Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (21 page)

The next morning he collected the couple with their two
children.  He brought them east through the patrol lines after several close
calls.  Only his enhanced Guardian skills kept them from discovery.

Once across the lines he stole three horses that they
rode hard to the Stoneseams’ base.  They left the mounts to roam where they
willed and crossed via the Guardians’ hidden footpath.

The whole journey, he underwent full immersion in
Traders Tongue.  Only speaking Tullainian to explain what the strange words
meant, the merchant never allowed Colbey to speak non-Traders unless in an
emergency.

Until today, when he had seen the family off into
Galemar.  After two eightdays he understood enough to get by.  Most who spoke
Traders only knew half the words, their need for the language arising once in a
great while with travelers.  As such, he blended in better than if he commanded
full fluency.  With the tinker’s pack and a smattering of Traders, he would fit
naturally into his role.

Colbey increased his speed to compensate for the lost
time while he re-crossed the southern mountains.  So much time had been lost
that he could feel his quarry slipping away.  He rubbed at the bars and dots
gracing his left hand, checking that the dye still kept from smearing.  It
needed to be replaced every two days but he constantly rubbed it to test the
endurance so he would know how much he could rely upon it.

Two additional acorns were pulled from his pouch.  He
decided he would run through the night after all.  The high nutrition in the
acorns would impart extra energy.  Dashing faster over the twisting path, he
ran westward into the falling night.

*        *        *        *        *

Dark forms, their heads hidden by cloth sacks with
choppy eyeholes cut in them, erupted from connecting alleyways.  Despite
Marik’s wariness, Halsey had led them away from the populated streets.  How he
had pulled that off, Marik desperately wanted to know, but too many things were
going wrong at the moment to be distracted.

Kerwin shouted warnings as everyone, including
Hilliard, drew their swords.  Landon’s bow was unstrung, tied to his back in
its normal travel position, with no time available to ready it.  Each mercenary
glanced sharply at their surroundings.  All four recognized the best method by
which to meet their foes.

Taller and wider, the buildings to either side had
changed from the earlier structures.  Halsey had led them into a warehouse
district, something else which had slipped Marik’s notice after the man had
steered them true the first few times.  The road they stood on closely
resembled an alley.  It was a thirteen foot leftover space between two larger
warehouses.

The road was empty beyond the alley.  Any pedestrians
had fled at Kerwin’s shouting.  Marik would never expect cityfolk to risk their
skins for strangers in any event.  Shadowy figures were pouring into the empty
alley between their group and the intersection, cutting off a retreat in the
direction they had come from.

It was evening.  Marik had peripherally registered
this and attributed it to the tall buildings cutting off the sun.  A stupid
assumption, he realized, glancing upward.  The sky overhead darkened to the
coming shades of night.

Though mostly an alleyway itself, other narrower
passageways emptied into their road.  With a dozen thugs blocking an escape
back to the populated sections of the city, three men popped out from
connecting alleys further ahead, all wielding long knives.  None spoke but for
growls, and charged while the larger group advanced from the rear.

“Come on!” Marik roared.  If the thugs caught them in
a pincer assault, the bodyguards would suffer losses
if
they escaped
being destroyed completely.  He leapt for the three ambushers.  This surprised
his chosen foe to judge from the widened eyes beneath the sack cloth.

Dietrik read his mind and paralleled him, rapier
darting as he went.  His foe, the one farthest right, raised his knife to
block.  It failed to save his life.  A foot of rapier steel ripped through his
chest.

Kerwin and Landon held the rear.  They stood apart,
their dancing blades weaving a wall of potential death across the alleyway. 
The larger ambush party had closed ranks fast, hoping to make a quick strike. 
Instead they pulled back at the resistance.  Three of the four on their
frontline nursed injuries, one probably fatal.  Hilliard stood in the empty
space between the two battle lines, his long sword in one hand, extra bag in
the other, spinning to watch both combat fronts, resembling a windmill in a
tornado.

