Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) (70 page)

Landon, closest to this man who smelled strongly of
soldier, swiveled on his seat.  “You heard correctly.  And your interest would
be?”

“Business,” the man replied.  “Are you traveling east
or west?”

“We are returning home, if that is what you were
asking.”

He nodded.  “Ah, well.  I’d hoped you were riding
out.  I assume you’ve been gone for a time?  I thought as much.  So you
wouldn’t know how matters stand in your hometown at the moment.”

“No, not after the amount of time we have been
absent.”

“I’m Riley, by the by.  I serve Baron Atcheron as the
captain of his guardsmen.”

“One of the border barons,” Marik broke in.  “I know
that name.”

That intrigued Riley.  “You must be a seedling from
our fields then.  No one a hundred miles distant can put a name to any of the
barons on the border.”

“There are so many,” Landon agreed.  “Adding together
the barons rimming the kingdom, I am certain they would outnumber the other
nobles further inland combined.”

“Our barony can only claim three towns, none of them
so large as this one, and two crumbling outpost forts from before the
Unification, neither of which I would trust to house a family of starlings.”

“Hence your interest in our hometown.”

“Everyone along the border is scrambling,” Riley
admitted.  “Unless you’re coming from western Galemar, you have no idea how bad
the situation is.”

“Please, sit down,” Landon offered.  Riley nodded,
accepting a chair Kerwin hooked away from a half-occupied table with his foot.

“The king is promising aid, but they don’t fully
appreciate our situation.  The refugees are drain enough already.  The reports
we’ve been receiving through our sources are enough to cool your blood.”

“So your baron sent you off to hire on extra swords
then,” Dietrik surmised.

“Army soldiers might arrive to supplement our
strength.  They could as easily arrive to find a razed, smoking ruin.”  At
Marik’s startled rasp, Riley nodded.  “Tullainia’s got bad business churning
over there.  If it spills over, from what I’ve seen, there’s no way we can hold
it off.  I command only a hundred-fifty men for Baron Atcheron.”

“Only that many?”  Marik could not believe it.

Riley smiled bitingly.  “You can call them nobles all
you want, but border barons are only, by nature, garrison commanders.  To be
blunt about it.”

“Yes,” Landon affirmed.  “Shortly after the
Unification, the Cerellan line needed extra incentive for the further vassals
to defend their new kingdom loyally.  I believe it was the third Cerella who
declared all the old boarder garrisons to be new baronies, elevating the local
commanders to nobility as well.  Hundreds of small baronies were born
overnight, much to the ire of the older families who had survived the
Unification with their power intact.”

The guard captain studied Landon with respect. 
“That’s exactly right.  Even today most of them don’t look on the border lords
as fellows.  But you see,” he redirected at Marik, “why our barony has so few
fighting men.”

“Yeah,” Marik agreed.  “If you only have three towns,
you don’t have much to draw from.”

“I am on my way to Kingshome to see how many extra
swords my lord can afford.  I know I’m racing representatives from every other
western baron to your town.  I thought, if you were riding out, that you could
tell me if any are left to be hired.”

“Ordinarily I would tell you not to worry,” Landon
said.  “Normally we don’t receive our first offers for contracts until the
second half of winter.  Summer is barely half over.”

“I’ll have to take my chances.  We don’t have an
abundance of coin to spend, but we’ll find as much as we can.  The other border
barons are in the same stewpot.  With them all contracting at the same time…”

“Yeah,” Kerwin mused.  “The whole band might suddenly
be unavailable before we so much as get around to our hiring trials.”  He
folded his arms at the thought of what the next season would be like for the
mercenaries remaining in the band.

“We’re heading home,” Marik stated, glancing at
Landon, relieved to see the man nod.  “You want to join us on the road?”

Riley agreed.  “We would be riding side-by-side
anyway.  We can trade information.  You about your band, me about what I know
of the trouble.”

They all decided that sounded fine.  When the food
arrived, Riley’s two guardsmen joined them at their table.  Dinner passed
smoothly as the trained fighters conversed, their profession a bond between
them despite having never before met.  Marik enjoyed the evening, though
throughout new worries concerning the future were born in the dark recesses of
his mind.

