‘What if it is all farms?’
‘We go to ground and wait for them to come back this way.’ He thought. ‘They might have to travel all the way to Port Colos to be certain we didn’t double back and pass them in the night. They might think we’ve decided to look for a ship.’ Almost whispering to himself, he added, ‘We only have a problem if they fan out and search all around the town.’ Seeing her brow furrow he quickly added, ‘We should be able to best one or two of them.’
Hatu decided it was not a good idea to mention to Hava that he didn’t know what they would do if they were being tracked using magic, or whatever it was that had given him his unusual awareness.
She nodded.
‘If we can reach the other side of the next town without being seen, we should be well free of them.’
‘Who are they?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Hatu replied. ‘But they may be related to the ships that tried to attack us.’ He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Speculation is futile.’
She looked at him, then said, ‘I don’t have any better ideas.’
‘Let’s go, then,’ he said finally.
As he mounted, Hatu again thought about why Hava had been summoned, and as they rode quietly through the trees to the road, he speculated about why she might attempt to kill him and how to stop her feeling the need to do so.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE •
Upheaval and Changes
Declan awoke to the sound of voices. His room at the top of the house was usually quiet, hut the noise was loud enough to carry from the street. He pulled on his trousers, boots, and tunic and by the time he was downstairs, he saw Jusan opening the front door.
‘What is it?’ Declan asked.
‘Don’t know,’ said his apprentice, ‘but it’s getting louder.’
They hurried outside to see an orange-yellow glow in the sky, and Jusan said, ‘Fire!’
Both men hurried towards the glow and joined the growing crowd making their way towards the blaze. The closer they got to the fire, the louder the clamour and the more anxious both Declan and Jusan became. Before they turned the last corner they knew the fire was at the Inn of the Three Stars, and the young men sprinted the last half-block until they encountered a wall of onlookers.
Nothing had been organised to combat the fire, and Declan had to push his way through the press of people who were merely watching the inn’s destruction. ‘Gwen!’ he shouted as loud as he could.
People gave way as he continued shouting Gwen’s name and pushing past gawkers. Jusan followed closely. They reached a small clearing in the crowd just a short distance from where the heat became too intense. A pair of men knelt over a figure on the ground. Leon lay motionless, his face covered in blood, and Declan didn’t need a second look to see he was dead.
‘Gwen!’ he shouted.
‘Millie!’ Jusan called a moment after.
A woman nearby said, ‘They only pulled Leon out.’
A man near her said, ‘Those men, they took the girls, I think.’
‘What men?’ demanded Declan.
‘Half a dozen mean-looking bastards,’ said a third. ‘I saw them ride up as Leon was about to close. I think he tried to argue but they pushed and he let them in.’ Glancing at the dead man on the ground he added, ‘He’d pick a profit over a fight any day, though he was no coward, that I know.’
Grabbing Jusan by the arm, Declan said, ‘Go saddle two horses.’
‘What horses?’ said the young man, visibly shaken.
‘Any horses. Steal them if you have to!’
As Jusan ran off, Declan shouted, ‘They’ve taken Gwen and Millie! Jusan and I are going after them. Will anyone ride with us?’ Declan turned to a youth standing next to him and said, ‘You, Mick.’
The boy turned his attention from the fire and said, ‘Yes?’
‘Tomas Bowman, do you know him?’
The boy nodded. ‘Everyone does.’ Bowman was a near-legendary tracker in the region and reputed to have once been the best archer in Marquensas.
‘Carry word that we need him, now go.’
The boy hesitated as if he wished to stay and watch the fire, but then realised he was being asked to do something important, nodded, and ran off.
Several people muttered about what they considered good reasons not to pursue the riders – how they looked like mer-cenaries or bandits, or the fact that they themselves were not fighters – but one man pushed through the crowd. Declan recognised Bergun, a large fellow who’d often frequented the Three Stars.
He regarded the crowd darkly and with a contemptuous tone said, ‘I’ll ride with you. Leon was my friend. I’ll help you fetch his girls back.’
