by John Marco
Alain noticed it first. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing down at the run.
Del hurried to the edge, squinting for a better view. “Horses,” he said. “I don’t believe it …”
“How many?” asked Alain. “Can you tell?”
Del shook his head. “I can’t see for sure. Not many, I don’t think. Could be a first patrol, though.”
Alain turned white. “What do we do?”
Del grabbed hold of his brother’s arm and hauled him away from the ledge.
“We have to warn the others,” he said, then guided his brother hastily down the hillside to the base of the mountains where their horses waited.
Alazrian ran a sweaty palm over his forehead, studying the canyon rising up around him. They had entered the run over an hour ago, and now the sun was high overhead, burning down oppressively. Their horses trotted at a cautious pace, their ears perking up at every sound. A warm breeze coursed through the tunnel. Alazrian’s gaze darted about anxiously, carefully tracing the towering cliffs. He saw no one up in the thousand hiding places, yet the uneasy feeling of unwanted eyes would not leave him.
They were out in the open and he wanted Shinn to see the stupidity of their advance, but he knew the Dorian wouldn’t listen, and the plain truth was that there was no other way into the mountains. They would have to be quiet, Shinn had warned, and that was all. If they could find evidence of Jahl Rob’s hideout, they could turn around and head home. To Alazrian, who had always loathed life with his father, home suddenly seemed a surprisingly inviting place. He realized that there would be no way for him to run off and find the Triin, because there were only a few other paths and all of them appeared to lead to dead ends. Only this main route, this single artery of the run, could take him to Lucel-Lor. Unless the Triin dropped down out of the mountains, Alazrian knew he would never find them.
Easy, he told himself, trying to stay calm. He needed to think, to find a way to the Triin without Shinn and the others spotting him, but as far as he could tell there were no Triin in the mountains, at least not this close to Aramoor. The most awful feeling overcame him and he slumped in his saddle, wishing he hadn’t come on this patrol. Now he would have to go back to Aramoor with the others and try to sneak away some other time. Biagio’s urgent note to Vantran would get older and older, and Tassis Gayle would launch his inevitable attack on the Black City, and Alazrian would have failed.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered. He hadn’t wanted anyone to hear him, but Shinn’s sharp ears picked up his swearing. The Dorian swivelled in his saddle.
“What was that, boy?”
Alazrian blanched. “Nothing.”
“Keep quiet, then,” ordered Shinn. He brought his horse to a sudden stop, spying their surroundings. Brex trotted up alongside him.
“I don’t know,” observed the Talistanian. He licked his lips as he thought, the skin on his chubby face wrinkling. “They could be anywhere.”
“No,” mused Shinn. The sharpness had returned to his expression, giving him the look of a scholar. “Let’s think about this. If you were Jahl Rob, where would you hide?” His head turned as he spoke, studying everything in view. “Where?”
“There,” said Alazrian. He pointed to the most obvious place, a set of high peaks to the southeast. “That’s where I’d hide.”
Shinn almost smiled. “Why?”
“Because you can see everything from there,” said Alazrian. “It’s high enough to give a view of the run, and it’s easy to defend, too. All you would need is a small band, and you could probably keep back an army.”
“Yes,” echoed Brex, nodding. “The boy’s right. Why not there?”
“Why not indeed?” agreed Shinn. “I was thinking the same thing myself. Well done, young Leth.”
Alazrian flushed with pride. He’d never known Shinn to offer a compliment. “Should we ride for those peaks?” he asked. “If so we’ll have to be careful. Much closer and they might see us.”
“Assuming they’re up there,” piped in one of Brex’s men. “Maybe they’re even closer. Maybe they’ve seen us already.”
Brex frowned. “What do you think, Shinn?”
Shinn didn’t answer. Again he had fallen into his preoccupied silence. His eyes flicked around the run, obviously looking for something. But what? What was making Shinn so pensive?
“Well?” pressed Brex. “Do we go on?”
“A little farther,” Shinn said finally. “We need to be sure that’s where the stronghold is hidden.”
“But we’re out in the open,” Brex protested. “If we go any farther they might see us.” He glanced around dubiously, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We may have gone too far already.”
