Hammers in the Wind

by Christian Warren Freed

  Boen sheathed his mighty sword and grunted. “You just ruined a bit of fun.”

  Dorl Theed’s smiling face emerged from the shadows. “That’s your problem. We saw them first.”

  The Gaimosian barked a quiet laugh. “He did all the hard work.”

  Nothol Coll shrugged, refocusing on wiping the ropes of dried blood from his blade. “It’s what I do.”

  “How many more are there?” Boen asked.

  Dorl answered grimly. “We’re surrounded. I’d guess at least a company.”

  “Just a company? I’m insulted.”

  “Yeah well, that’s more than enough for me. I’d like to make it back to at least get paid.”

  Boen shook his head playfully. “Not very patriotic.”

  “My loyalties only stretch so far. Right now I just want to survive. How about we stop talking and get out of here before whoever is in command realizes he’s missing a few men,” Dorl suggested.

  Boen led the way through the kitchen towards the back. His blood pounded in his head. Old tactics and strategies immediately took over his thoughts. Decades of warfare flowed through his veins. A company was a decent size force, decent enough to finish him off without much problem despite his earlier bolstering. Finesse and guile was needed if they were going to survive. He waited until Dorl and Nothol slipped into place beside him. They would do well enough. It was Skuld he was worried about. Clueless Skuld.

  Boen snatched the lad by the nape and jerked him close. “Listen to me, lad. This is no game. No fanciful daydream. Men are going to die tonight. Perhaps one of us. Stay focused. Do not lose yourself in this battle. That is how men die.”

  The boy did his best to gulp down the rising terror inside him.

  “That and a nasty slice from a sword,” Dorl added glibly.

  Nothol elbowed his partner. “The boy is about to wet his trousers. No need to help him.”

  Boen growled. “Enough. We move.”

  “Wait,” Dorl hissed in warning.

  All paused. Dorl was looking out the narrow window to their right. His face twisted with dismay. “I can count ten men on my side. We’re trapped.”

  “We don’t have much of a choice. Fight and die or stay and die,” Boen said.

  Dorl shook his head. “Bahr is waiting for us a few hundred meters in the forest.”

  “If we can make it,” Boen added.

  Nothol said, “Which you said we can’t. I say we get this over with. The Gaimosian is right. Death stalks either choice.”

  Hefting his sword, Boen flashed a devilish grin. “Come then, let me show you what it means to be named a Vengeance Knight.”

  “We’ll be right behind you,” Nothol confirmed.

  “What should I do?” Skuld squeaked. He was all but frozen with fear. His body refused to respond. All it wanted to do was find a safe place to hide and pray death passed him by.

  Dorl snipped off a laugh. “Hope you don’t get killed.”

  The Gaimosian had had enough. “Now,” he barked.

  He kicked the door with the strength of three men. Wood splintered, shattering on impact. Boen charged through as the soldiers ducked from the shrapnel. He lashed out with his sword. A head dropped, eyes wide open in shock. An arm was ripped away at the shoulder. Thick ropes of blood arced in the moonlight. A man screamed until he was cut off with a cold steel thrust to the heart. Boen moved like a whirlwind. His actions were well rehearsed, practiced on a hundred battlefields.

  The sell swords stormed out a few seconds behind, careful lest they be cut down by the Gaimosian’s rage. Three seconds and Boen had already killed two men and crippled another. Dorl and Nothol fanned out on the flanks, killing another three with flawless precision. Only Skuld remained still. His mouth agape, the boy watched in horror as his companions systematically cut down every soldier unfortunate enough to come within range. Nowhere in his wildest dreams did he imagine the truly violent nature of combat. Skuld struggled not to throw up. A heavy knock off to his right shook him back to reality.

  “Archers!” Nothol shouted.

  Boen grunted in pain. A thick shaft pierced his right thigh. He slashed down as another soldier attacked. Sword bit deep into flesh and a gash opened from neck to groin. The remaining soldiers broke and ran. Boen recognized the greater danger before it became a substantial threat. Enemy archers were going to have a clear field of fire in a matter of seconds.

  “Run now!” he bellowed.

