Hammers in the Wind

by Christian Warren Freed

  Dorl stopped and gave a flashing smile. “Don’t thank us yet, boy. You’ve got to earn your keep. There is no free ride on the Dragon’s Bane.”

  *****

  Rekka Jel slept lightly. She did not dream. She never did. Hers was the warrior life. The dream caste of her people was the vast minority, sparing the rest from suffering the endless cycle of joy and torment of dreams. That left the defense of their kingdom to people like Rekka. Less than thirty years old, she was already an accomplished warrior. And now she had a task. Arms folded across her chest, Rekka slept. Her hammock swayed with the motion of the waves. Dawn wasn’t far off.

  She awoke with a start. The noise was subtle, and decidedly wrong. Instinct immediately took over. Rekka slipped from the hammock and drew her sword even before she was conscious of her actions. Her lithe body slipped to the deck. Dressed in only a dark undershirt and trousers, she moved from the sleeping area and into the main passage of the hold. Her dark eyes sifted through the near perfect darkness of the ship.

  Rekka wasn’t certain, but she imagined she’d heard a cutoff scream, the sound, slight as it was, was more than enough to rouse her. She doubted many others would have done the same. Barefoot, she eased closer to the stairs. Rekka moved like one of the great cats of the Brodein Jungle. Silent and deadly. Whoever screamed was most certainly dead. Her blackened sword waved dangerously in front of her, making her the vision of death.

  The idea of a killer being on board was unsettling. She reached the base of the stairs and paused. The killer might well be awaiting others to come on deck. Caution was required if she expected to catch her prey off guard.

  “Hsst.”

  She froze. Her eyes narrowed, searching deep into the shadows. She saw nothing. Rekka loosened her muscles, preparing for a fight. Two figures took shape as her eyes grew more accustomed to the dark.

  “Show yourselves,” she ordered.

  “Drop your sword,” a familiar voice called.

  Dorl Theed and Nothol Coll eased into the sliver of moonlight shining down from the hatch. Both were armed and ready to fight.

  “I could have killed you both.” Rekka was mad. She was also wary. Either one of these two might be the killer. Until the actual culprit was found, there was no way to tell.

  “What are you doing up?” Dorl asked.

  She replied, “You first.”

  He shrugged as if it were no big deal. “We heard a noise neither of us liked and decided to have a look. Your turn.”

  “The same.”

  Nothol had heard enough. They’d all arrived at the stairs at almost the same time. That was enough for him. “We can stand here and silently accuse each other all night or we can go on deck and find out what happened.”

  “I like the first answer better. Sounds safer at any rate,” Dorl chimed.

  Rekka scowled and headed up. She was in no mood for games. It was clear nothing was going to happen unless she led the way. These two talked too much. She’d noticed that the moment she came on board. This was no time for talk. The two sell swords followed her without so much as a whisper.

  Rekka reached the top of the steps and halted. This would be the perfect place for an ambush if one were to happen. The killer would have the advantage of dropping an arrow into her the moment she poked her head up. She was trapped in a funnel. Rekka had a split second to decide her next move. She could either charge onto the deck and alert everyone or she could creep a little higher and scout the area first. The decision was simple.

  Rekka held a staying hand towards the sell swords and eased up slowly. The last thing they needed was male bravado. That would only get her killed. Of course she could easily accomplish that herself. Stealth and speed were her primary skills. They’d saved her neck several times in the past and she hoped for the same here.

  She eased as close to the edge as she dared. Her heart raced. The adrenaline pumping through her veins wanted more. In stark contrast her nerves were calm. She wasn’t the sort to get nervous before a fight. If anything, she was anxious. Rekka took a slow breath and poked her head up enough for her to see. There was just enough moonlight for to make out the immediate surroundings. Rekka twisted in a full circle. Her immediate line of sight was clear. So far so good.

  She finished her scan, finding it slightly odd, but not disturbingly so, that there was nothing to see. She’d reacted as soon as she heard the muffled scream. There hadn’t been another sound until she ran into Nothol and Dorl. Her suspicions raised, yet she gestured them to follow. If they were the killers she might as well confront them now and get it over with.