For some reason, that logic didn’t satisfy Shinn. “We’ll go a little farther,” he said, then snapped his reins to propel his horse forward.
Jahl Rob rode from his mountain stronghold like the wind, his cape billowing out behind him in a snapping comet’s tail. Behind him rode Ricken, Taylour, Parry, and Del, all with bows and arrow-stuffed quivers on their backs. Their horses’ hooves rumbled through the canyons, echoing off the high rocky walls, but Jahl didn’t care about the noise. The only thing on his mind was defense.
Even his recent paranoia hadn’t prepared him for Del’s news. Riders were approaching, men from Talistan. They might be heralds of an army, or they might just be a foolishly brave patrol, but whoever they were, their arrival meant trouble. More, it meant that he had finally pushed Elrad Leth too far. Jahl tucked himself against the neck of his horse as he rode, his mind a whirlwind of possibilities. He had already put his Saints on alert and their mountain home was now crawling with swordsmen and archers, all ready to repel an attack. But Jahl hadn’t wanted to wait for his hideout to be discovered. He needed to see what Leth had sent against him and, if at all possible, keep them from discovering his lair.
“Slow down!” cried Del. “It’s not much farther. They’ll hear us!”
It was the word Jahl had been awaiting. Instantly he drew his horse to a whinnying stop, letting it rear up in sudden surprise as he canvassed the run. Ahead of them, the path snaked around a bend and out of view. Behind them lay miles of empty road, all unguarded on the way to their stronghold. Their horses breathed with effort, dangerously lathered, but Jahl hardly noticed their condition.
“Here?” he asked.
Del looked around. “Hard to tell. We need to get some height, climb one of these ridges to see where they are. I don’t want to go any farther lest they see us.”
“Agreed,” said Jahl. “But if they’re on their way, I don’t see why we should wait for them to pass.” He looked up and around, spying the rocks for a suitable perch. “We’ll ambush them here, take positions on both sides of the road. I don’t want any of them getting away alive.”
Each of the men nodded, affirming their leader’s plan.
“Ricken, you and Parry take the south side,” said Jahl, gesturing toward an outcropping to his left. “Del and I will take the north side. Fire at the men closest to you.”
“What about me?” asked Taylour.
“You stay down here on your horse,” said Jahl. “Stay back and hide yourself somewhere. If any of those Talistanians make it past us, you ride like hell to the hideout, understand?”
Taylour took the order like a good soldier, reining his horse around in search of a good hiding place. There were hundreds of crags and outcroppings, paths that led nowhere, perfect places in which to become invisible.
“There,” he said, pointing to a gulch on the south side of the path. “I’ll wait for them there.”
“You all know what to do,” said Jahl. He looked at his men solemnly, not wanting there to be any doubt. “Not a man makes it past us. Or gets out of here alive. We have to get them all.”
“We will,” promised Ricken, then began leading Parry up the road, looking up at the southern hillside for a good place to lay ambush. Jahl watched them for a moment, then set off again for th
e north side, silently bidding Del to follow. He knew Ricken and Parry were fine marksmen, almost as good as he himself, so all they needed was a clear vantage from which they could make a killing shot. If there were as few riders as Del had guessed, then four snipers would be enough.
Or at least Jahl hoped. He started wishing he’d brought more men, then abruptly stopped himself.
Not now, he chided. Just do your job.
God would protect them, he knew, so he guided Del to an outcropping of rock on the north side of the run. It was perfect. The run ran off into a dead-end tributary, a natural formation that looked like a thin road. Jahl stared down the narrow path. It seemed to go on a surprising distance before disappearing around a bend. It was the ideal place to hide their horses, allowing them to keep their mounts far from the main road.
“This way,” he told Del. “We’ll hide the horses in here and climb up a few yards. That should give us plenty of shooting range.”
Alazrian’s small patrol had gone another fifteen minutes into the run when Shinn suddenly stopped. Up ahead the road widened, with gulches on either side and forbidding ledges bearing down on them. Little pathways branched off the main road, some barely as wide as a man, others easily capable of accommodating a column of horsemen, and the distance was obscured by a sharp elbow that turned a sheer cliff face toward them. Brex and his soldiers mumbled a little, uneasy about their surroundings. The high peaks to the southeast still beckoned, but they seemed no closer to Jahl Rob’s supposed stronghold.
