Adversaries Together

by Daniel Casey

  Roth rubbed his head and glanced around for his hat, “What the…”

  Four new men burst into the camp from the same direction the other two had come. Three of the men sprinted through ignoring him, but the fourth saw him and froze. His face obscured by a deep crimson bandana, the man's eyes narrowed. Before Roth could react, the stranger stomped on Roth’s back knocking him back into the muck. Seemingly satisfied the stranger grunted and ran on to catch up with the others. Roth rolled onto his back feeling the rain on his face and the cold mud seeping into his clothes. He blinked several times, then lifted himself to his feet cursing, strode over to his would-be fire pit, threw open one of his satchels, and grabbed several throwing daggers. Roth looked over his sad little camp, gave a heavy sigh, and bolted after the six strangers.

  The four pursuers had caught up with the first two easily enough. Roth was able to make them out about a hundred yards off as the rain had lightened to more of a drizzle. The one who had first run into Roth was fending off the three as the woman kept running. He was a crusader, a paladin, Roth could see now by the armor—a single full arm pauldron that linked with a mitten gauntlet leaving his other arm bare of metal, a lorica, and a tasset belt that ran long down his thigh, and knee guards, all a queer amber colored steel. Although better equipped, the paladin was losing. The paladin didn’t look tired but he was mired in the muck of the marsh whereas his assailants were light on their feet and more agile.

  The three circled the paladin as though he were standing still. They had already drawn blood as they danced around him, their rapiers having teased out punctures. Yet the paladin seemed unfazed, swinging a long flanged mace. He swatted away the other men’s weapons as though they were twigs. He was letting them get closer, egging them on, Roth realized. Finally, one-step too close and the paladin made full contact with his mace into the ribs of the other, collapsing him in a heap. As the bandit clutched his side, the paladin felled a second strike on the back of the bandit’s head. The body fell with a definitive slap into the earth; he didn’t rise again. The other two now closed their ranks and moved shoulder-to-shoulder in on the paladin, their rapiers held high.

  Running at full speed, Roth saw the man who had kicked him stop about forty feet from the melee. He cocked and raised a small, hand-held crossbow. The next thing Roth saw was the paladin stagger back, a dart protruding from his collarbone area on his unarmored side. As the other two bandits closed in, the masked man sent another dart into the upper arm of the paladin. Finally, though, Roth was close enough to engage. The arbalist heard Roth coming and spun to meet the new challenge, but he was too slow. Roth came right at him, tucked to one-side rounding the man. As he did so, he whipped his hand holding his push knife across the face of the bowman. A muffled, wet gurgling sound arose as the man collapsed to his knees reaching to his neck.

  Roth kept his pace up, closing the distance between himself and the remaining two assailants. Not more than twenty feet away, one of the swordsmen turned his head when he noticed the paladin glancing beyond them. Roth skidded to a stop, instantly raising a throwing knife and sending it hurtling toward the one who had turned. The blade lodged in his target’s shoulder and Roth cursed himself for missing his mark. The strike was enough to cause the other swordsman to retreat a few steps to turn to face Roth, who only saw him for the briefest moment as the swordsman stiffened and fell forward with two arrows firmly lodged in his back. Roth saw the woman in the distance holding the bow.

  The paladin knelt, his head hanging down and his mace discarded. He reached up and grabbed the dart in his shoulder yanking it free and tossing it aside. He paused and the color seemed to drain from his face. As he reached to pull the second dart from his arm, he seemed to hesitate. Roth saw the paladin’s eyes flutter as he collapsed. The last swordsman now wounded was caught between Roth and the woman, who held her bow up arrow primed, as she came back to the scrum. The bandit crouched slightly bringing his sword down; Roth’s throwing knife was lodged in the bandit’s opposite shoulder, a thin ribbon of blood trickling down his black leather. The bandit cut a wide crescent around Roth backpedalling until he was with the hunched over masked man Roth had first cut. He picked up his fallen comrade and the two retreated back into the marsh. Roth held his push knife out to the side and kept his other hand cocked with a throwing knife as he turned ever so slightly to stay in line with the retreating bandits.

