man asked.
“Twenty, I think.”
“Their weapons?”
“Rifles and knives. Maybe some bows,” John provided.
“What are you called, animal?” the bearded man demanded.
“Jahn,” John said his name the way Ravishan did. Only after he had spoken did he realize his mistake. Both the riders ahead of him smirked. The word ‘jahn’ referred to blonde hides, like the coat of the dog he had seen. It would be the kind of name a pet would have, but not a man. It was like saying he was named Spot or Blackie.
“Well then, Jahn,” the bearded man leaned forward in his saddle and smiled, revealing crooked teeth, “you’re a good boy to have run all this way to warn your masters, aren’t you?”
Several of the riders laughed out loud at this.
“It’s what any decent man would do.” John put an extra inflection on the word man.
“A little better.” The bearded man’s expression grew serious. “It’s a rare man indeed who travels through the godless night all alone just to deliver a warning to strangers. It sounds a little like something out of a child’s book, doesn’t it?”
“That’s right.” The clean-shaven man sobered as well. “Some nights devils dress in saints’ skins.”
John’s lip curled at the response. He hadn’t expected these men to throw their arms around him and thank him for his trouble, but this tone of accusation was outright offensive. He’d been terrified, nearly frozen, and had just run through half the night for these men’s sakes—for the chance to get into Amura’tay
e. He certainly hadn’t come just to be insulted.
He said, “Look, I’ve warned you. You can believe me or not. I don’t give a damn.” He started for the cover of the woods but froze when he heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.
“That’s no way to speak to your betters, dog.”
John turned back, meeting the bearded man’s gaze and refusing to flinch despite the gun aimed at him. The bearded man regarded him, and then with a smirk, he lowered his rifle. The clean-shaven man seemed surprised but made no comment.
“You want a reward for this, don’t you?” the bearded man asked.
John didn’t trust his voice not to betray his anger, so he nodded.
“What is it?”
“A little money and sponsorship into Amura’taye.” John kept his tone flat. “I want entrance for myself, my sister and her husband.”
The bearded man nodded thoughtfully.
“And if this trap of yours is a ploy? You’d expect to take some kind of punishment, wouldn’t you?”
“A ploy?” John couldn’t imagine how warning them could be a ploy or how this man might think it would serve John. So far all he’d gotten were insults and firearms pointed at him.
“You wouldn’t be the first Fai’daum to draw a guard off with claims of a threat. And you wouldn’t be the first beggar to pretend to be a hero for a handout.”
“I’m not Fai’daum and I’m not a beggar,” John stated.
The bearded man lifted his rifle slightly as if toying with the idea of shooting John. For one delirious moment it struck him as almost funny to think that if he got shot Laurie would really have something to gloat about. But irony lost all amusement as John gazed down the silver-gray barrel and contemplated the reality of being killed.
The bearded man seemed to come to a decision. He looked to the clean-shaven man. “Pivan, take twelve men, and our Jahn here, ahead. If you find Fai’daum, kill them. If you don’t, then kill this dog.”
“Not finding them won’t mean they aren’t there,” John began to protest.
“No, but I imagine that you’ll be a motivated guide for my men this way.” The bearded man smiled at John again, showing his craggy teeth.
Pivan signaled to the rashan behind him. A minute later, John was hauled up onto a big tahldi behind a youthful-looking rider with wavy brown hair.
“I’m Alidas,” the young man said. “If you fall, you will likely be trampled. Try to stay on.” Then he made a slight motion with his legs and animal beneath them raced ahead in high, fast bounds. The motion was nothing like riding a horse. John gripped the cinching strap at the back of the saddle for dear life. A distinctly seasick feeling rose in his stomach as they soared up and then dropped with every stride.
“They should be in the woods.” John tried to keep his voice even despite the jolting leaps. “On the right side.”
None of the riders made any reply but Pivan’s gloved hand flashed up and he formed some sign. John noticed the way the silver crosses on his glove caught the dim moonlight. Immediately, the riders reined their mounts up into the woods. They formed a loose line, Pivan and Alidas riding at the front. John gripped the strap desperately and leaned out a little from Alidas’ back, attempting to survey the surrounding woods.
Everything seemed different when he didn’t have his feet on the ground. The angles were all wrong and he wasn’t used to moving at this speed. The black branches and underbrush blurred past too quickly. His knuckles ached from the tension of his grip, but he still concentrated on the woods ahead of him.
“A little to the east of that cropping of trees there should be a rise. It will give us a better view,” John whispered.
“Which trees?” Alidas asked.
“Just ahead on the right.” John pointed and then quickly returned his hand to the cinch strap.
“I see it now,” said Pivan. He moved slightly on his mount and the animal instantly responded, bounding towards the thicker outcropping of trees. Alidas followed his lead and the other men fell in behind.
No one spoke. The riders communicated only by hand signals, moonlight sparking off the silver crosses on their gloves. Pivan swung his hand out and all the riders stopped. Witnessing these riders’ skill and discipline, John understood why they would feel assured enough to send twelve men to face twenty.
