“King Felix said that Branock hired the Mezzlyn,” Mansel said, his confidence waning a bit.
“Does it really matter? The point is, we defeated Simmeron’s little coup attempt. He’s not likely to forget that.”
“I see,” Mansel said. “So what’s our plan?”
“To get to Osla as fast as possible. I’m hoping we can find a fast ship in Lorye.”
“Don’t you think the Mezzlyn will have thought of that?”
“Of course they have, but they don’t know we’re coming. We aren’t in danger from them until we get to the Prince. Odds are they are moving messages between their various agents, which may give us a slight advantage, since we’ll be traveling directly to the Grand City.”
“Have you ever been to Osla?” Mansel asked.
“Never been out of Yelsia,” Quinn admitted. “I was assigned to a lot of places when I was with the King’s Army, but other than sailing up from Orrock to the Great Valley, I’ve never been outside our own kingdom.”
“It’s exciting,” Mansel said. “Who would have ever thought we’d be commissioned by the King to go to Osla.” He was smiling broadly. “Do you think the Grand City is as big as they say it is?”
“I’ve no reason to think otherwise,” Quinn said. “This isn’t a sightseeing trip, Mansel.”
“I know, but we can enjoy it anyway. I’ve always wanted to travel the Five Kingdoms. I’m a little disappointed that we won’t be going overland.”
“That would take far too long. Besides, we’d need to travel in a larger group to deter outlaws.”
“Yeah, Zollin and I ran into a few of those,” Mansel said.
“Well, we don’t have Zollin with us and I’d rather not take the chance that one of us might get hurt. Our best chance of success is getting a good ship that will take us to Osla and back as quickly as possible. Things are changing in the Five Kingdoms, and I don’t think we want to be too far from home if relations between the different realms turn ugly.”
They were well out of the city now, traveling a well used road to the south. The countryside around them was full of summer crops: fields of wheat, neat rows of corn. There were farmers busy at their tasks and the occasional traveler, but few on horseback. The King had given Quinn and Mansel horses that were light and fast. They were shorter and more slender than the war horses they had ridden since leaving Tranaugh Shire. The horses had a much smoother gait and seemed to be able to keep up a fast trot for hours. Quinn hoped they would be able to ride quickly enough to arrive at Lorye in just over a week.
“You think Zollin woke up that dragon?” Mansel asked.
“I don’t know,” Quinn replied. The subject still upset him, even though he’d come to terms with the old sorcerer Kelvich. “Kelvich thinks so, says he thinks Zollin is waking up the magical world. So far, I’ve not seen anything to determine one way or another if that’s true.”
“The creatures we met in the forest were magical. They looked like living trees.”
“I don’t know anything about that, either. I’d hate to make a table from a tree that was fighting back.”
Mansel laughed and Quinn couldn’t help but be drawn into the merriment.
They rode hard most of the day, only stopping to water and walk the horses late in the afternoon. They passed several small villages, any of which would have made a good place to stop, but Quinn pushed on. They ate cold rations as they rode through the twilight. Mansel was tired, but he didn’t complain. He knew Quinn didn’t tolerate shirkers or whining of any kind. There were lots of stars out and the moon was almost full, so they rode until the horses were tired again, before finally stopping for the night. It was well past midnight and they tied the horses to a grove of trees before wrapping themselves in their cloaks and sleeping through the few hours of darkness they had left.
When Mansel awoke he found Quinn up and moving. The older man was a bundle of energy when there was work to be done. He’d already tied bags of oats to the horses’ bridles and was now checking their hooves. The sky was lightening, but the sun had yet to make an appearance. Mansel wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and go back to sleep, but he shook off his fatigue and got up. They had opted for a cold camp rather than taking turns standing watch through the night, but Mansel wanted a fire and some warm food before setting off again.
“I’ll gather some wood for a fire,” he said.
“Don’t bother; we’re almost ready to go.”
“But we haven’t eaten yet,” Mansel complained.
“There’s bread in your saddlebag. You can eat on the road.”
Mansel knew better than to argue, although he wanted to. He knew their mission was important, but he also knew that he wasn’t a child anymore, nor was he Quinn’s apprentice. He’d helped Zollin rescue Brianna and free King Felix. He was a man and Quinn’s partner on this mission. He wanted to be consulted, not just ordered about, but he knew this wasn’t the time or place to argue. He checked his weapons and removed the feed bags from the horses’ bridles.
“The horseshoes are holding up just fine. Let’s move,” Quinn said.
They climbed into their saddles, the leather creaking and groaning as if it were voicing the way Mansel’s body felt. They rode hard all morning. Just before noon they stopped at a small village to refill their water skins and each purchased fresh cooked food. It was little more than stew, but it was better than the dried beef and hard bread they’d been living on. It was a beautiful, cloudless afternoon, but the sun beating down on their heads and their stomachs full, they began to slump in their saddles. When a group of riders appeared down the road, Quinn hardly noticed, and Mansel was using all his concentration to keep his eyes from drooping closed.