  The rain had stopped and the sun shone glaringly bright down through the grey clouds. Roth could hear the woman running toward but he kept his eyes fixed on the bandits until they disappeared. When he was satisfied, they weren’t returning he turned to face the paladin. Roth saw the paladin being held by the woman. As he moved closer, he could see that though the wounds were minor they were blackening. The darts must’ve been laced with poison. Given how completely out of sorts the paladin looked now, Roth had no doubt. He took another few steps towards them and the woman suddenly stood, loaded an arrow, and set it loose. Roth felt it whiz by his ear, nicking him.

  “Oow…wha?”

  Roth grabbed the side of his head and shot a bitter look at the woman.

  “Leave him be. Get out of here.” She was younger than he had thought. Her wet chestnut hair clung to her face, but Roth saw in her eyes dead seriousness. But she wasn’t dressed like a rover or a soldier, her tunic was simple but well made and its clasp around her neck sparkled in the light like truesilver. If he was a paladin, Roth reasoned, and then she could well be a pilgrim or maybe even an alm.

  He held out his hand to try to settle her down, “If you want him dead, by all means I will.” The woman slightly lowered the bow and turned to the paladin with a look of worry.

  “Look, I can patch him up…enough to get him to some help…” Roth said calmly inching closer.

  “Why should I trust you?” The woman snapped back, pulling her string back, and stepping towards him.

  “Are you serious?” Roth pointed in the direction the men had run off.

  “How do I know you just won’t…”

  Roth shook his head dismissively, “Look, he hasn’t time for debate. You want him to live, I help; you want him to die, I don’t.”

  Roth was stern, and she flinched “Alright.”

  He strode passed her and went to work. The dart hadn’t gone deep—the handbow had enough draw to pierce the mail the paladin wore but not enough to go farther—but the bleeding was rather excessive, thin and fast. Roth reasoned the poison must’ve had an anticoagulant.

  “His name is Goshen.” The woman stood behind him sounding apologetic.

  “Of course it is…” Roth mumbled, from a small pouch on his belt he pulled some gauze and pressed it on the puncture wound, “Come here and hold this hard.”

  The woman did as she was told as Roth shuffled off to the side. He dug into the black earth until he got to a patch of thick clay like soil. He came back over to the paladin, “Move” he yelled and slapped the grey clay on the wound just a moment after the woman pulled away. Roth stood up and gazed around, a damp silence blanketed the marsh.

  “He’s not going to last long; we need to get him to a proper healer.” Roth shook his head then turned to the woman, “We need to head to Anhra Harbor.”

  The woman didn’t look at Roth but rather at Goshen, she nodded and in a whisper said, “That was where we were heading.”

  Roth bent down and undid the paladin’s armor tossing it aside. He put another mash of clay on Goshen’s shoulder wound. The woman stared at Roth, “What are you doing?”

  Roth continued taking the paladin’s gear off, “Are you going to carry his body?” he said contemptuously as he lifted the man with gentleness that surprised the woman.

  “But…what if…”

  “If he lives he can buy new armor, if he’s dead armor does nothing for him.”

  Roth stood Goshen up, bent down, slid his other arm under the paladin’s legs, paused, and then lifted. He began walking towards his camp with the paladin in his arms; the woman
spoke forcefully, “Anhra isn’t that way.”

  “No, but my camp is, and I do need my things.” Roth didn’t hesitate walking at a sure pace even though he was burdened with the man’s body.

  “Stay close," he barked, “We can’t afford any dawdling. And have that bow at the ready.”

  Getting back to his camp was more difficult that he had anticipated. The paladin’s body was heavier and more unruly to handle than he had suspected. Moreover, the woman was nearly useless, unloading a constant stream of questions and complaints. When they reached the camp, Roth set the paladin down trying to prop him up against a slick rock. He reached down to pick up a pack throwing it around his shoulder, “I’ve got to find some material to make a litter.”

