“Aye, of course,” Zar replied. “Snowstone rules the four lands—in a matter of speaking.” Zar rested his shoulder against the bark of a tree. “But I’m sure you men have noticed that the farther east you travel the less authority you bear, and in the case of Xahka, a place that is never truly governed, I think you’d find that your titles will matter not at all.”
“We shall soon see,” the man replied while still looking more than a bit bewildered.
“You are traveling to Xahka, then? Does Tiomot wish to strengthen his hold on the untamed land? No, there are too few of you for that,” said Zar, looking around.
“The business of your realm is not to be questioned,”
the same man offered coarsely.
“Snowstone is not my realm,” said Zar. “Can I now question your intentions?”
Zar could see that the set commander almost looked unsure of how to respond.
“Do you think it wise to question me? At least this man,” said the commander pointing to their victim, “though he may not leave with his gold will leave with his life—if he stops resisting. You may yet lose both.”
“He will pay nothing,” said Zar, “nor will I. But there will be a cost for you.”
Laughter echoed from the guards.
“And what cost might that be?” said one of them as he drew his sword and dismounted. Three of the others also dismounted and drew their weapons.
“I daresay it’s quite despicable that you would take his last six pieces of gold.” Zar reached his hand over his right shoulder and rested it on the hilt of his sword, and the set commander, the only one who hadn’t dismounted, broke into laughter.
“I find it humorous that you would risk your life for this man,” he said, glancing toward the man his guards had detained. “And even more humorous that he would risk his life for only six pieces of gold. It is nothing.”
“Nothing for you,” Zar replied. “But even the one-eyed man is a beauty in the country of the blind—and six pieces of gold may be all this man has. And if it is nothing, I wonder why you wish so much to have it?”
Zar’s right hand remained on his sword hilt, gripping it firmly as the four dismounted soldiers moved in closer. The two guards threatening the man pushed him to the dirt and moved towards Zar with their swords raised. Zar had no idea if these men were any good with their blades, but if they were, with this many of them, he could not allow them to surround him.
He had to attack them now, unless he was going to use another tactic to scatter them.
“You may have stumbled upon the wrong company today,” said the commander as his men gathered closer around Zar.
Zar took a few steps back, holding out his left hand before him, his right arm still raised over his shoulder, gripping his sword hilt.
“Wait!” he said sincerely, and the advancers seemed to slow a bit. “Don’t be fools!”
The company of men glanced at one another before one of them let out a snarl.
“I am not alone!” said Zar, once again sounding sincere. His left arm was still stretched out and his gaze fixed on the commander.
“He lies! He tries to trick you!” the man retorted.
“This is no trick!” said Zar quickly, barely giving the man a chance to finish. “You may be of the royal guard, but considering your corruption, I’d say my word is worth just as much as yours—no, more.”
The men halted their advance, more uncertain with each word he spoke, and Zar continued to retreat, still holding out his warning hand with his other ready to draw his sword in case the company grew tired of his charade and decided to rush forward.
He stepped back a few more paces and rested his back against a large tree. “Me and my three companions were resting at the edge of this dell when I heard noises—”
“Three companions?” said the commander, chuckling.
“Well, if it’s only four of you, I think we’ll take our chances.”
“Three archers,” Zar insisted. “Expert marksmen, I daresay.”
“Archers?” one of the Snowguards questioned, failing to hide the concern in his voice.
“If they fear that I’m in danger, they will come running,” Zar continued. “You won’t even know where the arrows are coming from.”
The commander’s face no longer held a smirk. “This man lies. There is no one.”
No sooner had he uttered those words than Zar called out, “Asha! Asha!”
The company held still and Zar called out yet again. The wood was quiet, and the men held perfectly still as if they were indeed waiting and listening to see if Zar had allies. One guard said it was nonsense as he lifted his sword and took a step closer to Zar. Another voiced he believed the archers were real, which is why Zar had been so confident in challenging them. “Think about it,” he said, “he would never talk like that to us if he was alone.”
“Shall we wait a bit longer for your allies?” the set commander taunted. A few members of the set chuckled while others looked quietly about the tress, but Zar kept his gaze on their leader. He watched the man’s face and witnessed the bend of his smile even out as the thicket began to move, rocking and bending as something tried to make it into the dell—and the sounds of rustling vines and snapping twigs became louder.
“They’re coming!” one said quickly, looking to his commander for instruction.
It wouldn’t be long before Zar’s friend came into sight, so he shouted out a command he was certain would put his plan into action.
“Shoot them!” he yelled, drawing his sword from over his shoulder.
The gathering of men in front of him broke as they all darted off in different directions, one of them yelling “Take cover!” as he went.
The guard that stood the closest to Zar tried to hide himself behind the nearest tree. Zar followed.
The man had barely reached his refuge behind a large blackwood when Zar leapt towards him. Zar’s blade split leather and mail and the man fell back against the tree. With a faint cry, he rolled into the dirt.