  “It is clear. Follow me,” she whispered.

  They slipped onto the deck like wraiths bent on mischief. Nothol brought up the rear. Rekka gestured them to fan out. The killer must be on deck still. There was nowhere else for him to go. Rekka was in her element. This was the kind of work her people excelled in. She smiled fiercely, praying that she was the one who found their prey.

  Dorl was the first to stumble on the corpse. It lay crumpled and broken at the base of the main mast. A pool of blood cooled around it.

  “Who is it?” Nothol asked.

  Dorl shook his head. “Don’t know. One of the crew I think.”

  Nothol moved closer to peer over his friend’s shoulder. The head was missing. “Looks like we’ll never know for certain.”

  “Who would do this?” Dorl asked.

  Rekka returned from the bow. Her face registered a mix of puzzlement and disappointment.

  “No killer?” Nothol asked her.

  Rekka shook her head and stared down at the corpse. “Not even a sign. This does not bode well.”

  The warning in her voice caused both to look up in unison. Her sword swung menacingly in a low guard.

  Dorl held his hands up. “We didn’t do this.”

  She didn’t move. “We are all suspects until the killer is found. I do not trust you.”

  “Fair enough. We need to get Bahr,” Nothol told them both.

  Dorl looked to both of them. “Who goes? There’s not a lot of love being spread around here.”

  “I go,” Nothol suggested. “You two watch the area and try not to kill each other. One murderer is bad enough.”

  THIRTEEN

  Mahn led Raste up a sloping path for a few hundred meters before bringing his horse to a stop. The younger scout gave him a confused look. Camp was clearly in the opposite direction. Mahn took a deep pull from his canteen and rolled some of the strain from his shoulders. He then dismounted to relieve himself. Raste could only watch in disbelief.

  “What are you doing?” he asked as the older man returned and stretched.

  Mahn smiled lightly. “Taking a break.”

  Raste made a show of looking around. “From what? I don’t know about you, but I’d like to get back to camp and get some sleep. What are we doing?”

  “We’re being tracked.”

  Raste resisted the urge to draw a weapon. Doing so would only counter whatever Mahn had in mind. He might be young, but Raste was experienced enough to know better than to jeopardize their chances recklessly. That didn’t change the fact he remained skeptical of Mahn’s decision-making process.

  “You said he was an amateur and had run off.”

  Mahn hardened his gaze. “Don’t make me beat you.”

  He shrugged. “You did say it.”

  “I thought he had. I was wrong.”

  “Do you think it’s the same person?”

  It was Mahn’s turn to shrug. “More than likely. If it is someone new he’s almost as clumsy as the first one.”

  “Let me circle back around and finish him off. I’m tired.”

  “No. This is the same argument that we had before. I still think he’s harmless,” Mahn replied tersely.

  Raste wasn’t so sure. “Harmless enough to get under my skin and make us ride in the wrong direction. This is getting irritating, Mahn. There’s no way we can lead him back to camp. Aurec would kill us if this guy do
esn’t first.”

  Mahn winced. He wished the boy had been smarter than to mention names. Their pursuit was almost close enough for the night to carry their conversation to him. He wanted to side with Raste but for a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. This wasn’t right.

  “We’re not going to.”

  “Care to let me in on the plan?” Raste asked.

  “If the maps are correct and we are in the right place we can trap him in the sharp draw just ahead.”

  Raste doubted their luck was so strong. “Sounds good, but how can you be sure he’s going to follow us into the draw?”

  “Not us, you. You’re going to lead him in while I loop around to seal him in. Pin him down and find out why he’s so interested in us.”

  Raste didn’t like being the decoy, but there was little choice. The quicker they did this the less of threat the man posed. If he did mean them harm he wouldn’t last the night. Raste’s only concern came from not knowing who this man was or how dangerous he might be.

  “What if he decides not to cooperate?”

  “I think he’ll see things our way,” Mahn said confidently.