  Dorl jumped back and snatched Skuld out of the path of three more arrows. They ran. Boen pulled up the rear. Arrows whizzed by, the vibrations tickling their flesh. The smell of blood and carnage left them. Rogscroft soldiers rushed after. The Gaimosian thanked their impatience. There was no way he was going to outrun them with an arrow sticking out of his thigh. With the soldiers in the way, the archers were rendered useless. The sound of jostling armor grew louder behind him.

  Dorl pushed them hard. The forest edged ever closer, but he feared it was not enough. Unarmored, they were no match for the lethal shafts of the archers. Sweat beaded on his brow. All they had to do was gain the safety of the trees. That and keep Skuld alive. He doubted either was actually possible. He looked over at the lagging Skuld. Keeping him alive might prove an obstacle. He was a good kid, but right now was nothing better than a target. Skuld was as lost as a sailor in the desert. Dorl grunted. Skuld was dead weight, only serving to slow them down.

  Rogscroft’s soldiers pushed just as hard. Pride clashed with rage and embarrassment. Too many of their friends lay dead in twisted ruins of flesh. Revenge demanded justice. Their blood was hot. Few bothered to think clearly as they hounded the enemy.

  “Do not let them gain the forest!” their commander bellowed. “A month’s wages for each head you fetch!”

  The distance between them shriveled. It was just a little further for both groups. Boen didn’t think they stood a chance. The sudden barrage of arrows coming at him from the forest almost stopped his heart. He cursed and felt foolish. Bahr had indeed been waiting. A second flight of arrows whipped by. Curiously, few of the pursuing soldiers were hit. Boen didn’t care. The archers served their purpose. Men raced to take cover, both from the arrows and from the unknown threat in the wood line.

  “Move your asses!” Bahr barked. The old Sea Wolf was in rare mood.

  Dorl reached for the nearest tree and collapsed. His breath came in ragged hums. He looked up at Bahr in disbelief. “You could have killed us!”

  Bahr grinned savagely. The sell sword pulled himself up enough to look back across the small courtyard they’d just crossed. Only a hundred meters, Dorl was shocked to find there was no cover whatsoever. They were lucky to have made it. Apparently so were the enemy soldiers.

  “You do realize your archers didn’t hit anything right?” he asked.

  “Of course they didn’t. We’re not here to start a war,” Bahr scoffed.

  Boen gave a sidelong glance. “We did that for you. It won’t be long before they figure out your little ruse.”

  “We don’t need long. The horses are saddled and ready a few meters deeper.”

  Skuld doubled over without a sound and retched.

  “No time for that, boy,” Bahr scolded. “We’ve got to move now.”

  The tiny group hurried to find their mounts and escape.

  Half the night went by before Bahr felt comfortable enough to call a halt. Each of them was exhausted from the flight, the horses most of all. Events in the port city had not gone as planned. Bahr checked out their surroundings. Lightly wooded with large boulders, it should provide enough cover to last the night. Frost-colored plumes of breath formed clouds in front of everyone. The night air suddenly grew cold. Soon their sweat would turn freezing. They needed a fire.

  He caught Boen staring at the two empty saddles. “Hersch and Loem. They got killed when we saved the horses. Loem took a crossbow to the throat. Hersch was run through.”

  “You figured on something like this, didn’t you?” Boen accused so
ftly.

  Bahr nodded. He took in the worn curve of leather, the way the bridle rested on the horse’s back. “I did, though I didn’t expect it. Rogscroft is normally peaceful. For them to attack us so soon bears bad tidings for the rest of our quest. They are clearly expecting an attack.”

  “There’s no surprise in it. We’ve been watched from the moment we landed,” Boen grunted. His face was blanched. They’d removed the arrow and patched his thigh as best they could, but he had lost a good amount of blood before and survived.

  The Gaimosian was the most accustomed to such treatment. His kind had been ostracized and hunted for more than a thousand years. The centuries following the fall of proud Gaimos were neither kind nor easy for the survivors. Aptly named Vengeance Knights by those who didn’t know them, the Gaimosian bloodlines consistently struggled in the quest for redemption. Entire wars had been fought and won by their skill.

