by Ben Cassidy
Kendril looked away.
Tomas bent down over Kendril, rubbing the circulation back into his arms. “You didn’t exactly tell me you had enemies in this town.”
“I didn’t know I did,” Kendril said curtly.
Tomas unwrapped the cloth from Kendril’s knee, then used it to bandage the bleeding wound in his thigh. “Looks nasty,” he commented.
“I think the musket ball went clean through,” Kendril grunted. “As long as we can stop the bleeding I should be fine.”
“Just a little gunshot wound, eh?” said Tomas with a sardonic grin. “Where’s Callen when I need him? It seems like all I’m doing here is patching up your injuries.”
Kendril closed his eyes. He winced as Tomas tightened the cloth. “There may be more thugs coming. We need to get out of here as soon as we can. Find somewhere to lie low until we can get a ship back to New Marlin or Archangel.”
Tomas nodded back towards the mill. “We can’t stay here. Or the manor. Someone will come looking for these men eventually.”
“Agreed. We might be able to find a cheap place on the waterfront or along the log run.”
Tomas leaned back. He touched the swollen bruise on his head gingerly. “Can you walk?”
Kendril made a face from the pain. “I can hobble. I’ll lean on Simon.”
Tomas nodded. “Guess it will have to do.” He gave Kendril a hard look. “Anything else you think you should tell me about this blasted place and your mysterious past? You know, before another band of mercenaries comes storming out of the woods after us?”
Kendril gave him a frosty look. “I already told you everything.” He stuck out an arm. “Now help me up.”
The rain rattled against the wax paper that covered the window of the small shack. Outside the bells of the dockside and the cries of gulls filled the morning air.
Inside the shack was dark, dingy, and smelled like rotting garbage.
Kendril wrinkled his nose. He shifted himself painfully on what passed for a bed, groaning as he adjusted his injured leg.
Tomas came inside the tiny shack, letting in a gust of wind and rain. He shut the rickety door behind him, and reached for one of the logs by the small fire pit in the middle of the floor. “How are you feeling?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Fine,” Kendril lied. He shifted again, grinding his teeth. “Did you get a ship?”
Tomas nodded. “One leaving tomorrow for Archangel.”
Kendril nodded. “Good.” He pushed himself slowly up to a sitting position, then grabbed for the makeshift crutch that leaned against the wall by the bed.
Tomas put the log on the fire, then glanced up at Kendril in surprise. “Where are you going?”
“Outside.” Kendril grabbed the crutch, then pushed himself up to a wobbly standing position. “Going for a walk.”
Tomas stood up. “A walk? Are you crazy? It’s raining out there.”
“I need to get this leg moving a little. Get some fresh air,” Kendril said firmly.
Tomas gave the numerous cracks in the walls of the shack a skeptical glance. “I should think you’re getting enough fresh air in here.”
Kendril limped heavily to the door. He leaned on the solid crutch for support. “Just once around the docks. I’ll go crazy if I don’t get out of this flea-hole.”
“Someone might recognize you,” Tomas protested. “You want that Blackstone sending more men after us?”
Kendril reached back and pulled his hood over his head. “There. Happy?”
Tomas rolled his eyes. “I’m sure no one will see through such a compelling disguise.”
“One time,” Kendril said again. “Then I’ll come back. Promise.”
Tomas sighed heavily. “Hold on. I’ll come with you.” He pulled his own hood over his face. “Wouldn’t want you falling into the harbor or anything.”
Kendril gave him a scathing look.
The two men pushed outside into the steady rain.
The docks and beach were a mess. People, dripping with rain and holding screaming children, were pushing along old carts and tired-looking old horses laden with goods. Several men were arguing and shouting with what looked to be some of the sailors. The murmur of discontent from the mass of people rippled up and down the waterfront.
Kendril frowned at the sight. “What’s going on?”
Tomas glanced around. “I’m not sure. There was a crowd when I went to book us passage, but this is definitely getting worse.”
“Here now,” said a burly militiaman with a large red beard and a coonskin cap on his head. “Let’s keep this moving.” He waved forward a small group of weary-looking women who were shivering and dripping with rain. “Don’t put those geese there, for Eru’s sake. This isn’t a barn.”
Tomas stepped up to the man. “Excuse me. What’s going on here?”
The burly militiaman hefted a matchlock musket, unlit and probably unloaded in the heavy rainfall. “Chaos, that’s what’s going on. You can wait in line like everyone else.”
