Adversaries Together (10 page)

“
Couple days at each,”
Declan muttered, “so at least a week waiting around.” He knelt and
poked the charred ground around the fire pit, “Anything like me,
must’ve been itching. But who? And why?”

He now had questions, which meant he had a
new task. Declan smiled and looked around taking in the wild, the
contract just got more complicated. Mircha Crossing was the one
point where the highroad tapered down to join with the old Northern
Road, which headed off up into the Siracenes. The junction would be
the most opportune place to strike; it’d be where Declan would
strike out at them if he were looking to do so. He stood and left
the camp, making his way through the trees and brush.

“
Maybe two days,” he
whispered to himself as he climbed over a mound of stones. He moved
deliberately as the rain began to fall again, “but more in this
piss.” Declan drew out his monocular from his chest pocket as the
rain came down harder. It had been on and off for the last few days
but now the rain fell more constant. He spied the alm and paladin
on the road huddled under an open side canvas tarp they had set up,
their horses standing forlorn near them.

In the small circle of his monocular, he
entertained the idea of interceding, of coming down to them and
letting them know what he had found. The thought was quickly
quashed. Tobin had said to follow and report, he said nothing about
engagement.

He put the monocular down and continued to
stare towards the pair, “I could just scout, tho,” he mumbled,
“couldn’t hurt. I get nothing if these twits die.” Nodding he
furrowed his brow, “But these brigands,” he slide down the boulders
with ease, his feet hitting the sponge-like earth, and his hooded
cloak slapping against his leathers with heavy with water. He
hadn’t realized just how soaked he had gotten. He scanned the woods
again, “Sure they wanna snatch ‘em,” he let out a long sigh then
let his head drop. “Yep. Gonna have to poke around a bit.”

Declan stood and made his way through the
thickening woods that climbed up towards the Glen Mark hills. The
trees lightened the rain a bit but not enough to provide any real
relief. His own camp was well back into these woods. He stopped
after he had passed a wide dead stump and stared up at a nearby
tall thick tree. Declan began to climb and found his pack untouched
where he had stashed it about twenty feet off the ground. He pulled
his monocular from around his neck for another peek at the
pair.

The alm was now sitting alone around a fire.
He panned along the road until he found the paladin tending horses.
The canvas tarp was now more of a proper tent but the two still
looked like specters in the rain as their dark forms moved against
the grey backdrop. They were settled for the evening. Now would be
the best time for him to get eyes on the newcomers. Declan drew his
coat tighter around him whispering as he shimmied back down the
tree, “Corsairs in a storm on a moor…hope they’re land sick.”

42
^nd
of Lammas

The muddied road slowed the pair’s pace to
Mircha Crossing, but Declan was glad for it as it allowed him to
set up a more comfortable tree stand to monitor the two from a safe
distance. The week before he had found the camp of the bandits
easily enough, it seemed as though they had given up any attempt at
genuine stealth. Still he had kept his distance and hadn’t been
able to get a confident count. What he did have confirmed was that
the men were definitely corsairs, so not casual or workmen
seafarers. Declan was mystified why someone would hire pirates for
this, it just seemed ham-fisted.

He brought his monocular up to his eye,
“Well,” he sighed, “Let’s see tha dance.”

Hidden in plain sight, the bandits had
covered themselves with a brush blind. Once the paladin was nearly
on top of them, it was tossed aside and three men sprang out in an
almost comical manner. Declan couldn’t help himself and snorted as
he watched. It would have been a joke, if it hadn’t been painfully
real. And painful it was, almost instantly the paladin was down off
his horse mace in hand in a stance that shocked Declan it was so
commanding. The crusader was reacting with a stunning quickness
whereas the alm and her steed seemed frozen in time.

Even from where he was, Declan could hear the
paladin bellow—a harsh piercing voice telling her to run. It was
enough to snap her back to the present situation, but not enough to
jar her good sense. The girl leapt from the horse and ran off.
Declan had never seen anyone run so fast, one moment she was there
and the next gone. She bolted, a combination of long strides and
falling as she flew down off the highroad and into the marsh
cutting a sloppy path through the unknown morass. Even though the
soft ground slowed her pace, she was moving at a good clip. Soon
she’d be out of his line of sight; Declan seemed to realize this at
the same time as the bandits.

Two corsairs pressed the paladin, while the
third tried to cut away after the alm; he wasn’t successful.
Looking like he was hardly encumbered by his steel armor, the
paladin’s agility was shocking. He did two rolling tumbles; when he
rose to his feet, his first motion was extending his mace with
enough force to collapse the back of the man’s head. For a moment,
a ray of light fell on the paladin and his gold-tinged armor shone
as he held an inspiring pose. It was short-lived. Though the other
two bandits were doing a poor job of keeping pace and reacting as
the now-brained bandit fell, they were upon the paladin.

“
Needles.” Declan mumbled
as the bandits closed in on the paladin with their thin sabers. He
shook his head slightly, “I doubt that.”