*        *        *        *        *

Gray rainfall stole away the world’s gradual
lightening next dawn.  Not until the sun rose high nearly a mark after daybreak
did its light penetrate the underwater town of Arthington.  Fast-moving
rivulets flooded the roadsides, the road centers having been built-up slightly
higher for exactly this purpose.  Marik would have cast a vote in favor of
staying over the day in the farm town.  Yes, the band’s leaders wanted
contractors to return directly upon completion of their contracts, but weather
such as what assaulted them certainly justified a minor delay.

Except Riley’s need to speedily reach the town
outweighed their considerations.  Faced with both of these prods, it struck
Marik as callous to let the guard captain ride on alone while they warmed their
bones by the inn’s hearth, especially after a companionable evening and the
accepted decision to travel together.  What sort of image would that project to
potential clients looking to hire their swords?  Marik could imagine Torrence’s
reaction if he cast a stain over the band’s reputation.

He bit back his feelings as they saddled their
mounts.  Cold seeped through the stable’s plank board walls, searching out any
warmth it could enshroud in its clammy, damp cloak.

The riders’ own cloaks received special attention. 
When they rode through the open stable doors into the wet, the seven men were
spectral entities, wrapped tight in waterproof cloth, hoods and gloves leaving
nothing uncovered save their eyes peering through narrow gaps in the taunt
fabric.  They appeared as the wandering wraiths that populated the Wintereve
stories of Marik’s childhood, or perhaps as the tragically diseased, concealing
their decaying flesh from the eyes of the healthy.

His horse balked.  It wished to venture into the cold
rain even less than its rider.  Marik tugged the reins to prevent it from
turning its head, kicking the willful beast in its sides to force the issue.

Conversation lapsed on the Southern Road.  The
continuous drumming of raindrops striking hard against the roadbed, beating the
trees and plunging into the unabsorbed water as forcefully as hailstones
precluded talk unless they shouted at topmost range.  None felt motivated
enough by their thoughts this morning to make such an effort.

Few others shared the road.  Twice they passed
wagons.  Each one headed off the road within a quarter-mile, bumping through
the water channel to enter a field where obscured shapes could be seen moving
about.  The local farmers harvested the fruits of their labors, shivering no
doubt as they bent to pick carrots or cucumbers or turnips, separating the ripe
from the immature vegetables, wondering the whole while if the rain would
worsen and damage the yield still in the fields.  Other than the two locals,
they encountered no one else out in the dreary morning.

Or encountered none until a candlemark after their
departure.  A shrill whiney cut through the droning rain.  It was instantly
followed by a large form materializing through the gray water curtain. 
Galloping straight at Riley and Landon, who rode to their little group’s fore,
ran a mad horse.

When it closed, the startled men could hear a
different cry.  This came from a woman being pulled by the wild animal.  Her
hands were caught in the reins.  She trailed beside the horse, dragged through
the water, in serious danger from the horse’s pounding hooves.

The animal veered to the side to avoid their intrusion
on its path.  It ran into a small clearing between large tree stands that
flanked the road.  On the ground the woman’s cries were muffled when she
bounced through the overflow channel.  Her body rocked upward like a leaping
trout when she struck bumps and plunged back into the shallow water head
first.  Without slowing noticeably, the horse ran into the clearing.  A choking
gag drifted to their ears from the sodden lady.

Riley and Landon both shouted.  They spurred their
mounts after as one.  The others followed, watery sprays sheeting outward under
pounding hooves.

Marik quickly lost sight of the horse and woman
through the gray veil.  He lost precious moments fighting his damned
intractable mount.  It had reached the conclusion that this course of action
was beyond its liking.  Being forced to trod through the downpour was already
asking for more than it felt Marik had the right to, and charging full speed
with rain cutting at its eyes and water swelling its nostrils simply crossed
the line.

He lagged back while the others charged, falling into
the rearguard position as he fought his mount.  It finally accepted its fate and
began following, nearly twenty paces behind Riley’s men.  Water dripped down
his face in a sweaty sheen.  Marik, fighting to keep a fierce hold on the reins
lest his horse take it for a sign of weakness, shook his head violently in an
attempt to clear his eyes when his hood started sending water into them.

