The Water Road (33 page)

“I don’t know,” Strefer said.
“Spider’s dead. His gang’s run off. Someone…” She stopped herself as another
man stepped out of the woods, just beyond where the trail widened into the
clearing. Where Spider and his men appeared to come from everywhere at once,
this one was coming from the direction Strefer and Rurek had traveled that day.

He was tall and slender, with pale
green skin that indicated he was not a native to these woods. He walked
quickly, but deliberately, to where they crouched, rifle to his shoulder,
scanning the clearing. When he was within a few feet of them, he slung the
rifle over his shoulder and knelt down beside them.

“Let me take a look at that,” he
said, slowly moving Strefer away and then prying off the hands that Rurek had
clamped around his wound.

“Good gods, what now,” Strefer
said, frantically searching the trees for some sign of the next player in this
drama.

“Who are you?” Rurek asked through
gritted teeth.

“A friend,” the man said, slowly
getting Rurek to relax his grip. “That’s all you need to know for now. But if
it will make you more comfortable, call me Forlahn. We’ll have more time later
for explanations. Spider’s men will be back, once they convince themselves that
they are not really afraid of getting killed themselves. If nothing else,
they’ll come to pick over his corpse.” He nodded with his head towards Spider’s
body. With Rurek’s hands out of the way, he studied the wound.

“Can you help him?” Strefer asked.
“Pull the arrow out or something?”

“No, no, no,” Forlahn said,
covering the shaft with both hands. “Like most bandits, Spider probably uses
barbed arrows.” He jumped up, went over to where Spider lay, and pulled one of
the arrows out of the quiver still stuck to his thigh. “See?” he said, pointing
to the tip of the arrow, a twisted mash of metal that looked as cruel an
implement as Strefer could imagine. “Pull that out now and all it’s going to do
is leave a big bloody hole in your friend’s leg. It’ll get infected and he’ll
die.”

“Then how do we get it out?”
Strefer asked, ashamed at the panic she heard in her own voice.

Forlahn walked back to Rurek, who
was now lying flat on his back.

“Well, there are two options,” Forlahn
said, kneeling back down beside Rurek. Without warning, he rolled the big
Sentinel over onto his side, grasped the shaft of the arrow in his hand, and
pushed hard. The barbed arrowhead, bloody and disgusting, slid out the back
side of his thigh. Strefer looked away.

“What in blazes are you doing?”
Rurek screamed.

“Sorry,” Forlahn said, very matter
of factly. “I needed to force the arrowhead out of your leg. It was best for me
to do it without you knowing it was going to happen. Trust me.”

Rurek looked back over his shoulder
at Forlahn and cursed in pain several times. His complaints were cut short by
another urgent question. “What are you doing?”

Forlahn had slipped a knife out from
under his belt. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to cut off the back end of the
shaft, so less of it has to pass through your leg when I pull it out. All
right?”

Rurek stopped and kept still while
Forlahn sawed at the shaft. When he was done, only a small stump was left
protruding from the wound. With another quick movement, Forlahn slid the rest
of the arrow out of Rurek’s leg.

Forlahn turned and looked back
towards the spot where he had emerged from the woods. “Malin! Malin! Come here,
boy, I need you,” he shouted.

Strefer turned her head at the
rustle of leaves from back at the far end of the clearing. A small boy burst
out of the trees, moving as quickly as possible under the load he was carrying.
Strefer guessed he was not more than ten years old. There was a large pack of
some sort on his back and in each hand he carried a rifle. He ran in a
hunched-over fashion, as if the weight of the pack was almost too much for him.
Nevertheless, he moved quickly and confidently, dropping to his knees when he
reached Forlahn.

“Find me some cloth we can use for
a bandage,” he said to the boy, who slipped the pack off his back and began
rooting around inside of it.

Not quite sure how to process all
that had happened to her in the past few minutes, Strefer sat down on the dry
ground, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped her arms around herself. It
was one thing to be set upon by bandits in these woods. Strefer was surprised
it had not happened earlier. And even the appearance of a mysterious rescuer
was not beyond imagining. But the appearance of a child on the scene was a
bridge too far in her mind. “And who is this?” she asked, voice shaking.

“Malin is my son,” Forlahn said as
he worked, wrapping a coiled-up bundle of fabric around Rurek’s thigh. “As I
said, there will be time for explanations later.” The boy said nothing, but did
glance briefly in her direction.

“When is it going to be later?” she
asked, voice louder than she anticipated. “This is getting to be a bit much for
me to handle.”

