Farmers & Mercenaries (20 page)

C
lytus Rillion watched in amusement as Alimia dismounted to spout off orders. Her thin, wiry frame stood out against the larger build of most of the men. Still, she carried herself well. Having spared with her several times, he also knew that she could take most men in a sword fight, despite any size advantage they held.

She may need more handling than Ragnor, yet she should learn in time. At least the men seem to follow her. Or fear her. Not a bad rapport to have from the men in this line of work, especially considering her sex.

He sat back in his saddle and caught sight of his scoutmaster, Hindar, huddled with a group of his scouts who accompanied him from Orlis.

His elite he likes to call them.

He was relieved when he found the man and his group waiting on them when they arrived at the barge dock.

I will need his tracking skills if
I am to succeed in this venture.

Grinning, he watched his troop scramble ahead of the shouting leftenant. With the day starting to warm, he reached up to loosen the top lashes of his leather jerkin. The Ferrier, a short, rotund man in his late forties, herded a group of four young men out of a house sitting next to the dock and hurried them onto the barge.

Four
big
young men. With the right motivation—and gold is always a good motivation—they should have us across fast enough to please even Alimia.

The Ferrier waved the second wagon onto the boat and then conversed with Alimia. Clytus chuckled, seeing the two argue. It was obvious the leftenant wanted to pack on more men than the Ferrier thought wise. Still, they reached a compromise soon enough. She pulled the reins of her mount and motioned for the ten scouts clustered at the foot of the dock to join her. Clytus did like her spirit.

She will pack them butt cheek to nose if
she can.

With the barge filled for this trip, the four men on the pull rope gave a tug and the barge slid from the dock. The current flowed strong on the Artoc, and soon the barge sagged down river on its line. The Ferrier hobbled up wringing his hands, a nervous glint in his eyes.

Dismounting, Clytus eyed the man. “You look worried. Will the rope hold?”

“Oh, aye. She will hold. Essence enhanced, that one is. Both docks as well.” The man turned and gazed out over the expanse of the water. “The current of the Artoc is too strong otherwise. Just means more work for my boys is all.”

“Aye, they look like they can handle it. Your sons?” Clytus reached into a side pouch dangling from his saddle. Starborn’s large head turned at the sound of his owner’s hand plunging for grain. Clytus’ fist came out full of barley and the destrier nuzzled his fingers, nipping at them with its lips until he opened up and allowed the horse its treat.

“Aye, the Gods have blessed me. Good lads, all. Though they eat their weight daily!”

The two men stood watching the water flow by. Sunlight glinted off the occasional ripple on its surface. Following the rope that stretched out past the barge, Clytus could just make out the landing dock on the far bank some league distant. The barge had drifted about a hundred paces downstream by the time it reached halfway across. The strong current pulled the guide rope into the form of a giant smile.

Or frown, depending on which way you view it.

“Does the ferry always sag that far down river?” Clytus was not concerned, if it was Essence enhanced, it would hold well past the time a normal rope would snap.

“Nix, I told that wench—” The Ferrier’s mouth snapped shut with a click and he cut his eyes at Clytus. Clearing his throat, he rubbed his chubby hands together. “Begging pardon, sir. I told that
woman
not to pack on so many. My boys will have a time pulling her upriver with such a load, against the current and all. Alas, she said her men would help pull if needed.”

Aye, they will do that… with Alimia on their hides. I am sure the extra money I offered up did nothing to hinder her argument either.

Motion out of the corner of Clytus’ eye caught his attention and he turned to look upriver. A large boat, the type used to carry cargo and passengers up and down the length of the Artoc, floated lazily toward them. Clytus thought it odd that she had all of her ores in, yet at this distance he could make out little detail. He had taken a few trips upriver to Orlis for business over the seasons and had always been impressed by how fast those ships maneuvered against the strong current of the Artoc. The large craft was still some distance away when he noticed it was listing to its starboard side, her stern slowly spinning the ship around backward.

Pointing upriver, Clytus tried to keep his voice calm and level. “Do the river ships come this far south?”

“What?” The Ferrier’s head whipped northeast to the walled town of Stillwater that sat at the edge of sight upriver. “By all Twelve Gods!” The man’s screech tore from his throat even as he launched himself down the small hill toward his home.

The other men in Clytus’ troop milling about the area halted their tasks and flooded forward to the riverbank in the wake of the Ferrier’s screams. Clytus glanced from riverboat to ferry and back again. The runaway boat made good time.

Little chance of them making it to the far dock before it strikes.

Clytus headed after the ferryman who now stood on his porch with a spyglass pressed to his eye. The man whirled around when Clytus’ boots thudded onto the wooden stairs leading up to the house.

“She is derelict. I can see that her mooring ropes have been slashed. They are dangling over her side.” The old man glanced down river. “My ferry is in the middle; they have no hope to make either bank now.” He brushed past Clytus, who turned and followed the man down to the dock.

“What will happen to the ferry when the guide rope breaks?” Running a hand through his hair, Clytus walked along in the Ferrier’s shadow.

“I told you, the line will not break.” The man spoke to Clytus over his shoulder without breaking his stride, yet fear tinged the corners of his words.

“Then why the fuss? Surely they will not be struck. The river is too large. The odds of that happening are small indeed.”

“Nix, mayhaps not. Still, I would not wish to be on board the ferry when the guide rope is struck either. Especially with all that is packed onto her.” As they reached the landing, the Ferryman waved his arms above his head and whistled in a loud, shrill tone that cut across the top of the water like a knife. Several of the men on the barge turned to look their way, and the Ferrier avidly pointed upriver.

