Ghostwalker (Book 1) (27 page)

Joseph got to his knees. He swayed as he tried to keep his balance. “Kendril!” he warned.

The Ghostwalker spun to one side.

Montrose’s mace came down hard on the table, bashing the wooden planks into splintered pieces. Shattered pieces of crockery and food went flying.

Kendril rolled in the grass, somehow ending up on his knees. He gasped in pain, his face clenched and covered with sweat.

Montrose whirled, lifting the mace again.

“
Boss
!” Uther called again. He struggled to reload his crossbow as shout and screams sounded all around them.

“Time to die, Ghostwalker,” Montrose spat.

Kendril climbed to his feet, his arms still tied behind his back. He shrugged. “I’m waiting.”

“No!” Jade leapt forward, her hands bound behind her back as well.

Montrose turned with a snarl and lashed out his free hand in a balled fist.

The blow hit Jade across her face. She collapsed unconscious to the ground.

Montrose turned back to Kendril with a smile. “Your turn.”

Kendril took a step back and wiggled his body. The ropes fell off his arms onto the grass. He brought a knife out in front of him.

Montrose glanced at the shattered table behind him, then back at the grease-covered knife in Kendril’s hand. With a roar he leapt forward.

Kendril came at the bounty hunter and swiped with the steak knife.

The mace lashed down, missing Kendril’s head. Montrose twisted, then drew his weapon back for another strike.

Kendril swung his makeshift weapon at Montrose’s arm. It slashed through the bounty hunter’s sleeve, making a shallow gash along his forearm.

“Kendril!” Joseph shouted. His eyes were fastened on a fallen sword just a few yards away. “A sword! To your right!”

Kendril backed up, his teeth clenched against the agonizing pain in his side. He glanced over at the weapon and shook his head. “Too long,” he called back.

Joseph blinked. “What?”

“His
vow
,” Maklavir groaned.

Jade groaned from where she lay on the ground, her head rolling slightly.

Montrose launched forward and hammered down with the mace in his hand.

With a twirl of his black cloak Kendril ducked under the blow, rolling across the grass. As he tumbled past the off-balance bounty hunter he rammed the knife into Montrose’s leg.

Montrose screamed and reached for the handle of the knife that was sticking out of his thigh.

Kendril leapt to his feet, then spun around and brought his booted foot down had on Montrose’s back.

With a grunt the bounty hunter crashed face-first onto the ground.

Kendril pressed a hand to his wounded side, his teeth gritted in pain from the over-exertion. He tripped back a step, dizzy and off-balance.

Jade raised her head, her eyes blinking in confusion. She got to her knees and wiped the mud from her eyes.

Montrose climbed to his feet, limping heavily. The knife was still in his leg.

Kendril tried to move forward, but fell to his knees instead. The pain was evident on his face.

Montrose stepped forwards and grabbed Jade by her long hair. He pulled her head back, and lifted his mace high. “You can watch her die,” he growled at Kendril.

The Ghostwalker moved forward, but half-collapsed to the ground.

Montrose smiled and started to swing his weapon down.

The next instant, a pistol bullet blew his head into nothingness.

Jade flinched back, the right side of her face splattered with the bounty hunter’s blood. When she raised her head, she saw a band of men on horseback racing towards them. The white tunics they wore gleamed in the starlight, giving the riders an ethereal look.

Uther dropped his crossbow and turned to run, but a pistol shot punched him in the back and knocked him forward into the table.

“Jade!” Maklavir cried, rising to his feet. “Now’s our chance!”

She started to turn, but something prevented her from running. The white tunics triggered something in her memory. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the pounding hoof beats of the approaching riders.

Kendril staggered up beside Jade just as the horsemen galloped up from the opposite direction.

The rider in the lead held a smoking pistol, which he quickly shoved into a saddle holster. He pulled out another. “Get away from her!” he ordered, pointing the gun at Kendril.

The Ghostwalker glared up at the mounted man. He took a slow but deliberate step back, his hand still plastered against his side.

The lead rider turned to the horseman next to him. “Round up the survivors,” he ordered. “Don’t let any escape.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the man. He turned his horse around and galloped off.

The leader of the horsemen got down off his horse, his pistol still pointed at Kendril.

As Jade watched him, she realized that the white tunics were white uniforms. On them was the emblazoned symbol of a peacock, its feathers shining with brilliant colors.

These men were soldiers, and the man in front of her was their commander. 

The rider gave Kendril a suspicious look, keeping the pistol trained on him. He looked over at Jade, who was staring at him in astonishment.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” he said.

Jade waited dumbly for a moment, until she realized that the man was talking to her.

And then, in a blinding flash, it all came back to her.

Kendril started to say something to her, but Jade couldn’t hear what it was. She opened her mouth to speak, but the roaring in her ears drowned out her voice.

The next moment, everything went black.

Torin turned desperately as another of his men crumpled under a crossbow shot.

One of the riders leveled a pistol at the bandit leader’s head. “Surrender or die!” the man shouted.

Other riders thundered through the camp, their blades flashing down in deadly arcs on the fleeing bandits.

Torin swallowed, his sword starting to shake in his hands. His camp was destroyed. Most of his men were dead already, or fleeing for the woods. More men in white tunics were exploding from the woods.

Biting his tongue until he tasted blood, Torin threw his sword down on the ground and raised his hands.

Kara glanced over at him fiercely, her sword held defiantly in her hand.

He shook his head. “It’s over Kara.”

Slowly, and with a pained look on her face, Kara tossed her sword down in the dirt.

