Ryder nodded, satisfied. “Then let’s go meet the others.”
Liam knelt in the bushes alongside the well-traveled, packed dirt road that ran west from Zerith Hold, Lord Purdun’s fortress in Duhlnarim, through Furrowsrich village and out of Ahlarkham. Six other men knelt beside him, including his brother. They were waiting on a carriage that was reportedly leaving Zerith Hold with a diplomatic letter bound for High Watcher Laxaella Bronshield, the still-mourning baroness of Tanistan. Liam and the others intended to make sure that letter never reached it’s destination.
Liam, Ryder, and the rest of the Crimson Awl had made significant headway in the past few months against Lord Purdun’s elite guard. The last thing they needed was for Lady Bronshield to add her might to that of Purdun’s. The Awl would worry about one barony at a time, starting right here at home. But to do that, they had to make sure the neighboring lords didn’t broaden the scope of the fight too soon. That was why they were all here, to stop that letter, which reportedly was a request for aid, from getting through to Tanistan.
In the near distance, Liam heard the telltale sound of horse hooves and rough wooden wheels rolling over the packed earth.
His brother must have heard it too. “This is it,” said Ryder. “You all know your jobs. There should only be two guards. If we’re swift about this, nobody needs to get hurt.”
Liam looked over the other men, locals all of them. They nodded at Ryder’s last minute instructions. All of them that is except Kharl.
The young man, the son of a local merchant, had never been on a raid before. He hadn’t heard a word Ryder said, his eyes focused on the road, his right hand gripping the hilt of his long sword so tightly his knuckles were turning white. A line of sweat had started to form along the edge of his golden blond hair, and he looked a little pale. Liam could have sworn the kid was shaking.
Ryder must have noticed it too. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at Kharl. “You won’t even have to use your sword.”
Kharl nodded. “But what if they give us trouble?”
Ryder shrugged. “Then I suppose you’ll get the opportunity to use your sword after all.”
“No,” Kharl replied, shaking his head. “I mean, what if they don’t give us the letter? What do we do then?”
Jarl, a great big bear of a man with a tattoo of a mermaid on each forearm spoke up. “We take it from them lad.”
The other men nodded their agreement.
“But …” Kharl stuttered. “But … do we … ?”
Ryder put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Kharl, I won’t ask you to kill anyone in cold blood, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Kharl nodded, his shoulders relaxing a bit.
“But if things do get out of hand, you may have to defend yourself.” Ryder got suddenly serious. “If that happens, if you find yourself in the position where it’s your life or his—” Ryder looked up at each of the other men, his eyes lingering on Liam a moment longer than the rest, then back at Kharl—“then I expect you to kill that man dead. I won’t be losing anyone on this raid. Is that understood?”
Kharl nodded, and the other men grunted their assent.
“Good.” Ryder chuckled, the moment of seriousness passed. “You know, Kharl, you can do me a favor.”
“Really? What?”
“You’re mother makes the best beef stew in all of Erlkazar. When you get back, see if you can’t get her to make a pot and invite Samira and I over for dinner.”
The worry on Kharl’s face faded. “Sure, Ryder. I’ll do that.”
Liam shook his head. His brother always had a way with people. “Hey, Kharl.”
The blond man leaned back to look at Liam. “Yeah?”
“I want some of that stew too.”
Kharl threw his arms out wide. “You’re all invited.”
The sound of horses and wheels grew louder as it came around the bend, transforming into a well-appointed carriage. Pulled by a pair of majestic-looking horses draped in the livery of Lord Purdun, the coach wasn’t in any hurry. The doors were painted with the familiar shield-and-double-crossed-sword crest that turned Liam’s stomach every time he saw it. It was the official seal of Lord Purdun, the owner and master of the land on which all of his family and friends lived and had to pay taxes for. Just as Ryder had said, there were only two guards and the driver. Whoever rode inside was concealed by a series of velvet drapes covering the windows. Liam imagined the occupant was some corpulent, bloated diplomat with a double chin and greasy fingers. Who better to deliver a letter of alliance from the bastard Lord Purdun to one of the other regional dukes?