Even at this distance, Clytus knew when the people on the boat understood their situation. All at once, it looked like an anthill had just been kicked—men raced this way and that with no actual place to go.

Clytus laid a hand on the Ferrier’s shoulder and spun him around. “What can we do?”

“Do?” The man snorted. “We can watch. My lads are good swimmers. I hope yours are as well—if worse comes to worse.”

Looking up river, Clytus had a good view of the ship as the current swept it toward him. From this angle, however, it seemed that the boat hardly moved forward at all. It crept along. For what seemed a time that stretched on too long for the distance it had to traverse, the boat oscillated down the river—switching from bow to the flat of its port side leading the way down river. When the craft neared, his angle of view changed, and it seemed to all at once shoot forward at an incredible speed. Looking back to the ferry, he noted it was more than two thirds across now, coming close to the far dock, and safety.

Yet, not quite.

The river barge plowed into the guide rope. Gasps and exclamations from the others who stood watching resounded around him. First, the rope pulled taut, then stretched well past what should have been the breaking point. The small ferry launched violently upriver. Men slammed to the deck, whatever they held onto wrenched from their grasp. Horses bucked and reared up in panic. One, at the back of the craft, made a huge splash as it slipped into the chilly waters of the Artoc.

The derelict ship spun sideways, smashing its port side fully against the rope that now stretched twice further down river than it had with the ferry alone. It listed hard to starboard as the strong current tried in vain to force it past the barrier.

The rope held, and the ferry appeared none the worse for wear after the initial hit. Clytus watched the overboard horse swim to the far bank. Most of the men returned to pulling at the guide rope, heading for the safety of the far shore. The ferry had slid back closer to the center of the river when the large craft struck. The collision increased the distance his people needed to travel to reach the other side. The angle of the rope meant they must pull the craft almost directly upriver. More and more men joined the task, and the ferry made its way at an agonizingly slow pace. Shouts from the spectators on the bank around him bounced over the water as his men on the shore added their encouragement to their comrades laboring on the barge.

“Aye, not as bad as all that.” Bobbing his head, the Ferrier turned to Clytus. A loud crack ripped over the water and the man whipped his head back to the scene.

The port side of the derelict barge caved as the guide rope sliced through it, sending huge shards of timber flinging into the air. The remaining piece of hull did a barrel roll and spun into the water, plunging down and under the rope. The speed at which the ship broke up was staggering; the rope cut through it like a sharp blade through warm bread.

Free of the added weight, the guide rope snapped back upriver like a bowstring loosing an arrow. The ferry jerked violently upriver. One of the horses attached to the front wagon went mad, rearing and bucking. Clytus saw a figure dash forward only to be thrown back, body limp. The man tumbled in the air, plunging into the river beyond. The sound of the panicked horse ripped over the waters surface and bit into Clytus’ ears. The noise cut off abruptly once the beast slipped into the water. The horse harnessed to it screamed as it was yanked into the river as well. The wagon placidly followed the pair of animals, water from its entry splashing up to drench much of the ferry.

Only the second damnable day, and already a wagonload of supplies lost!

Clytus watched a slim form run to the edge of the ferry and dive into the churning water. His men gathered at the edge of the craft, staring helplessly into the murky depths, as long moments passed. When Clytus had lost all hope, one of the team horses broke the surface in a cacophony of noise. The shrieking wail the panicked beast emitted was nothing Clytus could have imagined from a horse’s maw. In its panic, it fought to climb back aboard the ferry, and for a moment, Clytus thought it might cause a second catastrophe. Finally, after much persistence from the men on the craft, the animal turned and headed for the far bank.

Returning his attention to the surface of the river, Clytus saw nothing of the person who dove in after the wagon.

“What kind of madman would dive in after a wagon?” The Ferrier failed to keep any scorn from his voice.

“I am unsure. Yet, I have my suspicions. Damn them for a fool, whoever they were!” Clytus flung a hand to his brow to shade his eyes from the sun, trying to gain some fraction of advantage with which to see. “Do you see them anywhere, have they surfaced?”

“Nix, the horse came up, yet—” The Ferrier pointed off down river. “There! I see someone!”

Focusing on the spot where the man pointed, Clytus was stunned to see a small form making its way to the far shore. The river had carried them much further than he expected. Tension melted from him now that they had made it back to the surface.

Clytus did not enjoy standing on this side of the river, helpless to do anything. He watched the last pieces of the destroyed river barge float around a far bend to vanish from sight. Eventually, the ferry made land on the far dock. Men and horses made their way to shore. Before long, the four sons of the Ferrier were again pulling the guide rope, returning to this side of the river.

The thunderous sound of horse hooves pounded the ground long before their riders came into view. Clytus glanced at the Ferrier. “Expecting visitors?”

“Nix. Still, I would be shocked if someone had not come to see what happened to the riverboat.” He gave a nod out to the river, toward his boys. “If I am not back when they arrive, please tell them I wish to see them before they leave with the second load of your men.”

“Second load? You feel it is safe, then?”

“I did tell you the rope is Essence enhanced. I doubt a second derelict boat will be soon in coming, unless all law has fled Stillwater. Mayhaps these riders will tell me if it has.”

Clytus watched as the Ferrier waddled off to meet the small group of men riding up.

By the time the Ferrier returned, Clytus could clearly make out the form of Alimia standing on the front of the ferry making its way back to this side of the Artoc. “What did the men say happened to the boat?” Clytus asked the man.

“As I said, the moorings were cut. They have not as yet figured out who or why, though odds say it was deliberate.” He looked to his ferry making its final approach. “Seems it was that woman of yours who dove in.” He gave a bark of a laugh. “She looks like a drowned rat.”