As the two parties neared one another, the larger group spread out. Quinn’s suspicion was aroused, but it was too late to avoid a confrontation. He slapped Mansel’s leg to get the boy’s attention. Mansel was about to complain when he realized that the group in front of them wasn’t merely travelers.
“What have we here?” said one of the men in the larger group. “It appears to be two wealthy travelers.”
“We’re on the King’s business,” Quinn said.
“I’m sure,” said the man. “No doubt about that and the last thing we want is to detain you on your quest. We’ll take a silver coin each for the road toll and send you gentlemen on your way.”
“Toll? What are you talking about?” Mansel said angrily.
“This is a toll road, or haven’t you heard? Been lots of travelers, what with the dragon and all. We’re just honest men taking advantage of an opportunity.”
“We’ll pay,” said Quinn.
Mansel looked at the older man who was like a father to him. He simply couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The men on the road were clearly outlaws, there were no toll roads in Yelsia, but for some reason Quinn was willing to pay them.
“Quinn—” Mansel began, but Quinn cut him off.
“One silver for each of us,” he said loudly. “And then you’ll let us pass?”
“Absolutely,” said the man, grinning broadly.
Quinn fished two silver coins from the small pouch on his belt. He had more money in the bottom of one of his saddlebags, but he only carried a small amount on his person. He found the coins and held them out.
“That was easy, wasn’t it?” said the man.
“A little too easy, eh, Orin?” said one of the other men in the large group.
Quinn counted six men: four on the road, and one on either side. There was no use trying to simply run past the men. Two had longbows as well as short swords. The leader, the man called Orin, sported two long, curved daggers, and another had a broadsword.
“Perhaps what I meant was your purse, and yours, too, big fella,” said Orin.
“Over my dead body,” Mansel said, angrily.
Quinn knew they could afford to hand over their coin pouches and still have plenty of coin to get to Osla and back, but if he gave up their
money, the outlaws would also take their horses and other belongings. He had hoped to pay the men and keep moving, but he had conceded to their demands too quickly. Now they suspected that he was hiding something and they were right.
“Keep your head, Mansel,” Quinn said.
“That’s right, Mansel, no need to go losing your head, now is there?”
“You’re outlaws,” Mansel said, his voice menacing. “In most situations I’d simply kill you all, but we’re in a bit of a hurry, so I’ll let you live if you let us pass.”
“I don’t like him,” said the man with the broadsword. “Let me kill him.”
“Now, now, what’s all this talk of killing?” said Orin, who seemed to be really enjoying himself. “Hand over those purses and you can be on your way, gentlemen.”
“No,” said Quinn.
“No? Did you say no?” Orin asked, feigning surprise. “Well, I guess you can kill him, Krogan.”
“With pleasure, boss,” he said, drawing the big sword.
It had a long handle made to be held with two hands at once. The man named Krogan was strong, swinging the big sword easily with one hand, but Mansel could see it was all for show. Krogan spurred his horse forward. The horse looked like it belonged behind a plow and it lurched forward. Mansel drew a small dagger with his left hand and waited. His horse was close beside Quinn’s and the outlaw was moving to Mansel’s left. The outlaw’s horse was slow, but it closed the distance in the span of two heartbeats. Krogan swung the big sword at Mansel’s head in a horizontal arch. Mansel gripped his horse with his legs and let his upper body fall back on the animal’s haunches. The sword whistled in the air over his head, just as Mansel’s hand struck as fast as any snake, slamming the dagger into the outlaw Krogan’s side all the way to the hilt.
The horse kept moving forward, even as Krogan dropped his big sword and then followed it down into the dust. He landed on the dagger’s hilt, which shoved the weapon even further into his body and ended his suffering.
“You’ll pay for that,” Orin said, no longer smiling.
“Hasn’t there been enough blood,” Quinn said loudly. “Just let us pass.”
“Kill them,” the outlaw leader ordered.
Quinn and Mansel didn’t wait this time, instead they drove their horses toward the outlaws. They were not on the larger cavalry horses that would have kicked and bullied the other mounts, but their horses were surefooted and fast. They leapt forward, finding the spaces between the horses in front of them.
Mansel drew his sword and slashed it across one horse’s nose. The animal bucked in fear, trying to get away from the sting on its muzzle. The outlaw on its back went tumbling down into the road. The other brigand on Mansel’s left was swinging a badly notched sword at Mansel, who managed to catch the blade on his own. The man’s horse was sidestepping nervously, but Mansel’s mount was still moving forward. He slapped the outlaw’s horse on its rear with the flat of his sword and the horse jumped forward, causing the man to drop his sword as he clumsily grabbed for the saddle horn to keep from falling off.