The carriage drew nearer, and Ryder rose onto the balls of his feet, still concealed by the tall bush. He held his hands to his face and whispered, “Before you can truly move forward, you have to be willing to live with the consequences.” Liam doubted the other men heard him.
Then Ryder smiled and took one last look at the other men. “It’s time to give it to old Firefist.” He dropped into a crouch, then sprang out of the bush. “Now!” he shouted, pulling his long sword from its sheath as he came down only ten yards in front of the carriage.
Liam didn’t hesitate. He was the second of the eight men to reach the road and draw his weapon, taking his position beside his brother.
As Liam had expected, the horses were startled by the sudden appearance of armed men on the road. They bucked, and the driver had to struggle to keep control of them.
“Halt!” shouted Ryder, holding his palm out to the coach.
The other men leaped out of their hiding spots—two more up front, the final four behind, boxing the coach in on the packed dirt road.
The guards on the carriage had to hold onto the seat to avoid being tossed from their perch because of the startled horses. But as the horses came to a stop, they stood up and drew their weapons.
“Don’t be foolish,” shouted Ryder. “We’re eight. You’re only two. Just drop your weapons and give us the letter you carry, and there will be no need for you to be harmed.”
Liam wished he was as eloquent as his older brother. Ryder had a simplicity with words. No wasted effort, no beating around the bush, just the facts, plain and simple.
The guards stood motionless, still gripping their swords. They looked far more relaxed than Liam thought they should. Hells, they looked more relaxed than he felt right then.
“I said drop your weapons!” shouted Ryder. He stepped to the side of the coach, the afternoon sun glinting from his polished blade.
The guards looked at each other, then lowered their weapons, placing them on the wooden bench beside them.
“The letter is inside,” said one of the guards, lifting his hands in the air. “The countess carries it. Please don’t harm her, we’re responsible for her safety.”
Ryder glanced back at Liam, a smirk on his face. Then he nodded. Without a word, Liam followed his brother to the door.
Ryder knocked on the wooden door with the hilt of his sword. The heavy pounding scratched the paint from the door, marring Lord Purdun’s crest.
The door remained closed.
Liam spared a glance back at Kharl. The young man was shifting his weight side to side, but he kept his eyes squarely on the two guards, his sword drawn, just as he’d been instructed to do. That night, in the pub, the young man would be telling stories of his bravery to the other revolutionaries, and the nervousness would be nothing but a distant memory.
Ryder knocked on the door again. “We seek only the letter you carry,” he said. “Surrender it, and you will not be harmed.”
Still the door remained shut.
Ryder’s simple smile had faded, replaced with a look of serious contemplation. It was a dangerous look. Liam had seen it many times—whenever his older brother didn’t get his way. Liam had feared that look since they were both little boys. It meant Ryder had reached his limit. It meant he no longer intended to play nice.
“Countess, this will be your last warning,” said
Ryder. “You have to the count of three to come out here and deliver that letter, or we will come in.”
Liam gripped his sword. This was not the way they had hoped this would go.
“One …”
Time seemed to slow down. Liam could hear his heart pound in his chest. They knew this was a possibility, but nobody wanted things to get rough.
“Two …”
The door burst open and slapped against the wall of the carriage. Right behind it poured out half a dozen of Lord Purdun’s elite guards. Six more jumped out the door on the opposite side.
Ryder’s sword came up and parried the first guard’s blow as he backstepped away from the carriage and called, “It’s a trap!”
The other men jumped into action.
Liam stepped up beside his brother, stopping Ryder’s retreat. The two of them lunged forward. Unable to stop his onrush, the guardsmen’s eyes went wide. He managed to bash aside Liam’s blade, but he was too slow to catch Ryder’s. The tip of his long sword found a crease in the man’s half-plate, and it sank into the flesh below. Twisting sideways, he pulled himself off the blade like a piece of skewered beef, dropping his sword and giving way to the other five armored men behind him.