This shifted his gaze to the side long enough to
notice the shadowy forms running in fast on their flanks.  Men in the rain. 
His battle instincts flared in alarm.

From ahead, he heard the sudden cry of men who had
walked unawares into an ambush.

Before Marik could reach back to pull his sword free,
guttural snarls reached his ears, startlingly close.  He jerked his head down
at the same instant two large dogs attacked out from the rain.  They bit at his
mount’s right foreleg.  This elicited a shrill scream and a rearing buck he was
unprepared for.  The motion unseated him.  Marik bounced off the horse’s rear
and spun hard into the muddy water.

His mind could think of naught but rolling.  During
the roll he regained control enough over his body to direct its movements. 
Where had his mount moved?  Putting distance between him and its dancing hooves
topped his priorities.

But not for long.  One of the dogs veered from his
mount, deciding either by the vicious workings of its animal mind or by lethal
training that this fallen man would be a vulnerable target.  Marik half-rose,
reaching to draw his sword at the same time the dog closed, intent on the kill.

The canine was from a large breed, the black fur so
short it seemed like skin rather than hair.  Its muzzle bore brown coloring
around the squared head, the only variation in the animal’s color.  Tall enough
to reach Marik’s waist, the breed could use its powerful muscle to destroy
animals several times its size.  He had seen this type only once before,
accompanying one of the nobles camped at the Hollister who brought it with him
on his hunting forays into the Green Reaches.

Marik struggled to stand from one knee.  The breath
had been knocked from him during the fall.  His sword fought back against his
effort to pull it free and he could spare no precious moments to see what it
had caught against.  With bloodthirsty force, the dog plowed into him.

It went for his neck.  Marik jerked his head back at
the moment of impact.  He felt warm saliva flung from the gnashing teeth sting
his eyes, felt the canine fangs graze his throat through the tightly wrapped
cloak.  Though the dog missed, the heavy animal crashed full-long into him and
knocked him backward to the ground.

The dog pressed hard.  It was a whirlwind of savage
predatory fury.  Marik still tumbled to a halt when he felt the powerful teeth
biting into his shoulder.

He wore his mail beneath, which stopped the animal
from ripping into flesh.  Except it provided no protection against the dog’s
jaw as it bore down cruelly.  Powerful enough to crush cartilage and fracture
bone, it would destroy his shoulder.

Marik twisted frantically as the dog ground down.  He
punched at its head with his left hand.  The blows went unnoticed by his canine
assailant.  It growled carnivorously while shaking its head back and forth,
worrying at Marik’s shoulder, attempting to break through the thick skin its
prey wore.

Pain lanced through his shoulder as the beast bit
harder.  Panic flashed through Marik.  He howled and flailed at the dog’s head
in a desperate attempt to unseat it.  One of his errant blows struck the dog’s
eye.  That finally stung it enough that it let go.  It backed a pair of steps,
rubbing at its face with one paw.

Marik denied it time to recover.  He turned a
half-circle on the sodden ground, spinning on one side so he could kick with a
foot.  His boot caught the animal full in its ribs.  A satisfying squeal
emitted from it.

He brought his foot back to deliver a second blow,
except the dog was angry.  It stormed forward while Marik lashed out, ignoring
the impact as it took the hit.  Instead it bit into his leg above the boot.  It
instantly savaged the waterproofed fabric and tore into his leg.

A scream of pain escaped Marik.  He struck at the
brutal animal, raining blows down on the beast.  Several knocked the dog’s head
aside long enough to break its grip.  It decided to ignore the leg.  The dog
lunged and slid along Marik’s body like a snake through wet grass.

Marik stopped it before it could tear out his throat. 
With one hand he grabbed the canine’s neck immediately below the jaw.  Try as
it might, it could not turn its head enough to savage his arm.  Its paws,
large, powerful and sharply clawed, beat at his chest.

He caught one in his left hand.  The dog on top of
him, he kneed it hard in the stomach.  Marik shifted his weight when the
snapping teeth strove to gore his face.  They both fell to the side.