The night sky grew lighter, changing from a dull charcoal to the color of concrete. Far in the distance, John spied a human form leaning close to a tree. The moment he saw one, he began to notice others close to the road. Most crouched in the underbrush, their rust-colored coats fading into the dull branches and leaf litter.
“There,” John whispered. He pointed to the nearest man. “You see, I wasn’t lying. They—”
The rest of his words were knocked out of him as Pivan gave a sudden gesture and the entire force of riders charged ahead.
Alidas’ body shifted in front of John as he reached to the side of his saddle, and in one swift practiced motion, brought up his rifle and fired. One of the shadowy men ahead of them jerked and fell to the ground. A thunder of shots cracked out from all sides.
The Fai’daum scurried behind trees. Some fell. A few turned with their own guns and fired return shots. None of the rashan’im fell. They fanned out, crashing through the underbrush and trampling the men on the ground.
Alidas reined his mount after three men who had broken from the cover of two fallen trees. Fine branches slapped at John’s face as they charged through the dense woods. The smell of black powder filled the air. Alidas fired again, the crack of the gun deafening. A red burst of blood erupted from the back of one of the running men’s heads and he crumpled to the ground. Alidas fired again but then John only heard a metallic snap of an empty rifle.
Alidas cursed and urged his mount forward faster. Two men still ran ahead of them. The tahldi sprang ahead, raking its horns across the nearest man’s back. The man gave out a cry of pain and jumped to the side. As he did, Alidas slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s face. Hot blood spattered up across John’s cheek.
The man fell and the tahldi sprang with its full weight onto his chest. John heard the man’s bones snap beneath them. A horrified nausea washed through John as he glanced back and saw the bloody mass of the man’s body. He looked like the spattered remains of a crushed insect, arms and legs twisting out from a mulchy red ruin.
Alidas took no notice. He urged his mount forward after the last man. John stared at the Fai’daum man’s back. He didn’t know if it was right or wrong but he couldn’t keep himself from wishing that this one would escape. As the man wove between bushes and branches, he gave a soft cry and John recognized his youthful voice.
Saimura.
They bounded over a charred stump, landing only a hand’s length from Saimura. John could see his young, terrified face clearly. The mount swung its horns but Saimura lunged aside and sprinted towards a thick crop of trees.
“Jid!” Alidas cursed and reined his mount after Saimura.
Just let him go, John thought.
But he knew it wouldn’t happen. All around him, he caught glimpses of the same brutality. Half hidden by tree branches and distance, other riders impaled men, shot them, trampled their fallen bodies. The smell of gunpowder and the sound of screams filled the woods.
Alidas loaded his rifle and took aim at Saimura’s back. John considered bumping Alidas. But he was pretty sure that Alidas would kill him for that offense. John wanted to close his eyes but found he couldn’t. He stared at the young man, knowing that this slaughter was, in part, his doing.
Just as Alidas fired, Saimura’s ankle caught in some knot of hidden roots and he went down. The bullet missed him. He struggled to his feet, but his leg wouldn’t hold him. He fell again.
“This time you stay down,” Alidas whispered. He lifted his rifle and took aim again.
John saw a motion from the left, very close to them, something bright and moving fast. Then the tahldi shrieked and reared. Alidas’ rifle fir
ed up into the branches of the trees. John rocked back. His fingers slipped from the straps and he hit the ground with a sickening snap.
The air smacked out of John’s lungs and a hard pain exploded up his back. Only the rush of panicked energy gave him the strength to roll up to his feet and away from the flailing hooves of the rearing animal.
The dog had it by the throat. As her jaws crushed through the mount’s flesh, dark blood welled over the dog’s muzzle. The tahldi thrashed desperately, trying to shake the dog off. Alidas swung like a doll in his saddle. His rifle went flying and landed near John’s feet.
Suddenly, the dog was thrown aside. A geyser of blood sprayed from the mount’s neck and it collapsed with Alidas half pinned beneath it. The moment the dog hit the ground, it turned and sprang for Alidas.
“No!” John grabbed Alidas’ rifle and took aim at the dog. She stood over Alidas’ limp body, growling, her eyes on John.
“Just go,” John said softly. “Get out of here.”
The dog barred her teeth. Blood so dark that it was nearly black glistened across her entire face.
“I’ll kill you if I have to,” John told her.
Slowly, her eyes still on John, her teeth still barred, she backed away. John kept the rifle trained on her until she at last turned and fled into the deep shadows of the western woods. The empty rifle dropped from John’s hands. His arms shook with shock. He wondered how badly he’d been hurt by the fall. Definitely not as badly as Alidas.
John knelt down over the fallen rider to check his pulse and breath. Alidas was alive, but not conscious. There was blood all over him, but John thought it was his mount’s. The tahldi lying on top of Alidas’ left leg was a mess, its head connected to its body by only by a stretch of tendon and a flap of skin.
John touched the ground. It was soft and moist. A thick layer of half-decayed leaves and twigs covered the actual soil. He dug fistfuls of dirt and leaves from around Alidas’ pinned leg and then pulled him out from beneath his dead tahldi. The leg looked bad, twisting at the wrong angle below the knee.
