Zar was quite flattered that Tuskin deemed him skillful enough to avoid the attack, for the axe flew like the wind towards his face with enough force to cleave the bone. He was also surprised that he would use such an attack for they had never crossed blades before and the level of their skill was still unknown to one another. But Zar realized in the moment the axe bounced off the blade of his sword that Tuskin had thrown it to miss. Such superb technique from Tuskin—it had been thrown with such skill that Zar was confident if he had held perfectly still it would have missed his face by an inch. The deflected axe clanked into the dirt and Lawless Tuskin rushed forward to meet Zar in melee.
Zar brought his sword down hard on Tuskin’s spear shaft, leaning forward in an attempt to topple the man over. But Tuskin would have none of it. The man pulled his weight back, causing Zar to stumble a bit, and jabbed out with his spear. After over-exaggerating the stumble, Zar parried Tuskin’s attack, and with the same motion followed with a slash.
The two men were still feeling each other out as they slashed, stabbed, and parried, holding up a most believable charade. They continually increased the speed of their attacks, finding that they were each more than able to handle the danger.
Tuskin’s spear head came forward, but was caught and moved aside by Zar’s blade. The swordsman brought his blade across rapidly, only to meet Tuskin’s orewood spear shaft, losing all momentum as it struck against the pole. The refined technique of the polished swordsman seemed equally matched by the wild and erratic charging spear, and, having given the crowd enough amusement, Zar rushed forward, lifting his sword blade high into the air. It was the signal to move on to the next act.
Tuskin haphazardly shuffled his spear over his left shoulder as Zar brought his sword blade down, and as it struck against the pole, Tuskin’s spear slipped rather easily from his hands. The man let out a terrible cry as Zar’s sword struck lightly against his shoulder, and after falling and rolling a bit in the dirt, picked himself up and ran straightaway for his horse.
Effortlessly hopping onto his mount, Tuskin rode off in the direction of the woods.
“Come, coward!” Zar yelled as he quickly ran to Asha and mounted, commanding her to run as fast as she could after the handsome bay galloping for the trees.
Zar followed the man deep into the forest until they had reached a secluded place a great distance from the town. After laughing quite a bit at the whole thing, they rested in the forest. At last, Tuskin insisted that Zar go and retrieve the weapons he had dropped before the people of Lindoth claimed them and sold them away. Zar agreed since he would need them anyway, and he asked for Tuskin’s other hand axe to complete the next sequence of their act.
“Want me all weaponless, do ya?” said Tuskin with a smile as he handed the weapon over to Zar. “Ya best remember I still got my bow in my saddle—and I still got my hunting knife so don’t be tryin’ anything.”
The two men went their separate ways to wait for their meeting at dusk, and Zar, after some threatening and waving his sword around, was able to retrieve the man’s weapons from the townspeople.
°
“I have done the job,” Zar stated, untying the collection of weapons from Asha’s saddle and throwing them into the dirt. “His body rots in the woods as we speak.”
The night had not yet fallen and Zar could clearly see the two cloaked men that stood among the trees before him.
“We’ve heard of your accomplishment all through the town,” said one. “I would think an assassin would kill a bit more subtly.”
“Nevertheless,” the other cut in, “you’ve done the job.
This completes your payment.” He tossed the bag in his hand at Zar’s feet. “Our business is done.”
“Not quite,” Zar announced.
“What?” one of the men questioned, and the other looked just as puzzled as he. “What is it?”
“Allow me to present,” said Zar, raising both arms into the air, “Lawless Tuskin.”
A few light footsteps were heard and there was Tuskin, his face looking rather severe, holding a drawn bow in front of him.
“Don’t move and you don’t die,” said Zar. “We’ll be needing that treasure back.”
Both men’s faces warped in shock as they witnessed Lawless Tuskin approaching with fire in his eyes, his hunting bow pulled to an arch.