Dietrik shifted to the middle foe.  The clothing bag
barely slowed his one-handed sword assault.  Marik worked to dispatch the left
enemy.  The alleyway afforded little space to maneuver.  It severely hampered
his longer sword.  He did not want to strike Dietrik by accident so he
restricted his attacks to thrusts, which were far from his blade’s strong suit.

The thug was nimble, Marik gave him that.  He dodged
Marik’s advancing blade for a third time before lashing out at the mercenary
with his knife, hoping to gash his foe’s flesh.  Its arc swept past, too
short.  Marik’s sword length, a hindrance in these close quarters, also
provided the advantage of preventing the thug from narrowing the distance.

A gurgling scream from the side made the thug jerk his
head around automatically. 
Chance!
  Marik swept his sword up in a
diagonal slash.  It caught his foe’s leg.  The cutthroat screamed.  His knife
tumbled away because he clutched at his leg.  The pain blocked all thought,
making him forget his peril.  One thrust pierced the man’s throat.

Off center!,
Colbey sneered in his mind.  Though it had done the job, nothing less than a
perfect strike would satisfy the scout.  Marik fiercely drove Colbey from his
head.

“Let’s go,” he bellowed while Dietrik withdrew his
rapier from his second kill.  A quick examination assured him no harm had
befallen their charge.  “Dietrik, find a way out!  Landon, Kerwin, stay with
Hilliard!”

The rear pair back-stepped, and the thugs followed
warily.  Kerwin and Landon passed Marik to either side.  Once they were clear,
he put his longer sword to good use.  From a center position he could sweep his
blade the alleyway’s width and cover their retreat.

He slid backward with his friends, allowing the ambush
party to advance before suddenly stepping toward them.  One had drawn slightly
ahead of the others so Marik targeted him.  The satisfying resistance of a hit
resounded through the blade.  Marik ran while the corpse tumbled to the ground,
tangling with the thugs’ feet and forcing them to pause.  Twice Marik spun to
challenge them.  They always stopped as soon as he did.

“Flankers!” Landon warned, and Marik swore.  He
whipped his head left and right in furtive glances, seeing what Landon meant. 
They had been flanked.  Additional masked thugs ran along side-alleys, these
better armed with longer blades.

“Move it!” he shouted at Dietrik, who kept pausing to
peer down each passageway.  Marik sprinted fast as he could.  He rejoined
Kerwin and Landon before the new arrivals could burst into the alley between
them.

Behind, he heard a newcomer swearing through the mask,
clearly a woman’s voice.  “You gutter dogs!  Can’t you follow a simple plan?”

She yelled at the knife wielders.  Marik hoped she
would take them to task.  But then running feet pounding from his rear
testified that he would not be so lucky.

Dietrik turned onto an actual road at the next intersection. 
Hopes of escaping into a crowd were short lived.  This road, though wider, was
equally as barren.

Where in the hells are all the gods damned people?,
Marik fumed.
  We’re in the middle of a city! 
Halsey led you straight down the garden path, you idiot!

Dietrik chose an alleyway barely six feet wide.  He
dashed in, Hilliard’s bag ricocheting off the narrow walls, taking turns at
random in the hope of losing their pursuers.  Unfortunately, they were also
losing themselves.  After a third alleyway narrow as his shoulders, Marik had
no idea in what direction they ran.

That might have granted him hope except the thugs
remained hot on their heels.  This was their hunting ground.  They knew every
corner, whereas the mercenaries were running blind.

“Watch it!”  A lone man abruptly emerged before them,
then jumped back at Kerwin’s warning.  Dietrik lunged forward, yet the man,
having found them, scampered back into his passageway, screaming for his
fellows.

“We’ll never lose them like this,” Landon announced
when they entered another narrow alley.  This tunnel network between
closely-packed warehouses held them confined in an anthill’s warren.  “We need
to hide!”

“How?” Marik demanded.  Stomping feet closed from the
distance.  Soon it would be too dark to see his own boots in the maze’s midst.

“Dietrik,” Landon called.  “Find a doorway into one of
these buildings.  We need to hole up!”