  Raste muttered, “I hope so.”

  “Get moving before he gets too close. About another two hundred meters and then turn on him. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Raste rode off. He knew better than to argue. Mahn was the sort who didn’t like to change his mind once it was set. He also hated having his orders questioned. The last thing Raste needed was to go on report for disobeying orders once they returned to Rogscroft. He hoped this spy was harmless, else he’d do his best to run his sword through the man.

  The trail was used enough so he didn’t need worry about obstacles. Heavy clouds peppered the sky, occasionally blocking the pale moonlight. Raste preferred it that way. This was the kind of work that needed doing at night. Regardless of Mahn’s opinion, Raste fully expected a fight. Raste casually picked his way down the trail, never once bothering to look over his shoulder. He knew their plan was working and the enemy had taken the bait.

  “I have got to be crazy,” he muttered under his breath.

  Raste debated turning and riding the man down to beat a confession out. People generally responded well to pain, especially when it was unnecessary. Mahn would be furious when he found out, but he was willing to accept a berating for saving all of their lives. This little game of cat-and-mouse was already getting on his last nerve. The sooner it ended the better. Then again, there was the off chance that this was what their spy had in mind. Lure them in with feigned ineptness and spring his own trap.

  Wouldn’t that be nice, Raste snickered. Killed for being too clever. Raste could just imagine the look on Aurec’s face when he found out his two best scouts had been snookered and killed, if he ever found out at all. His rage would be legendary. Raste tried to shake the image. He was tired and it began to show. Fatigue did odd things to men. He rode on, trusting in the gods to protect him, but more importantly trusting in Mahn to bail him out when things turned sour. The young scout kept riding, fighting the urge to turn and finish this. He wanted a fight nearly as much as a soft bed. Finally he was rewarded with the crisp sound of footsteps breaking on the dried autumn leaves. It was time.

  Mahn watched his younger partner ride off with a sense of satisfaction. Raste was a good kid with potential to go far in the army. He just needed to develop his follower abilities. Mahn backed his horse into a thicket of pines and watched. Their stalker was still there, slowly moving closer. A crisp wind tousled Mahn’s long hair, sending a chill down his back. Winter was coming quickly this year.

  The wait proved shorter than expected. Raste had barely ridden off before their mysterious stalker came into view. The scout watched him closely, eager to see just who it was that had such an interest in them. Whoever it was moved with a new composure. His movements were fluid, rehearsed; definitely not the same fool they’d seen earlier. Mahn found odd familiarity in the man’s movements. He watched the man slither over a boulder and stalk down the trail. The act wasn’t so remarkable as much as the fact that he didn’t leave a trace of his passing. Mahn’s eyes narrowed. He suddenly remembered where he’d seen such behavior before. The Pell Darga. Mahn knew they were in trouble. Raste was moving into a trap.

  “Damnation,” he breathed.

  The Pell were ruthless. He’d grown up listening to horror stories of trappers and hunters caught in the mountains. The bodies were never found again, but then they didn’t need to be. Other travelers usually found the heads on menacing pikes to warn them off. Some said the Pell were cannibals. Regardless, the Pell were monsters that a sane man would do well to avoid.

  Mahn only had a few moments to come to a decision. The Pell never moved alone. That meant others had to be close, just far enough out of range to come storming in when their scout gave the signal. Mahn had to move fast if they stood any chance of escaping this. Both he and Raste were dead otherwise. The Pell scout moved quickly, forcing Mahn to ride harder. He drew his short sword and hoped for the best.

  The Pell took no time to close the gap between Raste and himself. Mahn’s plan crumbled around him. He swore under his breath. The careful trap they’d set was about to backfire on them. Mahn’s decision turned out to be easier than he thought. He kicked a heel into his horse and bolted down the trail. He couldn’t let the Pell trap them in the gorge.

  The Pell scout whirled at the sound of hoof beats. He dropped flat to avoid being trampled, but when Mahn looked down it was as if the Pell had simply disappeared. His horse jumped over where the man fell and veered right. Mahn caught a rising clamor behind him. The other Pell had arrived.