“We should turn back,” Brex advised. “Return with more men.”
“I don’t like this,” observed another. Like his comrades, he craned his neck to survey their surroundings. “They could be anywhere, watching us.”
Alazrian didn’t want to go any farther either. He doubted that he would discover the Triin he was looking for, and he knew he would have to return some other time when Shinn and the others weren’t around. But Shinn wasn’t deterred by the silence or the gloomy hills. He was studying the ground again, making his horse walk in circles around an old piece of rusted metal.
“Look at that,” he said curiously. “That’s been machined.”
“So?” shrugged Brex. “Look around. There’s all kinds of junk here. It’s all been left behind over the years. Some from the Naren war, some from the Triin. The run has always been a dump.”
Shinn wasn’t satisfied. Amazingly, he kept staring at the discarded scrap, assigning it undue importance.
“Could be anything,” he said. Then, his eyes widening, “It could be from the Saints.”
“Nah,” Brex scoffed. “It’s just garbage. The troops from the Empire left all kinds of things behind here. They just tossed their trash over their shoulders as they travelled. That’s nothing. Look how rusted it is.”
“Still …” Shinn sighed, looking around. He noticed a particularly wide path cutting into the northern facade and disappearing into nothingness. “They could be anywhere in here. We should check it out, find out everything we can.”
“But there’s nothing to find out,” argued Brex. “We think we know where their hideout is, right? So let’s stop mucking about and get out of here.”
Shinn shook his head. “I want to find out more. This is another good place for them to hide.”
All the more reason to leave, thought Alazrian. None of this was making sense, and he could tell the others thought so, too.
“Brex, you and your men stay put. I’m going into that path over there.” Shinn pointed toward the gully on the northern side. “I won’t be long. Alazrian …” He turned to the boy. “You come with me.”
Alazrian’s heart almost stopped. “Me? Why?”
“Because I need another pair of eyes and because you’re here to make a man out of yourself.” The Dorian smiled thinly. “Isn’t that right?”
“Well …”
“Come on,” snapped Shinn. He ignored Alazrian’s vapid stuttering and began riding off for the gully. Alazrian looked at Brex, hoping for some guidance or support, but the horseman merely shrugged. With no choice but to follow, Alazrian squeezed his thighs together and coaxed Flier after the Dorian. He found Shinn just ahead, disappearing into the gully. A minute later, they were out of sight of the others on a narrow path that seemed to be leading nowhere. With barely enough room to turn their horses, the walls of the gulch pressed in on them. A dizzying sense of dread overcame Alazrian and he swayed in his saddle, anxious to flee the claustrophobic path. But Shinn kept plunging deeper, slowly guiding his horse into the unknown as he absently spied the towering mountains.
“There’s nothing here,” whispered Alazrian. “We should go back.”
Shinn paused. He took the bow from around his shoulders, holding it in his left fist. Alarmed, Alazrian hurried up to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” replied Shinn. Then he took an arrow from his quiver. Alazrian looked around, puzzled and frightened by the thing Shinn had detected.
“What is it?” he asked again. “You see something?”
The Dorian answered with a disquieting smile. “Just want to be ready,” he said. “But you’re right. We should go now.”
He turned his horse around and started back out of the gully. Relieved, Alazrian made to follow him, but Shinn stopped again.
“What now?” grumbled Alazrian.
His bow still in hand, Shinn slowly pointed his weapon at Alazrian. His smile widened.
Jahl and Del had barely reached the top of the landing when they saw two horsemen riding toward them down the gully. They were exhausted from the climb and breathing hard, and the shock of seeing the approaching men made their hearts race faster. Jahl hit the ground at the sight of them, burying his face in the dirt. Behind him, Del let out a desperate curse and serpentined over to the edge of the landing, moving up next to Jahl and whispering in his ear.
“Did they see us?”