“Very soon now,” Forlahn said,
quickly finishing the bandage. “You need to stand up, friend,” he said to
Rurek. “You can use her for support.” Strefer got up and walked over beside
him. “It will hurt for quite a bit,” Forlahn continued, “but once we make some
distance, we can rest and treat it more thoroughly. All right?”

“I hope you’re right,” Rurek said,
extending a hand. Forlahn grabbed it and pulled the larger man to his feet.
Rurek winced and shifted his weigh to his good leg. When Strefer moved to help
him, Rurek waved her away. “I’ll manage.”

Strefer knew he would need her help
eventually, but she was not going to force the issue. Instead, she walked over
to Spider’s corpse, bent down, and took the bow from his side.

“Don’t take that,” Forlahn said, to
her surprise.

“Why not? We need to defend
ourselves, don’t we? Especially with him out of commission,” she said, nodding
towards Rurek.

“Have you ever used a bow?” Forlahn
asked. “If you haven’t, it won’t be much use to you, and it will give you a
false sense of security.”

She never thought of it that way,
but still didn’t like the idea of being defenseless.

“Take the dagger instead,” Forlahn
said, pointing to the blade that had once been pressed against her own throat.
“It will serve you better.”

It would certainly be an
improvement over her dull knife. She put the bow back beside Spider, then took
the blade from his dead hand and slipped it into her belt. But before she
walked away, she pulled the remaining arrows out of Spider’s quiver and broke
them, one by one, over her knee. “At least nobody else can use them,” she said.

“Good thinking,” Forlahn said.
Behind him, Rurek tried to take a step and howled in pain. “Can you?” he asked,
gesturing towards him.

“I’ll try,” she said, slipping
under Rurek’s arm before he had a chance to protest. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve been better,” he said. “Let’s
get out of here.”

“Indeed.” Forlahn took the pack and
slung it over his back, much better suited to bear the weight than the boy.
“Are those reloaded?” he asked Malin, pointing to the rifles he had been
carrying. The boy nodded affirmatively. Forlahn took one of the guns, while the
boy took the other and the one Forlahn had been carrying initially. “This way.”

He led them to the pool in the
clearing and then off the path entirely, along the stream that fed the pool.
Strefer gritted her teeth under Rurek’s weight, but at least the stress
coursing through her had chased away the lead in her belly. Before long, the
sunlight and blue skies above were replaced by the enclosing green darkness of
the forest canopy.

Strefer had a strong sense of déjà
vu as they stopped in another clearing perhaps half a mile downstream from
where they had been. It looked almost exactly like the place they had just been
attacked in. All that was missing were Spider and his goons.

She spotted a tree near the stream
and helped Rurek over towards it. The wounded sentinel sat down and propped
himself up against the tree, the relief of being off his injured leg clear on
his face. The cloth that Forlahn had tied around his leg was now soaked with
blood. Strefer was amazed he was still conscious.

Strefer knelt next to the stream
and filled her cupped hands with the running water. It was clear and cold,
shocking her stomach when she drank down a handful. The day was so warm and
bright, she expected the water to be warmer. She took another handful and
splashed it on her face. Braced by the cold, it was only then that she became
aware of the ache of her body, the soreness that coursed through her. It was the
first time since the arrow had flown out of nowhere that she was not running on
adrenalin and pure instinct. Finally with a chance to reflect on what had
happened that day, she wept silently to herself for a moment.

Forlahn’s voice broke her vigil.

“Here, let me take a look at that,”
he said, kneeling over Rurek. With a speed and deftness that made it clear he
had done this before, he removed the bandage. “That doesn’t look too bad.” He
looked Rurek in the eye. “We’re going to have to cauterize it, though.”

If the thought of burning flame on
flesh bothered Rurek, he did not show it. “I figured as much. If we had a
fire…”

Forlahn cut him off. “Not yet. We
need to treat the wound a bit first.” He called for the boy, who had not said a
word while they made their way from the first clearing to this one. He sprinted
to Forlahn’s side like a well-trained dog. “Bring me a biscuit, will you?” The
boy scampered away.

“A biscuit?” Strefer asked, walking
slowly to them. “Time for a snack, is it?”

“Hardly,” he said as the boy
brought back a small, round hunk of bread. “We’ll make camp here for the
night,” he told the boy. “Go find us something for dinner. Maybe a vegetable,
if you can find something safe.” The boy ran to Forlahn’s pack, took something
from an outside pocket, then disappeared into the woods.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Strefer asked. Forlahn did not answer her. “I mean, sending the boy out into
the woods by himself?”