“You look like you’ve seen Leviathan,” said Tuskin, letting an arrow fly as one of the men attempted to dart into the trees. Tuskin sent the arrow into the man’s thigh, and as he did the other took his chance at a poorly considered escape. Though he got a bit farther than his friend, he was soon struck in the backside with a perfectly placed arrow. Neither man moved from his place on the ground.
“Ah, try to escape!” Tuskin yelled. “Try to escape now that you’ve been caught! I oughta skin ya alive, ya irreverent, thievin’ monks!”
“We’ll show you where it is!” yelled one of the men, panting. “Please! Don’t kill us.”
“Of course you’ll show me, you devils!” Tuskin shouted after showing Zar a mischievous smile. “I cannot believe this is the doing of monks! I knew it was so, but wouldn’t believe it. If you rats have anything to do with those girls being kidnapped, I’ll kill ya! Ya hear?”
“What do you speak of?” said Zar, not bothering to hide his concern.
“I’ve been investigatin’ it,” Tuskin replied. “Young women in the mainreach have been disappearin’ lately—one after the other, vanishin’ left and right.”
“Disappearing?”
“Only the pretty ones,” said Tuskin, halfway smirking, “so don’t leave your lassies alone.”
“Where!” Zar almost shouted.
“The mainreach, I said, all throughout the mainreach. Vaul, Gara, Karthin, Vlysa, the capital, even here. That’s why I’ve come.”
“There is a friend I worry for. She rides from Fairview Meadow to Vlysa alone, and sometimes to Snowstone.”
“A friend, eh,” said Tuskin, watching the man he had shot in the leg writhe about the forest floor. The crippled man was breathing in hisses and sniffling loudly, wriggling towards his comrade who no longer moved at all. “Is she beautiful?”
The question was an awkward one for Zar. Years ago he would have answered differently, holding the image of a young and smiling Shahla, who looked up at him as a guardian, in his mind. In such a way, of course he would agree she was beautiful. But that’s not what Tuskin meant. And, while prior to this most recent visit back to the mainreach that would have been the only way to view her, and he would have shrugged off Tuskin’s words and possibly said he didn’t know, Zar couldn’t pretend there was any other answer to give.
“Very much so,” said Zar.
“Then you must check on her,” said Tuskin, his shinning eyes squinting solemnly. “The land is wrought with misery, corruption, and eerie disappearances—caused by the king himself, I tell you. Do not forget my words, swordsman. It is the king himself!”
10
BAREK’S FACE LOOKED LIFELESS, and he seemed to have a thousand more wrinkles than before. “She’s missing,” he croaked, eyes watering and jumping about. “I’ve ridden all over this place for a week. She’s gone.”
“We will find her,” said Zar, gripping the man’s shoulder. Barek gripped his arm in exchange, and he squeezed so hard Zar thought the limb might go numb.
“I need to go out again to look,” said Barek, his voice sounding breathless, like he was talking and choking at once.
“Let me go.”
“Aye, two heads are better than one.”
“Let me go alone,” Zar clarified. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m as fit as ever,” Barek argued. “We’ll both ride.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
Barek’s eyes wandered off to the side as he contemplated the question. It looked as if he didn’t know himself.
“Trust me, old man. Drink some wine, see your woman. Leave this to me. I will find her.�
� Zar said the words so confidently he believed them himself, and he could see in Barek’s eyes that he did as well.
“What will you do?”
“What I must,” Zar answered. “I’ll need Dancer.”
“Aye,” said Barek, a faint glow of hope now showing in his eyes. “Take him.”
“Good. When I return, she’ll be with me.” Zar hoped he wasn’t giving the man false hope with his bold statements, but this was how he always talked when he wanted something to happen, as if he could will a thing into existence with nothing more than confidence and quiet faith. Besides, Barek needed hope, whether false or true, for the man looked like he had aged ten years since Zar had last seen him just a handful of weeks ago.