After a moment, two other men held up their hands, and slowly, four others stepped forward. They were all hard men, used to defending the village, but chasing after trained warriors was something to make any farmer or merchant take pause.
When it was clear no more men would volunteer, Declan shouted, ‘Get horses! We ride as soon as everyone reaches the south-bend road!’
He pushed his way past onlookers and ran to his smithy. He found Jusan leading a pair of horses towards him. ‘Whose are they?’ asked Declan.
‘Donald Dumple’s,’ replied his apprentice as he handed him the reins to a stocky bay gelding.
‘You ask him?’ said Declan as he mounted.
‘He wasn’t home,’ answered Jusan. ‘I expect he’s down there watching the fire.’
Declan saw the boy Mick running towards him. Almost out of breath, the lad said, ‘Tomas Bowman is passed out drunk, said his daughter.’ The boy took a deep breath. ‘She said she’d try to rouse him and get him to follow.’
Declan nodded once and said, ‘You did well, Mick. Now go and see if anyone else down by the inn needs help.’ The boy turned, and scurried off towards the burning inn.
Declan led Jusan to the south end of town and waited until the four other men rode up. He surveyed the men who had decided to help rescue Gwen and Millie and said, ‘The men we’re chasing are brutal, do not forget that. I thank you for being here.’ Without waiting for anyone to respond, he turned his mount southwards, put heels to flanks, and set the horse off at a fast canter.
DECLAN’S PARTY RODE AS FAST as possible without punishing the horses. He hoped whoever kidnapped the girls assumed they were clear of pursuit and had slowed their pace. He also prayed silently to any god who would listen that they wouldn’t stop, because he knew what that would mean.
After ten minutes of hard riding, Declan held up his hand to slow his company down, to save the horses. It could be a long chase. As he looked over his shoulder, he noticed they had picked up another rider, one he’d not seen at the south-bend road out of town.
He waved the company to a halt and rode back to confront the new horseman. Declan rode closer and saw a familiar face, half hidden by a deep hood. He leaned forward and said, ‘Molly Bowman, what do you think you’re doing?’
The young woman threw back her hood and tossed her cloak over one shoulder, revealing a horse bow and back quiver full of arrows. ‘Gwen’s my friend, Declan. I’ve known her a damn sight longer than you have. Besides, you don’t have one archer in this company of fools; you’re chasing after experienced mer-cenaries, not stupid town bullies. And I’m as good a tracker as my da.’
Declan glanced over his shoulder at the men, who had turned to watch the encounter, men who knew Molly well. Several nodded slightly. Declan said, ‘Does your father know? I sent a lad to fetch him.’
‘Hell no,’ she almost spat. ‘He’s at home, asleep drunk as usual. Didn’t even stir with all the fuss just down the street. When Mick showed up, I couldn’t rouse him, so I decided to take his place.’
Tomas Bowman had been an almost legendary hunter, but it was common knowledge that since the death of his wife, Molly’s mother, he had taken to heavy drinking. It was also common knowledge that Molly now did most of the hunting and provided for her family.
She was of modest height, slightly stocky, but stronger than a lot of men her size. Declan had seen her carry a deer into town on her shoulders.
Declan said nothing for a moment, then nodded, having no good argument against her joining them, and by the time he’d returned to the front of his makeshift company, he was glad to have her bow. He’d never seen a better archer than Molly, in Oncon or Beran’s Hill.
They moved out quickly and rode through the night. As the sun began to rise, Declan saw fresh horse droppings, steaming a little in the morning chill. He signalled a stop and dismounted. He whispered, ‘They’re close.’
He held up a hand, indicating the others should wait while he scouted ahead on foot. He heard low voices before he saw the dim light of a smouldering campfire.
Creeping between trees, treading cautiously to avoid stepping on twigs or anything else likely to make a noise, Declan knelt and peered at the backs of two men talking quietly. He moved slowly in a crawl, so he could hear.
‘… soon and sell them,’ one of the two men was saying.