Jahl didn’t know, but he didn’t think so. He could hear the approaching hooves of the horsemen drawing closer below. One was talking. Or was he complaining? His tone sounded frightened. Carefully Jahl raised his head and peered out over the ledge. Coming toward them were two men, one in front of the other. They were dressed in simple travelling clothes, but the one in the lead was armed. He was a thin man with gaunt features and a body that barely cast a shadow. It took a moment for Jahl to recognize him.
Shinn.
Hastily, he waved Del closer. Del’s eyes widened when he recognized Leth’s infamous bodyguard.
“My God,” whispered Del. “We have him!”
Jahl was already drawing two arrows from his quiver. One he put between his teeth. The other he fitted against his bow, laying the weapon perpendicular to the ground so not to reveal themselves. So far, neither Shinn nor the other rider had noticed them. It was then that Jahl realized that Shinn’s companion wasn’t a soldier at all, but a boy. He was unarmed, a fact that made the idea of murdering him even less palatable.
“Who’s that?” asked Del. He too had spotted the boy.
“Don’t know,” whispered Jahl. “Goddamn it …”
He almost had Shinn in his sights. Remarkably, the bodyguard had come to an abrupt stop. Then he pulled his bow. Jahl held his breath. He was about to draw back on his arrow when the boy rushed up to Shinn.
“What are you doing?” asked the boy. “What’s wrong?”
Jahl and Del exchanged troubled glances. There was more talk from the duo below. Shinn took an arrow from his quiver. The boy turned white with alarm. Jahl and Del waited in frustration, not knowing whether or not Shinn had somehow discovered them.
Then, amazingly, Shinn turned and rode back in the opposite direction. Jahl let out a silent breath. Once more he began drawing back his bowstring, but the angle had changed now. Shinn’s retreat had ruined his shot, and Jahl knew he would have to stand up to have any chance at taking the bodyguard down. He was about to rise when Shinn stopped once more
. This time the Dorian raised his bow, flashing his young companion a murderous smile.
In that moment, Alazrian knew he would die. His mouth fell open but he didn’t scream, and he didn’t reach for his dagger or try to run from Shinn’s arrow. He was going to die in the Iron Mountains, and that was the ugly truth of it.
He watched as Shinn slowly raised his bow, watched in fascinated horror as a smile stretched across his face, and when the assassin nocked his arrow to his bow, Alazrian froze like a hunted deer.
“Nothing personal, boy,” said Shinn. “It’s the way your father wants it.”
“My father? Oh, God …”
It was unthinkable, and all Alazrian felt was the most awful embarrassment because he should have seen it coming. But he hadn’t seen it, and now he was going to die for his stupidity. Shinn pulled back his arrow, about to close an eye to aim.
“That’s it,” he joked. “Take it like a man.”
But he didn’t fire. His left eye closed for a moment, then opened again in stricken horror, focusing on something over Alazrian’s shoulder. Alazrian seized the moment. He jerked his horse to the side, bringing the beast about in a violent turn that almost knocked him from the saddle. Someone was shouting. Alazrian turned to see Shinn, his face red with hatred, his fingers quickly plucking back the bowstring and firing at something overhead. Alazrian heard an arrow collide with the rocks above, then heard more shouting from back out in the run. He wanted to bolt for the main road, but Shinn was still in front of him blocking his path.
Whatever was in the rocks above, it was firing back at the Dorian.
Jahl Rob was on his feet, cursing his bad luck as he nocked another arrow. Shinn had seen him at the last moment, getting off a remarkable shot that had grazed the priest’s shoulder. Next to him, Del was working his own weapon, desperately trying to pin down the Dorian as he maneuvered expertly on horseback, dodging every shot with cobra-quickness and firing back one volley after another.
“God in heaven,” prayed Jahl, “let me kill this bastard!”
He loosed a bolt and watched it slam into Shinn’s shoulder, almost toppling him from his mount. But Shinn held on with inhuman strength, gripping the reins in his teeth and firing one more shot as his riding coat turned crimson. His arrow whistled past Jahl’s head, missing by inches. Jahl thought he was safe—then heard Del’s anguished wail. He turned to see Del fall backward, the bolt lodged in his throat.