  “Raste!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Raste get out of here! It’s a trap.”

  There was no way to know if his partner heard him or not, nor did he have the time to find out. Mahn looked back and felt his insides turn. Dozens of shadowy figures emerged from behind rock and tree. Clothes in dark furs and leathers, the Pell hunters took their time. They could afford to. This was their land. Mahn struggled to find the courage to sheath his short sword and drew his rapier. The act was more desperate defiance than courage. There was no way he was going to survive this. The Pell formed a circle around him and slowly drew it tighter.

  Raste burst from the trees just as the Pell were in striking range for Mahn. There was no chance in breaking the circle. He was still a good hundred meters away. A look of hopelessness twisted his face. All of his suspicions had been correct but now was not the time to say “I told you so.” He scanned the surroundings and felt his heart sink. The Pell Darga had chosen their ground wisely. They hardly noticed his arrival. Raste grimaced as a lone Pell advanced on Mahn.

  “Come no closer,” Mahn growled. He dropped his sword point towards the Pell.

  The Pell halted.

  Mahn found a small measure of courage. “I don’t know who’s going to die this night, but I promise you will be the first.”

  The Pell slowly raised his hands to remove the crude hood from his head. Mahn grimaced at the face staring back at him. Tattoos covered the flesh. When he smiled all Mahn could see were sharpened teeth and the dark emptiness of malevolent eyes staring back. He suddenly believed all the wives’ tales.

  The Pell spoke. “There is no need for talk of death, man of Rogscroft.”

  Mahn tried to conceal his shock. “Actions speak louder.”

  The Pell gestured to his men. “Look around. Do you see my men attack?”

  Mahn took it all in. Not a single Pell had a weapon in hand. They all stood relaxed with hands exposed to avoid confusion. Was this part of the game?

  “I don’t believe you. What trickery have you for us? We know the stories of the Pell Darga,” Mahn shakily said.

  “Again you speak with your emotions. Your head should decide, not your heart. My people are not enemies. We come to aid you. Darkness is coming. Alliances must be forged.”

  Mahn was only slightly dismayed by the talk. This mountai
n savage was addressing him as a subordinate. Mahn suddenly felt uncomfortable. The tide had shifted. He quickly realized that there was no claimable advantage. Whatever the Pell wanted he was going to get. The Pell knew it as well.

  “Tell me your name.” It came out as more of a command than a request.

  Mahn shifted uneasily.

  “Let’s just kill him and get it over with,” Raste rumbled as others herded him into the center of the circle. His patience was gone, as was the will to fight.

  Mahn shot him a withering glare. “Quiet.”

  The Pell grinned savagely. “I am not offended. He is young and does not know better. Now, your names.”

  “Don’t do it,” Raste cautioned.

  Mahn ignored him. Besides, there was no point if the Pell were just going to kill them anyway. “I am called Mahn and this is Raste.”

  The Pell nodded thoughtfully, mouthing each name. “I am Cuul Ol. These are my hunters.”

  “Not exactly our pleasure,” Mahn replied harsher than he intended. “What are you going to do with us?”

  “We wish to speak to Prince Aurec.”

  Mahn felt sick. What could a Pell Darga hunter want with his prince? More importantly, how did he know the man to begin with?

  “You’ll have to go to Rogscroft for that. The prince is a busy man.”

  Cuul Ol shook his head. “I would prefer to be taken to your camp one league from here.”

  Damn, Mahn cursed. These Pell were better than he gave them credit for. He never felt as outmaneuvered as now.

  Cuul enjoyed the shock on their faces. “You did not think that we are ignorant of what goes on in our own lands? These mountains have been our home since the dawn of the world.”

  “We will not betray our prince by leading you into his camp. Their heads won’t end up on one of your damned pikes. You’ll have to kill us first,” Raste warned.

  “Again with your fascination for death. Do all of your people seek the cold earth so foolishly? How can you raise civilizations with that attitude?”