  Boen chuckled softly. “I’m used to it by now.”

  “As am I, but we’re a long way from finishing this mission. Rogscroft is two-day’s ride from here. Add another three back and a week or so to Chadra. It appears our enemy isn’t inclined to grant us the time we need.”

  “So much for diplomatic relations,” Dorl snorted.

  His cynicism bled through his words. Boen immediately grew suspicious. The words were meant as a jest, but it gave Boen reason for concern. He glanced over to Bahr.

  “You know something you’re not telling us. I would like to know it,” he said.

  Bahr knew it was pointless in trying to conceal it further, but he still wasn’t sure exactly what he was keeping secret. “There are some things that need to remain unspoken.”

  An eyebrow arched. “Secrets? Secrets have a tendency to kill men. I value my life, Sea Wolf. It is time to stop playing games.”

  “Yes, yes,” came Anienam’s thin voice. “Secrets. We all have them. You included, Gaimosian. We still don’t know who killed that man on the boat, nor do we know who is feeding King Stelskor information of our whereabouts. The game is dangerous. There are many facets, far too many for us to control.”

  “Then we should abandon this quest?” Boen snapped. “I have no loyalty to Delranan or her king, but I have honor, wizard. Honor and I trust Bahr.”

  Bahr swallowed nervously.

  The Gaimosian continued, “If I cannot trust him I leave.”

  Bahr opened his mouth to speak. He suddenly found himself wanting to tell them all of the hidden truths. Tell them how he and Badron were brothers and destined to do battle before the end. The wizard, however, had other ideas.

  “I said we all have secrets, Boen of vanquished Gaimos. This man has dedicated his life to the service of a kingdom long unappreciative of him. The least you can do is lend him your loyalty until this matter is finished.” The diminutive wizard snorted his disgust. “Men are too quick to turn on each other.”

  Boen visibly stiffened. “Speak your next words cautiously, old man. We Gaimosians do not suffer insults kindly.”

  Anienam waved his concerns off. “Perhaps you should be more cognizant of your surroundings. Bahr has done nothing but given you reason to trust him. Your focus, as should be all of ours, needs to be on rescuing the princess.”

  “He’s right,” Nothol Coll said. “We’ll have serious problems if she makes it to Rogscroft.”

  “Rogscroft poses its own challenges,” Bahr finally said. He wasn’t sure why, but he was glad he hadn’t been given the opportunity to speak. The words he was ready to say would have been damning. What they needed was to refocus on Maleela. “It is the heart of our new enemies. We will need either great skill or strong magic to get inside the city walls.”

  “Best we catch her before they can get her inside,” Anienam suggested. “Stelskor is a capable king. There is small chance we will be able to sneak inside his city.”

  Ionascu looked up from the empty saddles. “Ha! Many of us have been within Rogscroft. This should be no difficult feat.”

  “No doubt you’ve been in the royal chambers as well,” Boen snickered.

  Ionascu snarled. His right hand dropped perilously close to his sword. He’d had enough with this group and their damned quest. Truth be told, he didn’t care one bit if they got Maleela back or not. It’s not like Badron actually cared. Right now he wanted nothing more than to report back to Harnin and be done with this sad affair. His patience was worn thin. The motley assortment of would-be heroes sickened him with their constant bickering and small dreams. Compounding matters was the death of his man on the Bane. Now two more had fallen. Ionascu wanted to lash out but didn’t know against whom.

  It was entirely possible Harnin had another agent on board. Ionascu only knew a few of the men. Natural suspicions spread roots. He wondered just how much he could trust Harnin. He scolded himself, realizing just how close he was to drawing his blade. Boen was a big man, forget the fact that he was Gaimosian. No man in his right mind dared challenge a Vengeance Knight in single combat.

  Ionascu walked to the fire and sat down. He had much to think on if he was going to survive and learn the identity of the killer. He had suspicions, but they remained baseless. Instincts warned of the mysterious jungle girl. Rekka Jel was as dangerous as any man he’d met. Her skill with the sword rivaled even the most competent fighter. Ionascu had heard rumors of such tribes but dismissed them as fanciful stories. He knew better now. Women like Rekka should be avoided.