Marik kept his grip hard on the furry paw and neck. 
He forced the damned animal far enough away that he could knee the dog more
firmly in the stomach.  The dog yelped, though hardly slowed its hostile
snarling.  Four times he struck the creature until it finally appeared to feel
the blows.  It twisted after the last, injured enough to cease clawing his
tunic to shreds.

He griped its throat in both hands and rolled further
until the dog was under him, its back to the ground.  Marik beat its head
repeatedly into the earth.  Water splashed into his eyes with each throttling
thump.

Finally the beast looked stunned.  Marik released his
hold on the animal.  He stood while maintaining a cautious eye on it.  His leg
throbbed madly from the wound.

His sword came free this time.  While he firmed his
grip on the wet hilt, the dog regained its feet.  Marik slashed at the vicious
beast.  He cut deeply into its shoulder.  It squealed in pain.  A second blow
to the neck ended the demon dog’s damnable life.

He glanced around in worry at what he might find.  No
others were nearby.  Fighting sounded from the direction they had ridden.  With
a limp, he shuffled lamely to the site.

The second dog lay still in the downpour.  A half
dozen steps further revealed the bucking shape of his horse through the aquatic
netherworld of the morning.  Snapping at its flanks, a third dog large as the
first wanted to hamstring the larger animal.

But these dogs had picked the wrong horse to harass. 
His mount kicked out with both rear hooves and caught the snarling canine
squarely on the forehead.  Marik watched the dog spin a three-quarter circle
through the air, landing face first with its bodyweight bearing down from
above.  It ceased to move.  The horse continued its screaming bucks.  Soon the
deluge had concealed it again.

Ahead the din of combat suddenly ceased.  He hurried
as fast as his wounded leg allowed, limping with increasing pain lancing
through his leg.  A dim figure appeared before him in the slashing grayness. 
Its definition solidified in a heartbeat when it drew closer.

A man backed toward Marik, unaware of the mercenary to
his rear.  Marik immediately saw him to be no one he knew.

“Hey!”  He hesitate to lash out with his blade.  For
all he knew, this man had been about an ordinary day’s business when this
unforeseen conflict descended on him.  Since he was unarmed, Marik refused to
make a faulty assumption.

The stranger spun at his voice.  Also dressed for the
wet weather, characteristics still shone through.  Neither a small nor slender
man, his cloak-wrapped proportions bespoke a muscled frame rather than the
bulging rolls an overweight man would claim.  His face had been left open to
the rain and revealed a broad span, the angle of his cheek bones hardly
existent.  This made him appear to have no chin, only a flat line beneath his
lips.  A squashed pepper of a nose completed his appearance as a brawler.

Marik also noticed he held a weapon after all.  In his
hand he bore a wooden club.  No simple length of branch this.  A smoothed
length formed the thick grip, the rest carved to lethal effectiveness.  The
motif looked to be miniature domes like buttons scattered around half-pillars
encircling the central rod.

This man spent two heartbeats judging his situation. 
Marik’s sword rose to a ready position, then the stranger sprinted into the
rain.  The flight caught Marik completely off-guard.

A second figure quickly dashed forward.  Marik
instantly refocused on this new shape.  It was one of Riley’s men.  He helped
Marik after learning that the man he’d chased had fled, supporting the
mercenary as pain rapidly enveloped his leg.

While he hobbled forward with the guard’s aid, concern
filled him with every new scene unfolding when they drew near enough to make
them out.  Five other dogs lay littered across the ground, dead from sword
injuries.  Kerwin sat beside one, cradling his left arm as blood dripped down
his scalp.  Marik prayed the stream’s thinness meant a shallow wound rather
than the rain diluting the flow.

Dietrik and Landon both sat further away, each probing
gashes on their legs.  The archer squatted on his ankles to keep his rear out
of the mud while Dietrik leaned against his dead horse, which appeared to have
been savaged.  A shape coursing back and forth on his vision’s borders resolved
itself as Riley, apparently whole.  Both of his guardsmen hurried to speak with
him.  Neither of them looked hurt either.