Without a thought or break in movement Zar moved to the next nearest guard, a man who had dropped to the ground beside a tree trunk to avoid being targeted by the fearsome, but yet invisible, archers who he believed were surely on their way. This man, like his comrade, had moved about so frantically in an attempt to spare himself from arrow-fire that he’d paid little attention to Zar’s movements. Zar flipped his sword and re-gripped, changing his blade to face downward, and stabbed into the man’s back as he squirmed frantically. His sword bit through mail and Zar pushed it hard until it came out the other side of the man and dug into the dirt.
Another guard crept out, following Zar.
Zar pulled his blade from the body just as quickly as he had pushed it through, and dashed away from the man’s blade. He didn’t bother to look behind him or turn to meet the man, but pressed forward to his next target, leaving his pursuer trailing behind with a raised sword.
Zar came quickly upon another man, his sword lifted high in both hands, the tip of his blade pointing into the sky. He brought it down into a Snowguard’s shoulder and the blow made a cracking sound as it broke through the armor. The guard following him attempted to strike, swinging his sword with both hands before Zar was finished with his current killing. Zar spun swiftly around, and with one fluid motion stepped forward and dug his blade into the man’s throat.
Zar looked for the horse that carried the leader, still jogging, shuffling, and twisting around his opponents. He turned to every hoof he heard, every horse’s whinny, every sound of movement. He had soon fastened his senses upon a horse on the left moving with some speed away from him. It was the commander’s bay with the man still mounted atop, who, from the looks of things, was trying to find the fastest way out of the skirmish. The thick, cluttered wood hindered the bay’s flight. Even so, the commander kicked and spurred the mount. It rushed forward only to skid to a halt in front of a patch of trees—its path cut off.
Zar moved quickly towa
rd the animal, switching his sword to his left hand and pulling his dagger from its sheath. He was coming into range when the bay reared up, and, taking one more step, he sent the dagger flying. The weapon hit near the guard’s ribs and stuck, and the man slowly toppled off his mount and struck hard against the dirt.
Zar rushed to the man and pressed his sword against his chest. Blood coursed generously from the man’s wound, his body twisted from the fall.
Zar took a moment to look around for the man that had been tormented by the Snowguards, but saw him nowhere. Instead, the crunch and gasps of two guards came, fleeing the dell.
Zar laughed. The men still seemed to be rather frantic. If they’d only taken a moment to look around they would have seen the beautiful golden camel approaching the swordsman, and not the three deadly archers they might have imagined. But between Zar’s bluff, the noises from Asha’s entrance, and the cries of their fallen comrades still echoing in their minds, it looked as if those fleeing guards were still thoroughly convinced that the archers Zar spoke of were real.
“Good sir!” Zar called, squatting down a moment next to the fallen commander. His dagger was still sheathed in the man’s side, and Zar untied the man’s coin purse as he lay against the earth, breathing heavily.
“Good sir, you may come out. All is settled.” Zar stood up and addressed Asha who had come to stand behind him. “He hasn’t fled too, has he, Asha?” Zar rubbed his hand across her snout.
Asha blinked her long, dark eyelashes before turning her head toward a noise that came from the trees.
“Ah, he is still with us,” said Zar, turning to face the direction of his friend’s gaze. “Come, man, all is well.”
Afar off in the dell, the little man rose up from where he’d been hiding among a patch of ferns. He walked over to the two slowly, still looking a bit shocked, and frequently glanced about the wood as if someone might jump out to attack him at any moment. It wasn’t until he came much closer to the pair that he finally looked relieved, and, seeming convinced the fighting was over, dropped to his knees to express his thanks.
Zar assured the man that he owed him no thanks, and beckoned him to rise. He then turned back to the fallen commander, and squatted once again beside him. “You must forgive me for not telling the complete truth,” he said, turning his head back toward Asha who stood behind him. “It is only one ally—and though she’s quite brave, I must admit she’s never been any good with a bow.”
The man lifted his head and beheld Asha, his face passing from disbelief to disgust in an instant before letting his head plop back down against the earth. His breathing grew more rapid and his body stiffened as he struggled to utter words.
“You! I knew you—”
“Settle down,” Zar interrupted, “or you’ll die before your fate is decided.”
Zar raised his sword and placed the point of his weapon against the man’s throat, and with his blade firmly in position, beckoned the man who had just expressed his thanks to come over.
“Good sir, what is your name?”
The man approached with curious eyes. “I’m Prynner.”
“Good Prynner, not many moments ago this man would have decided your fate with his words. His voice alone would have granted you life or death, or—something in between.” Zar brought his left hand to accompany his right on his sword hilt and tensed both his arms as if ready to puncture the man’s throat. “But now,” said Zar, keeping his blade firm against the man’s throat until beads of blood began to trickle down, “now things are quite different, are they not, Prynner?”
Prynner stepped closer to the spot where Zar towered over the man—stretching out his sword that looked as if it might leap forward at any moment to end the man’s life. “Aye, because of your kindness.”
“I am no more kind than this man is just.”
“You saved my hide today and for that I am in your debt.” Prynner bowed a bit.
“You owe me nothing,” said Zar, still gazing down on the Snowguard. “I daresay such wickedness is always compensated, either now or later—though for you it seems to have come just in time.”