The baron’s elite guards spread out in a circle, surrounding the brothers, three training their swords on Ryder, two on Liam. Liam spun around, placing his back up against Ryder’s. It wasn’t the first time they had fought in that way. Liam hoped it wouldn’t be their last. Both men began turning a slow circle, holding their attackers at bay with the points of their swords.
Standing in the middle of a ring of armed soldiers, the eye in the center of a raging storm, Liam caught sight of Kharl. The young man was battling the two carriage guards. They had regained their dropped swords, and they had the young man locked into combat. One was circling around to the side, attempting to pin Kharl between them. For a relatively inexperienced fighter, Kharl was holding his own. He parried a blow from each side, then took a large step back, keeping the guards from flanking him. Despite the young man’s terrific effort, he was still losing ground. He was in a fight he couldn’t win, but he hadn’t realized it yet.
Liam scanned the area, hoping someone else could get to Kharl before it was too late, but the other men were busy with guards of their own. Not counting the carriage driver, there were fourteen armed elite guardsmen to eight freedom fighters. Kharl was on his own.
If they were just typical thugs, it wouldn’t have been an issue. Liam would put any one of those men up against two local thugs. It would be no contest. But the baron’s elite guards were trained soldiers. They had good weapons and the best armor—and they knew how to win a fight.
The sound of Ryder’s sword bashing aside a guardsman’s blade brought Liam back to the fight at hand.
A pair of soldiers rushed the brothers, one from each side. Ryder stepped left, Liam right. They moved together like a multi-headed creature sharing a single spine. Their blades moved in synchronicity, striking out at different foes. Liam didn’t need to see what his brother was doing. They had been practicing that style of fighting since they were boys.
Liam held a tree branch tightly in both hands. It was his eighth birthday. As a present, his uncle had made him a toy wooden sword. But that sword was in the hands of Tyler, the local bully.
Liam could feel his brother’s back against his as they turned a slow circle, looking out at Tyler and his three pals.
“Don’t worry Liam,” reassured Ryder, also with a branch in his hands. “I’m a good fighter, so you will be too.”
Liam nodded. If his big brother said it, it must be true.
“Hey, kid,” taunted Tyler. “You want this?” He shook the toy sword in Liam’s face.
Liam’s chest burned with hate.
“Don’t fall for it, Liam,” directed Ryder. “Let them make the first move.”
“What? Are you chicken?” Tyler laughed. “Too afraid to come get your little toy from me?”
Liam gripped the branch tighter in his hands. He wanted so badly to swing it, to bring it down on Tyler’s head and make him give back his birthday present. But more than anything, Liam trusted his older brother.
“What’s the matter, Tyler?” taunted Ryder. “You’ve got us outnumbered. Looks like you’re the chicken.”
Tyler lifted Liam’s wooden sword over his head. “I’ll show you who’s chicken.” Then he came running right at Ryder.
The three other young thugs followed the bully’s lead, and came rushing in.
Liam felt something in the pit of his stomach clench, then he just lost control. His arms reacted without him willing them to. He watched as the branch swung wildly from side to side. The whole thing didn’t seem real. He wasn’t in control, and he didn’t know the outcome, all he knew for sure was that his brother’s back against his was the most reassuring feeling in the whole world.
From behind him Liam heard a loud crack, and just like that the whole thing was over. The young punks retreated, not wanting to get hit by the flailing branch. Liam stopped swinging when they took a step back. Then he followed their gazes over his shoulder.
Tyler lay on the ground, blood pouring from his nose, Liam’s sword on the ground beside him.
“I’ll take that,” said Ryder. He leaned down and picked up the birthday gift. The branch he held in his other hand was broken in two.
Ryder turned and grabbed Liam by the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “I think these guys have had enough.”
Liam’s blade danced, parrying blows. He could feel his brother’s back against his own. It was a familiar thing. Despite their teamwork, the guards they fought were not going to fall for any cheap tricks. They knew how to deal with other, well-trained swordsmen. They came in at the same time, thrusting in short bursts, trying to overpower the brothers. They kept Liam off balance, never giving him an opening. He had time to only defend himself.