Quinn had engaged Orin. They both drew weapons and hacked viciously at one another, their horses turning and neighing wildly. The two outlaws on the side of the road were putting arrows to their bowstrings but had yet to draw on their bows. Mansel pulled up his shield from the side of his saddle as he turned his mount. He brought the shield up just as the outlaw on his side of the road took aim at him. The two men were perhaps ten yards apart when the outlaw let his arrow fly. It hit the wooden shield hard, burying itself in the wood just to the left of the metal boss in the shield’s center. The arrowhead struck through the shield and cut into Mansel’s arm, but he hardly felt it. The force of the arrow kept him off balance long enough that he was forced to ride past the outlaw and turn.
The other outlaw on the far side of the road could not get a safe shot at Quinn and so turned his attention to Mansel. He fired as soon as Mansel turned his horse. The arrow would have torn through the young warrior’s throat, but he lifted his shield just in time and the arrow hit the metal rim. The arrow bounced away, but the force of the projectile knocked the shield right into Mansel’s face, busting his lip and causing his eyes to water.
He screamed out a savage war cry and spurred his horse toward the first outlaw archer. The man managed to get off another shot, but Mansel was ready for the impact. He leaned into it and when his horse neared the other man, he thrust his sword up, plunging it into the man’s neck. There was a fountain of blood as Mansel ripped the sword free of the muscle and tendons.
Quinn found his opponent to be skilled with his blades, but as the fight went on, Orin’s resolve faltered. He was trying to create space between himself and Quinn, but the older man gave no quarter. He pressed the attack and kept the outlaw leader on the defensive. Years of hammering nails had given him endurance and even though his blows weren’t yet getting past the other man’s guard, he kept swinging, his pace and strength as steady as a well-made clock. The other outlaw had an arrow ready to shoot again, but Quinn was still circling Orin and Mansel had wisely ridden his mount so that any arrow fired at him would have to pass dangerously close to the leader.
Just before Quinn killed Orin, he saw the man realize his fate. Quinn had worn the younger man down and it was only a matter of time. Quinn started shouting.
“Was it worth it?” he demanded. “Was it worth a few extra coins in your pocket?”
“Don’t kill me,” the outlaw cried.
“Why, weren’t you going to do that to me?” Quinn said vengefully.
Then Orin dropped his daggers and did the only thing that might prolong his life: he let himself fall off the horse.
“Quinn!” Mansel shouted.
The master carpenter was already in motion. He had drawn one of the throwing knives from his belt with his left hand and threw it in an underhanded motion, just as the outlaw was taking aim. The knife hit the archer in the shoulder, causing him to jerk and release his arrow. The arrow flew wide and the outlaw, bent low over the neck of his horse, galloped away.
“That was close,” Quinn said, not even breathing hard from his fight with Orin.
“You going to finish him off?” Mansel said.
“No, we’ve wasted too much time as it is,” Quinn said. “I will take his horse, though. I doubt he’ll be bothering anyone anytime soon.”
Orin was obviously hurt from his fall and there were tears streaking down his dirty face. Mansel thought he would rather be dead than be seen in such a state.
“Let’s go then,” Mansel said, starting to remove his shield and noticing for the first time the arrow gouging his forearm.
“You better let me take a look at that,” Quinn said.
“It isn’t deep; I’ll be okay if I can just get my hand free of the strap.”
“Don’t make it worse,” Quinn said. “Let me help you. You did more than your share of the fighting anyway. How’d you bust that lip?”
“I’d rather not say,” Mansel said.
“Hit yourself with your shield?” Quinn asked.
“How the hell do you always know everything?” Mansel cursed.
“Only because I’ve done that myself, and more than once.”
“The archer’s arrow hit my shield and knocked it into my face.”
“Arrows at close range pack a punch. This will hurt a little,” Quinn said as he yanked on the arrow that had punched through into Mansel’s arm.
The big man grimaced as the arrowhead chafed the wound, but once the arrow was out he could remove the shield and check his arm. The arrow had cut down into the muscle of his forearm, which was covered in blood.
“Here, cut that sleeve off so we can clean the wound,” Quinn said, handing Mansel another throwing knife.
“Where’s Zollin when you need him?” Mansel said.
“It’s easy to forget how much we relied on him,” Quinn said. “Just another reason to be careful.”
“I don’t understand it, Q
uinn, why are we running into so many outlaws? I mean, how does anyone go from one place to another without getting robbed or killed?”
“There have always been outlaws,” the older man explained. “But I suspect that the refugees fleeing the northern villages are just too much temptation for most of these bands. You’ve got people on the roads who have all their most valuable possessions with them.”
“Well then, I don’t feel so bad about killing them.”
“You should never take for granted killing a man, but we had no choice. They would certainly have killed us.”
Five Kingdoms: Books 01, 02 & 03 Page 76