‘Tyree has a fancy for the plump one and if he thinks we’re clear, he’ll take her right in the road, the rest of us be damned. Hell, he might enjoy an audience.’
‘No procurer in any city is going to give us a copper for her after Tyree is done.’
‘You saw what he did to Misener. You going to call him out over a few coins? Choy looked like he was rooting for Misener, and Tyree opened him up from throat to groin, let him stand there for a second and watch his own guts fall out! You want to face that madman?’
The other man shook his head. ‘We came this way to find a ship. Sandura’s paying top price for fighters; everyone says so. Now we’re not even heading in the right direction. We’re supposed to ship out at Port Colos, but here we are riding right back into Marquensas, halfway to Marquenet. All because Tyree has a bloody temper and a stiff prick.’
‘Like I said, you going to tell him no?’
Declan couldn’t see everyone around the fading campfire. He thought he caught a glimpse of two shadowy figures huddled on the other side of the glowing pit, but he couldn’t be certain it was the two girls.
Declan quietly crept away until he felt confident he was far enough to stand and hurry back. He motioned for his companions to dismount. He whispered, ‘The sun will be up soon, and they’ll stir. I think the girls are safe, but I can’t be certain. If we approach too quickly, we’ll give them warning …’ He hesitated, uncertain what to do next. In the gloom outside the campfire he could see where Tyree might be. If Declan could find the means to quickly kill him, perhaps the others might be less willing to fight.
Molly stepped forward and said, ‘Where’s the campfire?’
Declan pointed, and she nodded. ‘Give me two minutes to get behind them, then come rushing in. I’ll kill anyone who goes near the girls. If you hear any noise, don’t wait.’
As Molly hurried off silently, like the practised hunter she was, Declan looked at his companions. Jusan was near frantic with worry about Millie, so he put a hand on his apprentice’s shoulder and said, ‘Calm. Remember how you were injured in Oncon? This is worse; rashness will get both you and her killed.’
The others were tough, resolute men, several of them experienced brawlers, Declan was certain, but none of them were trained soldiers. Declan had the numbers and the element of surprise, but if they didn’t disable at least two of the mercenaries before the others discovered that they were under attack, it would be a close fight, and more, the girls would be at risk.
Declan waited and after what he judged to be enough time for Molly to reach the other side of the clearing, he pulled his sword and nodded to the others. They produced various weapons, swords, axes, and long knives, and looked resolute. Declan gave Jusan one last glance, trying to communicate that the apprentice needed to keep his focus and not do anything stupid, then he turned and walked quickly towards the campfire.
A steady stride coupled with purpose seemed to have a calming effect on Declan. He felt the anxiety over Gwen’s safety, anger, and nervousness drain away, and again became aware of the odd sense of calm that had enveloped him when the slavers struck Oncon. He welcomed it. Clarity settled over him and his feelings for Gwen faded into the background as his need to emerge victorious came to the fore.
Declan was the first to run into the faint light of the campfire, and by the time the first mercenary stood and turned, blood was fountaining from a deep gash on his neck. The second man had his sword and shouted a warning, and the others in the camp sprang to their feet.
The woods echoed with the ringing of steel on steel, and the battle was joined. For the second time in his life, Declan felt time slow and gained a clear vision of his surroundings. He was aware of the man he faced, but he could also see what occurred beyond his own struggle. He sensed as much as saw the men of Beran’s Hill driving back the mercenaries, two against one in most cases.
As he parried a blow from the man in front of him, Declan saw a figure racing towards the two bound women on the ground. ‘Molly!’ he shouted as an arrow sped through the air. The figure ducked, rolled, and came up in a crouch over the two recumbent forms, a large knife in his hand. Declan’s hesitation at the sight of the blade almost cost him his life, for it allowed his current foe to get his blade inside his guard and Declan felt the man’s sword cut through his leather vest and shirt, almost grazing his ribs.
He slipped his blade inside the other man’s hold and jerked upwards, slicing into his armpit and almost taking his arm off at the shoulder. The swordsman screamed, but then quickly fell silent as he passed out from pain and blood loss. Declan kicked him aside as he sought out the figure menacing the girls.