In the lead, Dietrik responded by swinging his head
left and right as they ran.  A turn onto a wider, twelve-foot road brought them
to a possible hideaway.

“This will be a loading area,” he husked, running past
two giant hinged doors wide enough for a cart set into a long wall.  “Here we
are!”

He found a normal door beyond the larger ones.  Its
hinges were inside.  Dietrik launched a power kick and smashed it open.  The
bolt and padlock skittered across the floor.  All five piled in.  Marik closed
the door as best he could.

They were in an office.  Whoever owned it must be
struggling.  A very old, scarred desk occupied one side of the room, behind
which were stacked over a dozen metal lock boxes such as the Crimson Kings used
to store their paperwork.  Paint and decoration had long since vanished.  A
second door occupied the opposite wall.  It was unlocked, so they scurried further
into the building, entering the main warehouse.

There were two levels.  Larger, heavier items were
stored on the lower, locked away behind metal mesh.  Being a storage building,
the second floor lofted fifteen feet above the first.  A square wooden platform
attached to an intricate pulley system acted as a lift, bringing goods to the
upper floor.  To one side, a spiral staircase wound its way upward beside the
vertical rails that the platform followed.  Landon pointed to it.

On the stairs, Marik heard Hilliard muttering, “This
is not good.  Not good at all.  The owner won’t be pleased and will hold us
responsible.”

“If you’re alive to deal with him, you can count
yourself lucky,” Marik snapped.

The storage cubicles along the second floor were all
shut.  Their mesh prevented them from hiding among the owner’s goods.  With
nowhere else to go, they crowded into the furthest corner.

“So,” Marik hissed at Landon in their crouched
huddle.  “Still think Halsey is a hardworking shill?”

“Apparently not,” the archer admitted.  “Though he is
exceptionally skilled at deceit.  He led us into the most deserted district in
Thoenar.”

“A front man for the local goon squad,” Marik agreed.

“Is he?” Dietrik asked.  “Might these blighters not be
from the dark guilds in Spirratta?  The target might be young Hilliard.”

“Impossible,” Kerwin countered.  Hilliard hung his
head.  “That bastard Halsey knows this town too well to be a stranger.  And
those shivs outside also know the alleys.  This is their hunting ground. 
They’re local boys.”

Marik agreed.  “I’d say we’re only targets of
opportunity.”  The heat in his face intensified and he added, “Targets dumb
enough to walk right into them!”

“At a guess, I’d say Halsey, or other members in their
gang, usually loiters around the stables outside the walls,” Landon mused.  “I
wonder how many others they have ambushed in this warren after the warehouse
workers go home for the day.”

“I’d rather not ask them directly,” Marik sniped.  “We
need to find a way to the Swan’s Down.  How much further is it, do you reckon.”

“Who knows?” Kerwin riposted.  “Halsey could have
brought us the wrong way, for all of us.  It might be the other direction
completely.”

That was worth a fresh round of swearing.  A fine way
to act as a bodyguard!  So busy looking behind them, he had completely
forgotten to beware the ordinary dangers inherent to the city.  Just because a
possible threat loomed from afar hardly meant the local hooligans would leave
them alone out of respect for their problems.

Before he could ask Landon how long they should remain
in hiding, they heard running feet outside the loading doors.  They remained
quiet and waited for those outside to move on.  A voice called out.  “Hey! 
Lock’s all busted up here!”

“Damn,” Kerwin breathed.  “That didn’t take them
long.”

“Let’s make ready,” Landon advised.  He unslung his
bow and strung it quickly.

Their brief search had uncovered no other entrances. 
There was no back door for them to slink through.  Marik crept to the second
level’s edge overlooking the warehouse floor and considered the square
platform.  It had been left aloft and the local goons might happen to walk
under.  He discarded the notion before it completely formed.  One look at the
ropes running through the pulleys and he knew it would take several minutes to
saw through them with his knife.  Dropping the platform on their heads, should
they be dumb enough to pass beneath it, would not be an option.