TST (42 page)

“Perhaps you could sell it and give the money to a charity,” Sarah suggested without looking up from her knitting.

“That is a fantastic idea! You are very clever, Sarah, that is why I put up with you,” Miranda teased.

“You put up with me? Have you forgotten all the trouble you have put me in over the years? Sneaking out to listen to tavern musicians, pinching food from the kitchens to feed those filthy children that’ll cut your purse strings if you’re not careful. And let us not forget the incident involving that lord’s white horse and the raspberry stain.”

 “I thought the horse looked lovely in pink. Besides, that nobleman was rude to father,” Miranda defended.

“All nobles are rude. You should not need me to remind you of that.”

“Father was not rude nor is His Majesty.”

Sarah was about to comment on how rare both men were when a loud crashing sound erupted and the coach jerked forcefully, sending both women sprawling to the floor.

*****

As the carriage drew closer, Azerick saw that it was an opulent affair of black enameled wood with gold detailing along all of the joints and seams. A team of six white horses pulled the carriage along at a steady gallop. Azerick imagined the fat pompous lord riding comfortably inside the plush, velvet-lined interior, sipping wine and eating dates as the team of horses worked themselves into a lather pulling the extravagant, heavy coach and his pasty, bloated body down the highway.

Just as the coach and its armed escorts raced by in a cloud of choking dust, ropes with grapnels attached to them flew out of the woods on both sides of the road. The large steel hooks caught the gold painted spokes, and as the ropes reached their full length and went taught, ripped the rear axle completely off the carriage.

The driver shouted fearfully as he tried to get his team under control. The sudden drag panicked the horses and it was all the driver could do to keep the powerful animals from bolting and dragging the wrecked coach behind.

At least a score of men burst from the wood line about fifty yards from where Azerick stood by watching the bizarre scene unfold. Crossbows fired, piercing the heavy breastplates of three of the guardsmen. The remaining bandits charged the surprised guards who quickly wheeled their horses around to defend the carriage and its occupants. The bandits, for that was what Azerick was sure they were, wielded swords, spears, and catchpoles that they used to unseat the mounted guards.

The guard captain, distinguished as much by his command voice as his blue-plumed steel helm, ordered the remainder of his men to surround the coach and protect it with their lives. The bandits hopelessly outnumbered the guards even though most of the guards remained mounted and the bandits were on foot. The guard captain and three of his men charged into the ranks of bandits, hewing at them with their swords and running them down with their chargers.

The remaining guards were heavily engaged against several times their numbers and were being pressed against the side of the coach, severely limiting their effectiveness. The bandits with the catchpoles put them to expert use and soon unseated the mounted guards, stripping away what little advantage they had.

Although Azerick did not condone such brutal criminal activity, he was impressed with the planning and execution that had gone into the task. It was obvious that this was a well-planned raid and not just a target of opportunity.

It took only minutes before only the captain and two of his men were left to defend the coach with its precious occupant or occupants. Another guard fell to a spear to the stomach as the bandits laughed at the men’s futile show of resistance. As the captain and his last loyal soldier stood back to back against over a dozen remaining bandits, one stepped forward and spoke to the valiant soldiers.

“Further resistance is unnecessary and futile,” the bandit, most likely the leader of the group, told the captain. “Put up your weapons and go home. You cannot keep us from taking the Lady.”

Azerick had to strain and was barely able to make out that the bandit leader had referred to a Lady.

So what if some fat nobleman’s even fatter wife is kidnapped? He would pay a ransom and most likely get her back. That is how these kinds of things worked,
Azerick thought to himself.

Besides, it was no business of his. He was a sorcerer not a paladin charging in to save every fool not able to save themselves.

“I will die first before I allow her to fall into the hands of the likes of you!” the captain shouted at the bandits.

“What of you, soldier? Are you willing to die for some rich Lady? Why, you’re hardly more than a boy yourself. Are you willing to die needlessly before experiencing all that life has to offer?”

Even at this distance and with the soldier wearing a pot helm, Azerick could see that the young guard did not have to shave more than about once every couple of weeks so much was he still in his youth.

“I stand with my captain and my Lady,” the lad responded nervously, clutching his sword tightly in both hands.

“So be it,” the bandit leader said as a bolt immediately pierced the young soldier’s armor and he fell to the ground to join the rest of his comrades in death.