Zar left Asha with Barek, for Dancer was a mount more suited for the task at hand. He opened the mount’s stall door to find the animal looking angry, it’s ebon coat catching rays of the sun peeking in and shimmering as he jittered. Perhaps he could sense the anger in Zar that burned like someone had lit a fire in his gut, or maybe it was Dalya that had told him when she wandered back to the meadow scared and without her master.
Zar knew what the next few weeks would be like, spilling blood and asking questions—but spilling more blood than asking questions. He wondered if he still had it within him, then smiled at the notion that it could ever be gone.
Dancer raced across the plain so fast Zar imagined if he was looking down from the sky he would see nothing but a black cloud sweeping over the grass. They rushed to Karthin and Gara, where Zar questioned every suspicious or out of place thing, scouring the place like a vulture through a field of carrion. Then it was south to Vaul, and all the way back west over the plains of Dorad to Vlysa. He hopped off Dancer a dozen times, putting his blade to throats, demanding answers, thinking the worst thoughts, murderous things, things he knew if he carried out he might regret later, but were completely necessary for only blood would get him the answers he needed. Blood and a bit of luck.
He had threatened every strange person, engaged every curious face when the words of that peculiar man echoed in his mind. It is the king himself, Tuskin had said, and Zar stood aghast, wondering why he was just now considering the man’s words. His many years of journeying through Krii had shown him that there were few evils in all the land that couldn’t be traced back to the king or his court. Tiomot the lecher king should’ve been among his first suspects. Still, he had nothing—nothing but the cold realization that this problem, like so many others he had come across was courtesy of none other than the king himself, and the only thing he could think to do was to become a villain himself by visiting the king’s henchmen wherever he found them.
“I know nothing of it,” the man insisted, “I swear it!”
He squirmed desperately in the reddened dirt, pressing his palms over his body to keep his blood from running out. He lay among several other Snowguard corpses, with too many holes in his flesh to be covered by his hands. “I know nothing of this, I swear! Please!”
Zar moved forward with his blades, the small boot dagger gripped in his left hand while his right held the larger dagger that was usually belted on his waist for quick access. The man’s eyes opened wide as the two blades crossed over his ear, and he called out desperately, “No, stop! What you wish to know I’d say—except that I don’t know. I would tell you everything sir, I would!”
“You must have heard something,” said Zar. “Tell me something or I cannot leave you alone.” The two blades inched together, slowly cutting into the man’s ear. “Give me something,” Zar insisted. “Give me something or I will take something.”
“Go to Sirith!” a voice sounded. It had come from one of the other bodies about the ground.
“What’s that?” Zar questioned. “You yet live?”
“To Sirith,” the same man answered. “I’ve heard of a rumor there—among the guards.”
“Curious,” said Zar, chuckling. “Is there honor among Snowguards? And whom did you hope I would spare by providing me an answer? Him? Or yourself?”
The man cried out as he rolled his body over to face Zar, and after several gasps he spoke. “That you would spare us both.”
“Well, you’ve given me an answer,” said Zar as his hands pressed down and separated, conjuring a shrill from the man underneath him. “That is what I’ve been asking for, no?”
“Aye,” the man answered. “In Sirith I’m certain you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
“You’re certain? But how can I be certain? Are you just trying to get rid of me?”
“No, it’s true,” the man pleaded. “I … remember.”
“I know I haven’t been the best company today, but trying to get rid of me—really I’m quite offended.”
“I heard something of girls,” the bleeding man said fearfully as Zar approached.
“You could have played dead, I would have bothered you no more,” said Zar as a bead of crimson rolled off his dagger’s point and splashed the man’s face. “But you spoke up for this man. Is he your friend?”
The man stayed silent, his breathing heavy as his body trembled. His right hand clutched his neck where a small puncture wound spilled his life into the dirt. His left arm was mangled and twisted behind his back, his hand clenched tightly in a fist as the blood ran down. He looked over to the other, ear removed, bleeding profusely from the side of the head as he covered the wound with frantic hands, moaning horribly.