The guard to his left feigned high, then went low. Liam brought his sword down, smashing the attack to the dirt. The other guard came in high. Liam dodged to the side, bringing his sword up in a long arc and bashing away his opponent’s blade with a flourish. The two elite guardsmen took a step back, regained their composure, then lunged together. Liam employed Bonfellow’s defense, bringing the forte of his blade around in a short circle, catching the tip of both blades with his and flinging them toward the sky. Had there been only one attacker, Liam would have lunged for a riposte. As it was, he’d be opening himself up to one of the two guards if he did, so he held tight. He wouldn’t fall for the ploy.
He could hear Ryder’s voice inside his head: Let them make the first mistake.
That back and forth went on for what seemed a long time. The guards would rush, and Liam would fight them back, threaten a bit, make them retreat, then they would return with a different strategy.
Liam could feel Ryder step, lunge, retreat, parry, then lunge again. From the pattern, he could tell that his brother was fairing similarly with his three. Defense was one thing, but there was no way they were going to win the fight if they didn’t make some headway soon.
The guardsmen came in once again. Liam dodged both blows in swift order. Then he made his first mistake. Stepping away from his brother, he lunged, sticking the tip of his long sword into the hip of the soldier on his right. The man wailed and stepped back, but the other guardsman took advantage of the opening, swinging his sword at Liam’s exposed middle.
Liam retreated, bashing aside the first attack, but the soldier pressed his advantage, swinging his sword again. The second blow slipped past Liam’s guard, catching him in the shoulder. His chain mail tunic took the brunt of the attack, but the tip ran up under the short sleeves, cutting a shallow wound into his arm. Liam hissed at the pain, pulling sideways and away from his brother.
Ryder spun around, knowing his little brother had been hit. “Liam!”
Liam pulled his arm in toward his side, trying to minimize the pain. But in doing so he opened up his back.
Two of the guardsmen lunged at the same time, taking advantage of his exposed body. Liam swung down with his right hand, in an attempt to parry the attacks, but his wounded arm slowed him down.
Both blades came in, slipping past his defense.
Liam tightened his gut, preparing for the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Ryder’s sword. It came out of nowhere, a silvery flash that caught one guardsman across the forearm and slapped aside the other’s blade. With his other hand Ryder shoved Liam hard.
Liam stumbled forward, crashing into the guardsman he’d already injured. The two of them tumbled to the ground. Liam tucked his sword up tight against his body as they careened across the ground. When they came to a stop, he rolled forward with all of his might, pushing away from the soldier. He made two quick turns then leaped to his feet, twenty paces from where he had begun. The guard’s heavier armor had weighted him down, and he struggled to get up from his back like an upside-down turtle.
“Run, Liam!”
Liam looked up at his brother. He was surrounded by four guards with no one to watch his back. Ryder turned a quick circle, flinging his blade out to keep the guardsmen at bay.
Liam took two steps toward his brother.
“Look out,” shouted Ryder.
Liam looked down just in time to see the injured guardsman on the ground swing at his ankles. He leaped in the air, jumping over the blade. In midair he turned his long sword over. Coming down on the prone soldier, he drove the tip through the man’s helm, pinning his head to the ground.
Putting his boot on the fallen soldier’s shoulder, Liam pulled his weapon from the man’s ruined skull then turned to help his brother. His eyes came up just in time to see Ryder lunge at one guard just as another lunged at him. Ryder’s blade hit its mark, driving deep into his target’s neck. The guardsman’s blade also struck home, slicing Ryder across the belly.
“Ryder!” Liam broke into a run.
Ryder dropped to one knee, his left arm holding his stomach, his hand covered in blood. He looked down at the wound in his belly then looked up at Liam. He looked so sad, so scared, like a lost child. Liam had never seen his brother like that, and it sent a shiver down his spine.
Maiden of Pain Page 26