  “You’re leaving?” the woman was incensed.

  “You have no idea what to look for.”

  “Just tell me what to get.” She shot back as though he were an idiot.

  “It’d take ages. Just let me handle this.”

  “How do I know you’ll come back, not just abandon us, not just go get your friends?”

  Roth tossed two smaller packs tied together at her, which she caught almost as an afterthought scowling at him, “Because you have my fucking gear.” He turned and went off into the moor.

  “What if they come back?” She called after him.

  Roth rolled his eyes calling back, “Then they’ll kill you both and take my gear.”

  It didn’t take long for him to find a good number of sticks that he could thatch together, but he didn’t trust this moor wood. Soon he had a two-foot wide bundle bound on his back as he dragged along his pack. He’d been gone less than an hour and as he approached his campsite, he spied a thin strand of white smoke rising. He cursed under his breath and picked up his pace.

  “What’s this then?” he barked as he came over the rise. The woman sat at the edge of the fire pit looking at him with a blank expression.

  “What’s what?” She asked clearly sick of him.

  “You don’t think anyone out there would notice this?”

  She shrugged, “If I was going to be killed what would it matter.”

  “Light be damned, whatever woman.” Roth dumped the bundle, nodded toward the paladin, “How is he?”

  “It’s Kira.”

  “How is Kira?” Roth began to unravel the bundle and started to thatch a litter for the paladin.

  “I’m Kira.” She said exasperated.

  “Both questions still stand.” Roth ignored her.

  “I’m fine. Goshen has a fever. He’s sweating profusely. I used your bandages to tend to some of his other wounds.”

  “You went through my things?” he seemed humored by this.

  Kira shrugged, “They were mine if you didn’t return.”

  “But I did.”

  “So then gloat.”

  Roth smirked, this woman was getting under his skin but he realized this was the most he had spoken to someone in months.

  “How long before you’re done?” Kira asked.

  “Not long. I’m more concerned with how long it’ll take to get to Anhra.”

  “We can get to the highroad, easily enough.” Kira turned and pointed off in the distance.

  “Yeah, well, you see those bandits are very likely between us and it.” Roth pointed to one of the packs at Kira’s feet and gestured for her to give it him. He fished out several thin leather strips.

  “So we have to trudge through the lowlands?”

  Roth nodded, holding a strip in his teeth. As he pulled hard on it knotting a corner of the litter he said, “We’ll parallel to the highroad, it’ll take longer but it’ll be safer.”

  “How long can Goshen hold out?”

  “Use that fire to boil some water.” He nodded toward the other pack, “there’s a small kettle in there and a pouch of yarrow. Wouldn’t hurt to give him some tea.”

  Kira started digging, “How long though?”

  “We’ll see.”

  After another hour or so, the litter was complete. He brought it over to Goshen and wiggled him onto it. Using the remaining leather strips, he began to tie the paladin’s hands and his feet to the litter.

  “Why do that?” Kira asked as she poured the last of the tea on the fire and stomped it out.

  “I don’t need to have him roll off.” When he was done, Roth tossed his large pack and the small satchels at Kira nodding for her to pick them up. The woman glared at him but Roth ignored her and bent down to lift the litter. He began to walk, dragging the paladin behind him. He called back to Kira, “Maybe we’ll trade after a few minutes.”

  Kira grabbed the packs in disgust and followed behind him, “You know we had gear and mounts on the highroad. We could get them back.”

  “Feel free to take a hold of this litter and head that way. I’ll gladly trade you burdens and be on my way.”

  “You’d just let me go off into the marsh alone?”

  Roth sighed, “Why is speaking with you so much more of a chore than dragging an unconscious body?”

  In the distance, lightning strikes stabbed into the sea. They hadn’t spoken for nearly two hours.

  “You never told me your name.” Kira spoke as though Roth had grievously failed her.

  “My mistake.” His shoulders ached from the weight of the paladin

  “And you are?” Kira asked obviously annoyed.