A mercenary hurried to where the girls were trussed like poultry waiting to be cooked, with a knife-wielding figure hunched over them. Suddenly the running mercenary fell back, an arrow in his chest. Another arrow missed the crouching man by mere inches, and Declan recognised him as the one called Tyree.
Tyree fell on top of the two bound girls, eliciting muffled cries, and Declan realised they had been gagged as well as bound. Throwing an elbow at Millie, Tyree grabbed Gwen and crawled backwards as another arrow sped past, just missing him. He pulled himself up against a sheltering tree and yanked the bound girl up by her hair, causing her to cry out despite the gag.
Arrows flew through the air, as Molly Bowman seemed able to pick off targets despite their swift changes of position. Not every shot was a kill shot, but enough damage was being done that it seemed like several archers lingered in the woods.
Declan’s heartbeat skipped as he realised the crazy young mercenary was using Gwen as a human shield. As his companions were overcome, several of them throwing down their swords in surrender, the young mercenary raised the belt knife he held to her throat a little, twisting it so the fire threw a flashing reflection, emphasizing the danger she was in.
‘Molly, don’t shoot!’ Declan shouted as Tyree huddled against the tree, clutching a whimpering Gwen. His awkward efforts to rise were foiled by the struggling girl and the tree bark catching his armour.
‘Let her go!’ Declan demanded.
The young fighter laughed, and the sound of it chilled Declan, for there was a ring of unmistakable madness in it. ‘Let her go? So your archer can use me for target practice?’ Resting his chin on Gwen’s shoulder, Tyree said, ‘Here’s how this is going to play …’ He pressed his dagger against the side of Gwen’s neck, which brought a muffled sound of pain and fear from her.
Declan’s anger rose, and he heard Jusan say, ‘Remember what you told me!’ His eyes travelled to the still-motionless form of Millie on the ground and he knew Jusan was fighting each second to keep from rushing to her. Without taking his eyes off Tyree, Declan nodded that he understood his apprentice’s admonishment to keep his wits about him.
For a tense moment, Tyree remained silent, then he continued, ‘I’m going to stand and if any of you fools decide to do something stupid, this gi
rl dies before I do.’ He pushed her away, causing the blade to slice into her neck a little, a trickle of blood punctuating his warning.
Tyree gathered his feet under him in a crouch and then stood, yanking Gwen upwards by her hair. She cried in pain, again muffled by her gag, but she fell silent once she had her feet under her.
Her eyes were wide, and Declan could see Gwen was terrified. For a moment he was motionless, riveted by indecision. One wrong move and the woman he loved would be dead, yet part of him was equally intent on killing the man who held her captive. Then he saw movement off to the left.
Circling the edge of the clearing, Molly Bowman appeared to be looking for a clear shot at Tyree. Declan found himself even more rooted, fearful that any gesture or expression might inform the mercenary that Molly was moving behind him, yet he was also fighting to keep himself from charging the murderer, as if he could rescue Gwen by force of will alone.
Apparently at an impasse, the two men stared at one another for a few seconds, until finally Declan said, ‘What do you want?’
‘I’m leaving,’ said Tyree. ‘Should any of you fucking fools try to stop me, she dies.’
‘You’re not getting on your horse,’ said Declan calmly. ‘You try to get on a horse with her, you’re dead before you’re in the saddle.’
‘Well, then, maybe I should just kill the bitch and get it over with.’
Declan slowly lowered his sword and held up his left hand, palm outwards. ‘If I let you ride out unharmed, you’ll let her go?’
Tyree laughed. ‘And I’m supposed to believe you’d let me ride away? After I killed her da?’
Declan glanced around, seeing the rest of Tyree’s company either dead or captive. He saw the fear in Gwen’s eyes, the pleading, and finally he said, ‘Here’s my bargain. You let her go and fight me. You win, you and your men ride out of here. You lose …’ Declan shrugged. ‘You won’t care what happens to them.’ He inclined his head towards the remaining mercenaries.
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