“Are you volunteering to go with
him?” he said crisply, displaying some frustration with her without raising his
voice. He took the biscuit and dunked it in the stream several times.

“I’m probably not the right
choice,” Strefer said, backing down.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.”
Forlahn took the mushy concoction in his hand and tore it into two parts. He
put one part on either side of Rurek’s thigh where the arrow had gone through
it. “He doesn’t say much. He’s a shy boy. But he is very capable of handling
himself out there.” He looked around and frowned. “Here, can you hold these?”
he asked Strefer. She just looked at the wound and the pastry dough with
suspicion. “Just keep them on there for a moment while I wash this bandage
out.”

Strefer did as she was told,
although she had no experience with wounds. She was quickly learning that she had
no stomach for them, either. “Does that hurt?” she asked Rurek, trying to find
the right amount of pressure.

“Not so much anymore,” he said.
“Maybe I’m just getting used to it.” He gave her a weak but genuine smile. She
reciprocated.

Forlahn took the bloody wrap to the
stream and wrung it out several times in the cold water. When it could
charitably be called clean, he returned. “All right,” he said, getting down
next to Strefer, “let me tie this back on so that mixture can do its work.
We’ll cauterize it later tonight.” He tied the wrap while Strefer held the
soggy bread in place.

“What is a soggy biscuit going to
do for a bloody wound?” Rurek asked.

“They don’t teach you these things,
Sentinel?” Forlahn asked with a grin. “A normal table biscuit won’t do very
much. But if you have one made from a recipe that includes certain herbs, it
can help prevent infection.” He finished his task and sat back awkwardly to
survey his work. “Tastes pretty good, too. Kills two birds with one stone—foodstuff
and medical tool. You learn to maximize resources when you’re in my line of
work.”

“Yeah, speaking of that,” Strefer
said, sitting down on the ground, “now that we’ve settled down for the night,
would you mind telling us just who you are and how you managed to be in the
same godforsaken place in the middle of the woods as we were? Not that we
weren’t glad to see you, of course.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I knew
where you were because I was following you.”

“Following us?” Strefer said, more
exasperated than angry. “Again?”

“For how long?” Rurek asked.

“About five days, give or take. I
picked up your trail about midday, then found your campsite that night. I’ve
been about a quarter mile behind you ever since.”

Strefer’s stomach tied itself in
knots. Until now, she had only seen Forlahn as their savior and an ally. But
now she was having second thoughts. Was he a bandit just like Spider? What
better way to capture them and eliminate the competition? Now he had them well
off the path on which they were traveling, wounded and outgunned. Her mind
flirted with trying to overpower or surprise him before the boy came back.

Rurek, apparently, did not share
her concern. “You’re a tracker, then?”

“Not by training,” Forlahn said,
shaking his head. “I’ve picked up quite a few tricks over the years, though.”

“Doing what?” Strefer asked, more
bluntly than she intended. She was getting tired of this.

He looked up in the trees and
thought for a moment. “I’ve never really thought about what to call what I do,
I guess. Maybe the best term is hired gun? Only I tend to shoot first and ask
for money later.” He chuckled at his joke, although neither of the others did.

“You just wander around shooting
people?” Strefer asked.

“No, no, no,” Forlahn said, waving
away the suggestion. “I like to think that I act as something of a
counterweight to the bandits. The Arbor is thick with them, as you have
learned. They don’t bother the major cities, so the Confederation doesn’t
really care about them. Smaller cities and towns don’t have the wherewithal to
do anything about them. So there are a few men, like me, who operate privately
against them. Freelancers, if you will.”

“Sounds like a dangerous way to
make a living,” Rurek said. “Can’t imagine it pays very well, either.”

Forlahn shook his head. “It’s no
way to get rich, I’ll give you that. Most of the cities, even the smaller ones,
pay some kind of bounty for a dead bandit, leaders in particular. Those don’t
add up to very much, but I’ve learned to get along. The Arbor is full of unclaimed
land, wild and inviting if you know how to live off it. It’s not for everyone,
but it’s a living.”

Strefer was still not satisfied.
“You’re different from these bandits how, exactly?”

“Well, let me see,” he said,
pausing in mock thought. “A bandit sets upon unsuspecting travelers, threatens
them with violence, and demands money or some other thing of value. If you
don’t comply with their demands, they will hurt you at best, kill you at worst.
On the other hand, I perform a service without being asked to so do, in return
hoping only for some slight compensation. See the difference?”

“In other words, the difference is
they’re the bad guys and you’re the good guys?” she asked.

“Precisely.”

“So where do you live, then?”
Strefer continued. “When you need to take a break from doing good.”