  “Avery Roth.”

  “It’s going to rain again,” Kira stared ahead as Roth glanced behind him at her and saw a new shadow of clouds coming over the mountains down to the lowland.

  “Yeah…there’s always a storm…”

  Anhra sat at the mouth of the Tanas River, which made the marsh plain between the Siracenes and Glen Mark. Alongside Rautia, the city near the headwaters of the Tanas, Anhra made up the major trade axis for the Lowlands. It was here that caravans from the other cities of Silvincia like Elixem and the capital Ardavass ended up before selling goods to Novostos Sea merchants that shipped to the other Silvinician port towns—Bandra in the east, Arderra to the west—and allied Adrenine cities along the south shore of the Novostos. Anhra was growing quickly as the best-equipped Silvincian port; the nation of the Seven Spires of Ardavass was not only a nation of architectural wonders but also fast reaching the status of empire.

  Thanks to the Blockade of Rikonen, Anhra was a boomtown, yet it lacked many of the more permanent and civil institutions of the other cities under the sway of the Spires. It was from Anhra that Silvincian soldiers would embark on their way to the Blockade in the far western part of the sea. Thus, there was a constant traffic of bodies and, of course, disease and crime. Unlike Bandra with its golden pagodas steeped in the history of the faith of the Light and always looking for a new tithe to impose, or Arderra with its sensible tiny guilds regulating its small but efficient port, Anhra was haphazardly constructed. It was dynamic and fluid; a building standing one year could be abandoned or razed the next. The harbor was unregulated, a holdover from when the town was a free city.

  Before the Blockade, the Essian port of Rikonen held sway over trade in the Novostos. It was for this reason that the Seven Spires of Ardavass had roused the Silvincian populace and initiated the siege more than twelve hundred days ago. The semi-autonomous Adrenine Merchant Fleet that had made Anhra its seat didn’t argue once its leaders realized they could continue their business unabated and even for a slightly higher profit. Free rangers, tinkers, rovers, highland folk with their herds and meager crop surplus, and other itinerants were common in Anhra before the Blockade. With the tone now more nationalist, they found themselves a suspect minority to the sanctioned merchants, Silvincian soldiers quartered throughout the city, and the ever-increasing numbers of mercenaries looking to get a contract with them.

  Roth didn’t wonder why two travelers from the north, obviously from The Cathedral, would have fell prey to highwaymen. He did wonder why they were heading to Anhra in the first place. The Cathedral had little time for places like it and its
evangelists were certainly less than welcome. They weren’t far from the city, likely to get there before the morning waned. It was dark now and they were camped. The night was damp and chill; Roth had covered Goshen with his own trench coat and sat on the soft earth opposite Kira.

  “You think we could have a fire?” she asked.

  “Nope.” Roth said matter-of-factly.

  “I mean, I think we should start a fire.” Kira asserted.

  “Be my guest.” Roth was still a bit bitter that Kira had so easily made a fire earlier in the day.

  Kira grumbled through her teeth, “Why won’t you start one?”

  Roth let out an audible sigh as though Kira was not just a burden but also an imbecile, “I wonder if the people who hunted you down are out in the marsh right now? I wonder, if they were out there, if they’d see a fire on the moor. And if they saw the light, if they’d come over to see if it was the people who had killed two members of their party?”

  “I don’t see why you have to be such an ass.” Kira was getting angrier with Roth, “And to be specific, Goshen killed three and I killed one. Don’t think I don’t understand the danger.”

  Roth chuckled to himself, “I guess it has something to do with having my camp tromped all over, getting beaten and ambushed, and then being dragged into being an escort that will afford me no profit. In fact, I’m probably going to lose coin taking you and the corpse there to Anhra.”

  “He’s not dead. Show some respect. Goshen is an emissary of the Cathedral of Light, a noble of the…”

  “Nah, nah, nah,” Roth raised his hand to cut her off, “All that served him well as he was set upon.”