The men were skilled; each had a lunge that
found the breaks in the paladin’s armor but he seemed to take no
notice. In fact, he moved in closer with his mace swatting their
rapiers away. Declan watched as the paladin’s mace blow broke one
of the rapiers and before the corsair could react his face was
smashed by the paladin’s opposite hand in a mitten gauntlet. A
final blow to the chest then sent him flying back landing sprawled
out unbreathing. The third was able to land a slice on the
paladin’s unarmored mace wielding arm, but the paladin grabbed the
corsair, yanked him close, and twisted him to one side as he
shattered the bandit’s knee with his own armored knee.

“
Damn,” Declan muttered,
“Either…ah, there it is…”

Three more men joined the melee. Apparently,
they had been hiding on the highroad back where the two had come to
prevent retreat. The paladin saw them and started to back away down
the side of the road into the marsh. He took off after the alm. It
wasn’t more than a few moments after the three bandits had
disappeared into the marsh pursuing the paladin that a lone man
emerged from the brush blind. Lean, he wore a red bandana around
his face and held a handbow. This masked figure moved deliberately
surveying the scene. Declan watched as the last man the paladin had
fought tried to stand, he was reaching out to the masked figure for
a hand up.

“
No, that won’t happen.”
Declan muttered.

Without so much as a look to the wounded man,
the masked one shot a dart into the wounded man’s head then started
after the paladin at hardly a jog. Declan stared after them for a
few more moments. Then he lowered his monocular and began to climb
down out of his tree stand, “Damn it.”

Once down he put his hands on his hips and
tongued his cheek. Shaking his head, he made his way through the
woods to the highroad to inspect the bodies. When he emerged from
the tree line, he saw the two horses of the alm and paladin
indifferently grazing. One of them raised its head and watched him
cross the open ground and climb up the slight incline to the
crossroads. He looked into the blind but saw nothing but a hole. He
turned his attention to the corsairs.

“
Of course,” he spat as he
patted down the freshly dead bodies. They had no pockets, no
identifying items, or insignia. These were merely
fighters.

Squatting Declan picked up the broken rapier
and examined it. The hilt wasn’t ornate but it wasn’t normal—there
was an etching, a line of script framing a ship. He held it
gingerly, and then hooked it to his belt. He doubted it would be
enough for his employers but it would have to serve.

He approached the body that the masked man
had shot. The metal bolt looked like a silver coin pressed to the
man’s forehead, held by a thick crimson that leaked around it.
Declan knelt pressing his finger to the bolt base; it had an oily
film on it. He brought his finger to his nose, the film smelled
acrid. He licked his fingertip, and then spat. The bolt was covered
in poison.

Staring out over the marsh, Declan tried to
guess who would be coming out of it to meet him. He shrugged
turning away heading down the highroad, “So on to Anhra then.”

Chapter II

The Lowlands,
42
^nd
of Lammas

Roth leaned over his small cone of wood and
kindling, repeatedly striking a worn flint. He knew another rain
shower was on its way and his impatience made igniting the tinder
that much more difficult. The air was thickening, becoming damp,
and soon the sky would crack and the rains pour out. Sweat beaded
his brow as his hat slipped forward slightly. Roth pushed the brim
up again with his thumb and sighed, returning to his work. Coaxing
a spark to ignite the mess of moss, leaf, and twig was trying. The
marsh air had cooled, and a beading fog hung gradually turning into
a thin, needlepoint mist.

A gentle drizzle started to fall, Roth paused
and removed one of his gloves to scratch his chin. His beard wasn’t
wooly but it was unkempt, he hadn’t seen a town much less an inn
since late Beltane. The rough beard, long-brimmed hat, and
up-turned collar of his long brown leather coat out in a marsh
being consumed by a lowland storm cast him as an obscure figure. A
grey mood was settling over him and it set Roth to his task with
more vigor; he would have a fire tonight.

Finally, a spark caught the kindling and he
threw a few more strikes for good measure. Just as a true flame
emerged, the top of his hat creased slightly releasing a small pool
of rainwater. It traveled down the crown, across the brim, and
poured over the edge between Roth’s eyes. He watched this trickle
fall with a seemingly uncanny certitude toward his young flame
dousing it with quick hiss.

“
Well fuck.” He tossed his
flint down hard in disgust. Just as he did, there came a
thunderclap and the sky opened in earnest with a hard, thick rain.
Roth sat staring blankly straight out ahead of him. Sitting
motionless he was quickly soaked, “I hate this place.”

He caught the sound of footsteps just then, a
rush bearing down on his camp. Roth turned toward the sound and
began to rise as a large body crashed into him. His face found
nothing but mud as he felt the other’s heavy body atop him. Roth
quickly recovered his wits and rolled out from under the body, then
spun around to be atop the stranger under him. His vision obscured
by the mud he punched the body now caught under him twice in the
ribs. His fists only found metal, he pulled his arm back to strike
a third time when he realized a woman was standing near him staring
at him in shock. Her face stunned Roth and in that instant, he felt
metal slam against the side of his head. Roth crumpled to the
ground; though his vision was blurred, he caught sight of the body
that was beneath him disappearing into the marsh holding the woman
by the arm. Rising up on all fours, he stared after where they had
gone.

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.