  He looked up, noticing how the others still stared at him. He decided it was time to change the subject. “My men and I came here for the king. The princess is our one concern. Once she returns to King Badron we shall settle these differences.”

  The old wizard eyed him thoughtfully but stayed silent.

  “He’s right,” Nothol said. “Princess Maleela needs to come first. All else can wait.”

  Skuld shook his head. The night’s events had proven too much. No experience as a street thief compared to the sheer terror he’d witnessed. He finally understood what it meant to be a man and wasn’t exactly sure he liked it. Skuld was thoroughly convinced all of these men were crazed.

  “The kidnappers could be anywhere, potentially already in the city,” Bahr added. “Regardless, the attack tonight changes things. We will be hard pressed to move quickly if the enemy decides to continue to pursue us.”

  Nothol Coll stretched. “Dorl and I should range ahead. We need scouts now.”

  “Of course we will,” Dorl scowled. He clearly did not enjoy the thought of being a scout in enemy territory. A single mistake and no one would ever know if they were killed. Worse, he shuddered at the thought of spending the rest of his life locked away in a dungeon.

  Bahr nodded thoughtfully, rubbing warmth back into his hands. “It is settled. Rest now. We move again in an hour.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  The slender blade ripped clear of the man’s stomach. Thick ropes of dark arterial blood preceded the drop of entrails. Rekka Jel instinctively dropped back into a fighting stance. Her long black hair, tied neatly in a tail, hung lazily over her left shoulder. Sweat beaded across her brow. The dying man at her feet groaned, a rattled whisper. Rekka looked down and inched away from the spreading pool of blood.

  Her breath was calm and measured. Her slightly pinched eyes narrowed. Five men already lay dead in her wake. She’d waited on the trail as Bahr and the others rushed off. Only the captain knew she’d stayed behind. Not that she cared. Stealth and secrecy were her closest friends. Friends that she sorely needed right now.

  The soldiers of Rogscroft were not accustomed to the warrior ways of the south. Rekka almost smiled at how easily they fell under her blade. Granted, none of them had seen her coming. She had changed back into the form-fitting black clothes. The combination transformed her into the definition of lethality. She slipped unseen through the trees, doubling back on her unwitting prey. All it took after that was a single cut and she patiently waited for her next opponent.

  Rekka jerked up at the sound of
leaves crunching beneath a boot. The soft glow of torchlight told her it was time to move again.

  “Captain, over here!”

  She froze. The voice was much too close.

  “Who is it?”

  A pause. “Trent. His belly’s been ripped out. Damned body is still warm.”

  “Spread out. The killer can’t be far. I want the bastard’s head on a pike before dawn.”

  Rekka crouched and scanned the immediate area. She counted seven, maybe ten men still hunting her. Too many to fight at once. Rekka knew when she was outnumbered. It was pointless to risk her life so carelessly. It was a matter of time before the soldiers beat through her defenses and killed her. She had one hope. Go to ground and take cover.

  “Think you can hide in the dark without us finding you, little bitch?” growled a deep voice in her ear.

  Rekka’s heart jumped. How had he managed to get so close without her sensing it? She cursed herself for being careless.

  The man continued. Sheer violence dripped from his words. “You left five of my friends gutted out on the trail back there. Seems only right I do the same to you.”

  His voice was a low whisper, harsh and threatening. Rekka didn’t move.

  “Such a shame too. You’re a pretty little thing. It’s a waste to cut you up into little pieces.”

  A mistake. He was more focused on her looks and the way her clothes hugged her every curve. Amateur. Rekka flinched, wanting him to feel like he was in total control. He took advantage and leaned closer, inhaling deeply at her neck. A chill rippled across her exposed flesh. Her eyes widened. This man was more dangerous than she’d given him credit for. He laughed in response to her body tightening.

  “Yes, pretty. I’m not like those others.”

  The sound of soldiers gradually faded until all that remained was the diminishing glow of torches. Soon even that was gone. They were alone in the dark.