Tomas blinked. “Wait in line for what?”
The militiaman looked over at him. “To get on a ship, of course.”
Tomas turned quickly.
More people were streaming down the side of the hill from the town above. A line of cows and horses were intermingled with them. Most were weighed down with baggage and luggage of all descriptions, including mattresses and large pieces of furniture.
Kendril frowned. “They’re running.”
“Of course they’re running,” the burly militiaman growled. “Haven’t you heard? The Jombards are striking east of the Wall. They’ve started burning the outlying farms and even a couple of the villages. The mayor’s ordered all able-bodied men to stand for defense of Redemption.”
Tomas leaned his head in close to Kendril. “They’re attacking early,” he whispered.
“Speaking of which,” the militiaman thundered, “where do you think you’re going?” He stuck a large finger at Tomas. “Your friend there might be hurt, but you look healthy enough to me to bear arms.”
“We’re not from here,” Tomas said quickly. “Just visiting.”
“Oh, I see,” the militiaman shot back. “These folk here have families and have lost homes. But you can just scurry back to the mainland to your nice, safe little—” His eyes fell on Kendril and he stopped mid-sentence.
Kendril quickly looked away.
The militiaman straightened suddenly. “Great Eru. Great Eru in Pelos. It can’t be.”
Tomas looked at Kendril, then back at the militiaman. “Can’t be what? What are you talking about?”
Kendril started to limp away, back towards the shack.
The militiaman pushed a startled farmer aside. He caught up with Kendril and tore down the Ghostwalker’s hood.
Kendril whirled his head around in anger.
“It’s you,” the militiaman whispered. “I thought you were dead.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Kendril said. His eyes darted around furtively.
A crowd started to form around them on the dockside. Voices murmured and fingers began to point.
“Great,” Tomas said. “I told you someone might recognize you, Kendril. Are you happy now?”
“Sir,” the militiaman said, “don’t you recognize me? It’s Beckett. Corporal Beckett. I served under you in the Wars, I did.”
Tomas gave Kendril a confused glance. “Served under you? I thought you were an armor-bearer?”
Beckett gave a roaring laugh. “Armor-bearer? That’s a good one.” He turned to the crowd, and waved more people in. “He’s back! He’s finally returned. In our darkest hour the Hammer of the Jombards is here!” Beckett raised himself up, and saluted Kendril sharply. “Welcome home, Lord Ravenbrook.”
For thrilling action adventure set in the “sword and planet” setting of the Two Rings, check out these collections of novellas, also by Ben Cassidy:
Daughter of Llathe: A Tale of the Two Rings
Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 1
Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 2
About the Author:
Ben Cassidy lives in Vancouver, WA, with his wife and three children. He pursued graduate studies in history for several years until he decided that reading six scholarly books a week was not challenging enough for him, and so switched to being a stay-at-home dad. He has been writing since he was in third grade, though now he is able to bribe other people to do the illustrating for him. He has the uncanny habit of writing of himself in the third person, and is disturbed by how easily his whole life can be summed up in four sentences. Or even five.
Connect with Me Online:
Email list for New Releases: [email protected]
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Ben-Cassidy/393172364133550?ref=hl
Note from the Author:
I need your help.
When you publish independently, you have to do everything yourself. I’m not just writing and dreaming up plotlines and characters. I’m editing, formatting, and marketing my books as well. All that takes time, and most of it I’m not very good at.
There is no marketing campaign behind me. No major publishing house. No motivated literary agent watching my back. It’s just me. And in this e-book age, a successful writer needs positive word-of-mouth to succeed.
If you liked what you just read, if you want to see more of the characters and the worlds I am creating, then take five minutes to help me out. Publish a review of my work online. You’d be amazed how important reviews are, and how few readers do it. Click on my facebook link (above) and like my page. Sign up for my update email list, [email protected]. I promise I will only send emails to you when I’m coming out with a new piece of fiction.
And above all, tell a friend that you liked my work. Blog, twitter, tweet, text, facebook, or telegraph other people about me.
And thank you for reading what I have written. If even for a moment you found yourself standing under the twin moons of a distant world, or smelled the stench of gunpowder and crisp tang of blood, then I consider my work well done.
Continued in Book Six of the Chronicles of Zanthora:
Redemption
Coming Soon
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