“For the last time,” Kendril said in a tired voice, “we’re not bandits. Think about it. Why would our hands be tied if we were?” He glanced down at his freed arms. “Well, they
were
tied.”

The soldier standing over them tensed his hands on the crossbow he was holding. “That’s for Lord Bathsby to decide. Meanwhile I’m under orders to guard you.”

Kendril let his head drop back and closed his eyes. “This is pointless.”

Joseph gave a nearby rock a small nudge with his boot. His arms were still bound. He glanced over at where Kendril was sitting.

“Jade will get this straightened out, Kendril.”

“Not if she’s still unconscious,” the Ghostwalker grumbled.

The scout wiggled around, stretching his legs on the grass. “It’s been quite a while since they took Maklavir away. Hopefully that’s a good sign.”

Kendril glanced up. “Speak of the devil…”

Maklavir came running down towards them, waving his hand.

“These two men are not bandits!” he shouted. “They are friends of the princess.”

The guards gave him uncertain looks, their hands still on their weapons.

“What’s going on, Maklavir? Where’s Jade?” said Kendril. He glanced over cautiously at the crossbowmen behind him.

“Who is Jade?” came a new voice from behind Maklavir.

A man strode up, dressed in the same white uniform as the other soldiers. A neatly trimmed reddish-brown beard covered his face, and his eyes were coldly blue. His clothes were impeccable and expensive, and even his uniform shown with a brilliant whiteness that spoke of excellent care. The symbol of the peacock on the front had been decorated with several sparkling jewels, causing the tunic to sparkle and dance in the starlight. Over his head he wore a blue hat, with one of the brims folded up and a yellow feather bobbing from the top.

Maklavir turned, gesturing to Kendril and Joseph. “These are the men I told you about, your lordship.”

The man gave Kendril and then Joseph a keen glance. “Then you both have my gratitude.” He turned to the sergeant. “Release them at once.” He turned back to Kendril and Joseph and gave a short bow. “I am Lord Bathsby. I understand that both of you have protected Her Highness from harm over the last few days. The people of Llewyllan owe you a great debt.”

Kendril gave Maklavir a quick look. “‘Her Highness’?”

The diplomat took a step forward. “Um, yes, Kendril.” He glanced over at Lord Bathsby. “These men are the Royal Guard of Llewyllan. Lord Bathsby is their commander.” He paused for a moment. “Kendril, Jade’s real name is Serentha. She’s the daughter of King Nathan of Llewyllan.”

Joseph’s mouth fell open. “A princess?”

Lord Bathsby cocked his head curiously. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” said Kendril quietly. “We didn’t. Where is she?”

“My men have her in their care. I’m sure that she will want to see you when she has properly revived. In the meantime I hope that you will all consider yourselves our honored guests.” He cast his blue eyes upon Kendril, looking the young man carefully up and down. “You’re a Ghostwalker?”

He nodded. “I’m Kendril. This is Joseph.” He nodded over at Maklavir. “I assume you’ve already met Maklavir.”

“Yes. I apologize for the way you have been treated. Until Her Highness had regained her senses we had no way of knowing who you were.”

“Our supplies,” said Joseph to Bathsby, “they were stolen by the bandits yesterday.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. All your weapons and goods will be returned to you as soon as we find them.” Bathsby took off his hat, and scratched the side of his head. “This is all most remarkable. You have been calling Princess Serentha ‘Jade’ this whole time?”

Kendril put one hand on his left side, pressing his wound gently. “She was wearing a green dress when I met her,” he said simply. “I had to call her something.”

Bathsby gave a short nod. “Ah, I see. Yes, the princess has always been fond of the color green, especially the hue of jade.” He put his hat back on.

Kendril lowered his hood, his face pale in the darkness. “So how exactly did you find us?”

“Oh, we had been tracking you for some time,” said Bathsby. “We were scouring these blasted woods for the kidnappers. I had thought we lost them for good until we got word about what happened at the Outpost.” He shook his head in wonder. “I saw what was left of the inn there. I’m truly impressed you all managed to get out alive.”

“Well,” said Maklavir with a stifled yawn. “I for one am exhausted, and am going to grab what little sleep I can for the remainder of the night.”

“I think that would be a good idea for all of you. The last few days must certainly have been harrowing ones.” Bathsby motioned one of his soldiers over. “I’ll have my men get you blankets and anything else you require.” He gave the three men a salute. “Once again, gentlemen, you have my gratitude. If there is anything either I or any of my men can do for you, do not hesitate to ask.” The nobleman turned and issued some quiet orders to the soldier he had summoned.

The three companions were left alone for a second, the stars twinkling brightly above their heads. For a long moment none of them spoke.

“Do me a favor,” said Kendril at last. “If I ever pick up a lost girl in the woods again, shoot me.”

Continued in Book 2 of the Chronicles of Zanthora:

Throne of Llewyllan

For thrilling action adventure set in the “sword and planet” setting of the Two Rings, check out these collections of novellas, also by Ben Cassidy:

Daughter of Llathe: A Tale of the Two Rings

Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 1

Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 2

About the Author:

Ben Cassidy lives in Vancouver, WA, with his wife and three children. He pursued graduate studies in history for several years until he decided that reading six scholarly books a week was not challenging enough for him, and so switched to being a stay-at-home dad. He has been writing since he was in third grade, though now he is able to bribe other people to do the illustrating for him. He has the uncanny habit of writing of himself in the third person, and is disturbed by how easily his whole life can be summed up in four sentences. Or even five.

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