Marik dropped beside Dietrik, unmindful of the wet
ground.  “You all right?”

His friend glanced at him.  “This was supposed to be
the easiest contract we pulled since joining the Kings,” Dietrik replied with a
trace of bitterness.  “So far I have pierced one arm clean through, gouged the
other, and now a scummy mutt nearly devoured my bloody self!”  He frowned
deeply at his torn breeches.  “I ended the last summer’s fighting on a cleaner
note than this!”

Kerwin shuffled over to Landon, who nodded at a
question lost in the crackling rainfall.  Riley’s men split off into the gloom
while the captain stopped before Landon.

“My men are keeping a watch but I doubt they’ll bother
us any further.  Still,” he kicked a dead dog in the head, “I’ve never seen a
gang of highwaymen this organized before.  Must be a group of refugees who’ve
had enough of the rough life.”

“No, captain,” Landon replied.  “I seriously doubt
these were bandits.  I suspect a certain man in Thoenar has a hand in this.”

“What?”  Marik blurted.  Landon’s statement startled
him.  That Sestion would attempt this after they had made it clear what the
repercussions would be had never occurred to him.  A man as smart as he would
never be so stupid!  Would he?

Kerwin nodded in response to Marik’s surprised
inquiry.  “Look at these dogs,” he gestured with his good hand before clamping
it back to his bleeding head wound.  “Dogs aren’t the sole property of the
nobility, but certain breeds are harder to come by for the likes of you and
me.  And these look like pure breeds.  The three I can see look nearly
identical.  I don’t see any other bloodlines messing up the works.”

“Which means they either came from a single litter, or
that a person with ties in the right places organized this little event,”
Landon finished.

“Or both,” Dietrik added.  “A bugger with interest in
making sure certain lips remain sealed.”

Riley followed the conversation, his head swiveling to
each man delivering his observations.  “It sounds like you boys are dug-in the
middle of a complicated affair.”

“I am afraid that is the case,” Landon answered.  “It
is fortunate that you were with us during the assault, though perhaps you might
not share the opinion.”

Marik, gazing closer at the guard captain, replied
before the soldier could.  “You didn’t get injured at all!  You must be
impressive fighters!”

Riley smiled.  It was closer to a grimace than a
grin.  “Over the past year we’ve had to be ready for anything on the border. 
We haven’t seen much action, but the stories are enough to make you walk with
your guard up, and sleep with your hilt in your hand.”

“We haven’t shown our best face forward, I’m afraid,”
Landon sounded apologetic.

The captain laughed.  “I didn’t see it for an ambush
either until too late.  Morven and Gair say they’ve found eight dogs, so if
you’re right, they brought a pair for each of you in addition to the men we
pushed off.”  He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb, causing Marik to note
for the first time the still body of a man laying on the soaked ground.  “It’s
a good thing the dogs went for the mounts instead of you.  Someone must not
like you very much.”

He asked the question without actually articulating
it.  Landon skirted it by saying, “That appears to be the case.  Again, we
thank you, guard captain.  Had you not been present, I fear we would have lost
more than our horses.”

The mercenaries collected themselves.  They bound
their wounds as best they were able.  Marik had taken the worst damage. 
Dietrik sustained scrapes from the canine that had ripped his breeches. 
Kerwin’s arm bore deep bruises rather than torn skin, his head wound the result
of striking a stone when thrown from his mount.  Landon’s wounds were clean and
shallow.

“We will need to change these as soon as we find
shelter,” Dietrik told him for the fourth time.  “Wet bandages are not
healthy.  They seep into the wound and turn it septic.”

“I know,” Marik replied for the fourth time.  “You
keep telling me.”

Dietrik ignored that, and Marik held back a sigh. 
There was no use in arguing with his friend.  He always got like this when
tending a shieldmate’s injuries.

Morven, Gair and Riley spent the time reclaiming the
loose horses.  Dietrik’s and Landon’s had died under the snapping fangs while
the rest fled the nipping teeth biting at their fetlocks.  The border barony
guards were able to gather their mounts with little trouble, their riders’
familiar presence welcomed by the nervous mounts.