“Aye, it has,” Prynner replied, his tone squeezing every bit of gratitude into each word. “What will you do with him?”
“Well, he would have decided your fate,” said Zar, turning to Prynner. “Now you will decide his.”
Prynner fell quiet, looking hard upon the man whose life had suddenly fallen into his hands. The wounded commander began to plead and beg most pitifully, and even threw in mention of gold in his whining. Zar stepped down on the man’s neck to silence him.
“What is your answer?” said Zar. “My arms grow restless.”
“I … I do not know. I cannot make such a decision.”
“Ah, but you can,” Zar replied. “You mustn’t leave the decision to me, for I will most certainly kill him.”
“Friend, I … I’m not certain—”
“Well, you must say something if you want him to live,” Zar insisted. “And quickly. Don’t trust me with his life.” Prynner’s face bent with concern, his eyes fixed upon the man that bled into the dirt. He gazed at the man for several moments before looking away, then stood silent with his head down. Zar’s sword moved forward.
Prynner looked up slowly. “Forgive my delay,” he said in a hushed tone as his eyes focused in on the man on the ground.
“Forgive me if I worried you,” said Zar with a smile, “it wasn’t my intention. I meant to scare him, not you.” He could see a bit of relief on Prynner’s face as the man realized the guard yet lived, and Zar smiled heartily as he finished cleaning his blade on the guard’s clothes.
“You never planned on killing him,” said Prynner, sounding amazed by the fact.
“I already have,” Zar answered. “He’s losing too much blood from this wound, his back is broken from the fall and he’s probably bleeding within from broken ribs. Tell me, man, what is your occupation?”
The commander let out a yelp as Zar yanked the dagger from his side. He cleaned it thoroughly against the man’s garment as he had done his sword before sheathing it back on his belt.
“I’m a shipwright.”
“A shipwright?” said Zar, moving over to one of the corpses in the dell, and taking gold from the dead man’s coin purse. “Six gold pieces is certainly not all you have.”
“Aye,” said Prynner. “But it’s all I travel with.”
“A smart shipwright, and one that’s quite far from the sea.”
“Another reason I’m especially grateful for your aid today,” the man replied. “I may have never made it home to Bazhia.” The man shook his head while looking at the bodies on the ground, as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. “I had just tied up my horse and was going to lie down for a while.”
“Considering the thought that you would have been robbed of your gold and perhaps your life—you still didn’t deem death an appropriate fate for the man. Truly, Prynner, you have a heart of gold.” The swordsman chuckled as he moved on further to the next body sprawled on the ground, scouring over the lifeless corpse like a vulture. “How is it that you are so far from the sea?”
“I was searching for the map to Bruudor’s Keep.”
“Bruudor’s Keep?” said Zar with a laugh. “Bruudor’s Keep is supposedly on the west continent. Why would the map be here in Krii?”
“No one has found the map because it’s here in Krii,” Prynner answered, “and no one has found the treasure because they have no map.”
“And you know where this map is?”
“I have my guesses,” said Prynner with a smile.
“Perhaps it is merely another rumor,” said Zar, who had finally finished his scavenging. He seated himself on the ground. Asha moved beside him, rubbing her snout across his back.
“Perhaps,” said Prynner with a shrug.
“Well, whatever you do, take care,” said Zar, “these parts can be dangerous. We should be on our way. The others who fled won’t li
kely return with more men, but it wouldn’t be wise to risk it.”
“Aye,” Prynner agreed. “Which way do you go?”
“Farther east.”
“Well, gods smile on you, son. It’s back to the west with me.”
“Safe travels,” said Zar. “Better to form a party when traveling these parts. From Snowguards to bandits, a man alone can have a hard time.”
“I know it first hand,” called Prynner, walking through the wood toward a stocky, spotted mount that was leashed to a tree. “But when I find that map I don’t want to have to share it with anyone.” The man smiled as he looked back at Zar, untying the leather rope that secured his horse to the arm of a young tree. “I will not forget this day. If you find yourself near the sea, come find me. If you need roof or ship it’s yours.”
8
VALAK HAD RIDDEN INTO THE SWEET scent of wine country. From Snowstone he had followed his mark, heading due south beside the mountains into Lolia, and now on towards the small town of Riianne. It wasn’t often that he came this far south, and he found that he rather enjoyed Lolia’s vast plains and green fields, and of course the vineyards.
Dusk fell as he entered Riianne, and he rode into the town looking just as harmless as the messenger he followed. No one paid either of them any mind. How perfect. It was thanks to the fact that he appeared weaponless to the naked eye, and because of the pallid color of his cloak, of course.
Too many assassins wore black, but gray was far less threatening. Valak had found that black cloaks drew far too much attention, for any rider cloaked in black immediately looked suspect, no matter how well it blended into the dark of night. A black cloak meant you had something to hide and produced an air about you that most folks regarded as dangerous. But in his gray cloak Valak had found that not one person ever looked at him twice; the color was far too neutral to mind. He didn’t know whether people mistook him for a common peasant or some nameless traveler, but when he was cloaked in gray he was treated no different than any other person.
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