“Listen to me,” said Zar, raising his dagger to the man’s face. “You may be a good man, but I don’t care—not today. Today you should not have been a Snowguard.” He executed him.
Rolling up his bloody sleeves, Zar marched over to the soldier whose ear he had removed. “If I don’t kill you now I’ll surely regret it later,” he said. Though the man now lay perfectly still and may have been already dead, Zar couldn’t take the chance. He gave a quick thrust to the man’s heart. The corpse was quiet as blood oozed into the man’s already crimson stained clothes. Zar cleaned his blades and sheathed them. He then called Dancer, mounted, and made off towards the town.
It wasn’t the first company he had slaughtered that week, devilishly probing and demanding answers that not one man seemed to know. But finally he had something. And while days ago Zar felt like his efforts had been for nothing, as if the only thing he had accomplished so far was assuring that there would certainly be a bounty on his head, now he had a direction to go. There would be no more random assaults of the king’s men, and he would cause no more trouble until he got to Sirith.
°
It was easy to spot the company, their lofty royal mounts hoisting shining plate armor into the air that could be seen from miles off. It was a company of five—king’s guard, as it looked—bearing the flag of Snowstone as they marched toward the capital. Zar was especially happy as they were obviously men of importance—unlike the rabble of grunts he had encountered earlier. He followed from a distance until night fell, and when the group looked to be making camp, detoured from the road to a wooded area about a league off. Zar rode Dancer into the wood about a mile and tied him there. He pulled his short bow from the saddle with a handful of arrows and made towards the soldiers on foot. He dropped to his elbows and knees soon after. The night was now black and quiet, and he crawled toward the wood, led by the men’s faint voices until he could see their campfire dancing in the dark.
Invading the small camp with his bow in one hand and a fistful of arrows in the other, Zar inched forward on his elbows, eyeing each man from his shelter in the brush. They would scatter after the first shot so he would have to dispatch them quickly—all except one, of course, for whom else would provide him his precious information?
Sighting through the leafage, he saw the man who looked to be the leader. All the others asked and answered to him as he stuffed his face with dried meat from his saddle bag. The fancy armor that covered his chest looked more decorative than protective. More importantly, though, his legs lay draped down the front of the bould
er he was sitting on, waiting like targets near the fire’s light, no more than thirty paces straight across from Zar. He nocked an arrow carefully, silently shifting in the brush and pulling slow and steady on the bow string. He focused his eyes on the man’s bent knee, and kept that rounded orb fixed in his vision as he sighted down the arrow.
He released.
The arrow whistled and struck sound, and the man’s leg bounced from the impact. He let out an abrupt grunt, but it wasn’t until he looked down at his leg that he began to cry out, holding his knee with both hands as he trembled.
The others sat bewildered. Zar drew and released another bolt. This shot sank soundly into the chest of one man who had removed his armor to make himself comfortable.
The rest of them scrambled and scattered.
Zar lay flat as a guard approached, racing eagerly to hide among the trees. If only he would have known that the place he wished to hide was not two paces away from where Zar lurked, he may not have been the next to go. As he darted into the brush, he was met head-on by an arrow in the face— a most unpleasant greeting, but one Zar felt was more than appropriate. He drew another arrow.
The two guards who remained searched the place with eyes wide and swords raised. Zar sprang up from his place on the ground, releasing as soon as he rose. The man across from him fell to the earth. The other had sense enough to rush forward after the shot, but Zar didn’t bother to redraw. He dropped the bow and pulled his sword to meet the man’s blade. It was a quick exchange where only Zar was left standing.
“Now that it’s just us,” said Zar, walking over to the crippled man and drawing his dagger from his belt. “There are things you must tell me.”
The man had both hands cupped around his knee while he wheezed in pain with his eyes fixed on the wound.
“Who are you?”
Zar gave a slight smile as he squatted beside him. “I am one who you’ll find to be most unpleasant if you don’t tell me what I need to know.”
Roads of the Righteous and the Rotten (Order of Fire Book 1) Page 10