“Nowhere, really,” he said. “And
everywhere. I haven’t had what most people call a home in almost ten years. The
woods are my home. When the weather turns foul there are always guesthouses
that will take us in for a few nights. Proprietors of guesthouses, inns, and
taverns are particularly fond of having a good guy as a guest, you see. Then we
move on. It goes with the territory.”

“That’s not much of a life for a
child,” she said.

“Is it any worse than the life of a
child growing up on a farm?” Forlahn shot back at her, clearly aggravated by
her questions. “What about a son who joins his father underground in a mine? Or
goes to sea with him? Malin has learned to take care of himself in a way that
most people never will. It will keep him alive…” His voice trailed off, but it
was clear how the sentence was supposed to end.

In spite of the distress it was
causing him, Strefer had to ask one more question. “What about his mother? Your
wife, I presume?”

He sat for a moment, still and silent,
letting the weight of the question sink in. Finally he said, in a low voice of
sadness, “She’s gone. Has been for some time.” Before Strefer had a chance to
ask anything else, he stood up and brushed the dirt from his legs. “If you will
excuse me, I’m going to start a fire.” He walked away without waiting for a
response.

~~~~~

A thick blanket of clouds on top of
the relentless canopy of the forest made the night pitch black. The only light
within sight was the slowly smoldering flames of the campfire Forlahn had made.
It had already served its purpose.

First, it served to heat up the
steel Forlahn had used to seal Rurek’s wound. If there was anyone else nearby
looking for them, they would have had no problem following his anguished
screams as Forlahn laid the glowing hot metal on the wound. But no one came,
for which Strefer was thankful. She was more thankful that the day, all of it,
had worn Rurek down so much that he was now sound asleep, still propped up
against the tree by the stream.

Second, it had proven to be a
formidable makeshift stove. Malin returned from his hunt with a pair of the
same sort of rodent Strefer and Rurek had eaten a few nights before. He also
brought back several different root vegetables, of which Forlahn selected a few
and threw the rest out as suspicious. Forlahn took a pot from his apparently
bottomless pack and prepared a thick stew that, to Strefer’s pleasant surprise,
actually tasted good. He explained that his years in the forest had made him
familiar with many of the plants and herbs that grew there and how to use them.

Fed and tired, Malin quickly went
to sleep over by Rurek. Only an occasional snore provided any reminder to
Strefer that he was there. Still, the boy was louder asleep than awake.

Strefer lay beside the fire, unable
to sleep. The smoldering pile crackled occasionally, barely audible over the
background din of forest life. Although she had grown used to sleeping on the
ground, she noticed after dinner that both Forlahn and Malin had rolled-up mats
that they used at night. Part of her hoped that one of them might give up their
comfort in the name of chivalry. Neither did, and Strefer scolded herself for
her disappointment.

It was not the lack of comfort that
was keeping her awake. Instead, it was her mind, which buzzed with activity any
time she closed her eyes. The day’s events replayed behind her eyes, out of
order, a mishmash of terror, pain, and confusion. She tried once again, closing
her eyes with deliberate slowness, as if she was trying to control her
breathing. It was working, and she had just about slipped off, when a sharp
noise nearby made her blast back to waking. She sat up with a start, only to
see Forlahn on his knees by the fire, feeding it a few more bits of wood.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” he
asked.

Strefer leaned back on her elbows.
“Not really, unfortunately. I can’t seem to settle my mind down tonight.”

He nodded. “I don’t imagine you’ve
been through a day like this before, have you?”

“Not quite,” she said, thinking
back to the altercation at the ferry. “I’ve been in the middle of a riot in
Tolenor and in the middle of tavern brawls. But they weren’t anything like
today. I’ve never had…” her voice trailed off.

“Never had someone killed right in
front of your eyes?” he asked, finishing her sentence.

“No,” she said, lying only
slightly. “It’s not that, at least by itself. It’s the way it happened. The way
you…destroyed his head. It just exploded.”

“I’m sorry about that. Spider isn’t
the most dangerous or ruthless bandit in the Arbor. Or wasn’t, at any rate. But
he was clever. If I had just shot him in the leg, brought him down like he did
with Rurek, his goons would have been on you in a flash. On his orders, of
course. But kill him right in front of them and they have no idea how to react.
It was necessary.”

“Don’t apologize,” Strefer said.
“In fact, I don’t think either one of us properly thanked you for saving us.
Spider wanted to turn us in to someone, and who knows what they would have
done.”

“I heard him reading out that wanted
poster. You must have made some very powerful people very angry.”