It was at that moment that Horse must have gotten a whiff of the blood that now colored a large patch of the highway around the coach and nickered in dislike of the scent. All eyes turned in surprise as everyone suddenly took notice of the young man on his horse just a few dozen yards away that had so far gone unnoticed.

“Hey, boss, what we do about him?” one of the bandits asked, pointing his shortsword in Azerick’s direction.

Azerick’s shoulders slumped in resignation as slipped off Horse and stretched his sore legs. “This business is none of my affair; don’t waste any effort on me.”

The bandit leader looked at Azerick before making up his mind. “Kill him, we don’t need no witnesses.”

The guard captain put his back to the coach and raised his shield in preparation of the renewed attack. Half of the bandits broke away from the lone guard captain and charged the travel worn stranger. Azerick sighed in annoyance and slapped Horse on his broad rump in an effort to get him clear of the fighting.

Azerick leaned on his staff and called out to the dozen men advancing on him with their weapons drawn. “This isn’t my business, gentlemen, please do not make it so.”

Half the bandits fired their crossbows in reply at the young man that calmly stared death in the face while the others charged with swords and spears.

Azerick let out his breath and shook his head as the bolts stopped an arm’s length from his heart and dropped harmlessly to the ground.

“Bad choice,” Azerick spoke into the wide-eyed faces of the closest bandits who saw the quarrels stopped in midair and clatter to the cobblestones.

Azerick slammed the butt of his staff onto the road with a shout of power. Arcane energy burst out around him catching several of the bandits in its powerful blast and sent them flying backwards through the air. Those few bandits that were several paces back felt as though they had been kicked in the stomach. Some stumbled but the others ignored the pain and renewed their charge.

Azerick ducked under the blade of a bandit that tried to take his head off in one powerful but clumsy blow. The sorcerer bent a small amount of his focus into his staff and shaped the arcanum ball at the end into a long, wicked spear point. Azerick ducked under the thug’s awkward slash, lunged forward, and impaled one of his companions just behind him.

The sorcerer immediately spun to his left, caught the first bandit just behind his right heel before he could recover from his failed attack, and flipped the rogue onto his back before stabbing him through the heart.

Another quick word and a flick of the wrist sent five blazing daggers of magical energy streaking into the chest of a third brigand, killing him instantly. The guard captain wasted no time in taking advantage of the distraction that the sorcerer had created and lashed out with his longsword, felling two of the outlaws before they were able to turn their attention back to him.

However, now that the captain had gained their attention, he was once again fighting for his life against over half a dozen armed bandits. He used the side of the ruined carriage to keep any brigands from slipping behind him and thus far, that tactic was keeping him alive.

Three more bandits faced Azerick and spread out so the wizard could not target them all with one spell from his dark sorceries, or so they prayed, but all were hesitant to be the first one to try to engage him directly.

Azerick took advantage of their vacillation and raked a blast of lightning through the bandit in front of him as well as several of the crossbowmen that were taking aim once more several yards behind the doomed brigand. Azerick spun to his left figuring that the remaining two bandits behind him would make their move as soon as he cast a spell and they did not disappoint.

The sorcerer stabbed forward with his short spear but the bandit managed to turn it to the side with his buckler. Azerick instantly realized that his attack had overextended him and left him extremely vulnerable to a counter attack. He watched as the second bandit raised his blade and prepared to bring it down on the back of Azerick’s exposed neck. Azerick tried to dive forward, using his momentum to roll under and beyond the attack but knew he was not going to make it. In the blink of an eye, a long, goose feather-fletched shaft sprouted from the bandit’s neck, felling him instantly.

Azerick’s roll carried him beyond the bandit that had blocked his thrust. He nimbly rolled to his feet and spun about, ready to cross weapons once more with the outlaw. However, when he turned and brought his spear up into the defensive position, the bandit was already clutching at an arrow in his chest and falling to the ground.

Azerick looked around just as the guard captain felled the last bandit that faced him. The bandit leader and another of the rogues had just darted into the tree line where the thundering of hooves announced their retreat.

The sorcerer looked for his hidden rescuer but failed to see any sign of him though he had a good idea who it might have been. With a tip of his head, he acknowledged his thanks and went to get Horse who was about a hundred yards away busily chomping on tufts of green grass, oblivious to the mortal peril that his master had just been in.

Azerick led Horse by the bridle towards the wrecked coach just as the driver was extricating himself from a dense, thorny shrubbery he had dove into out of terror and the carriage door began to open.

“My Lady, stay in the coach,” the guard captain commanded and stalked towards Azerick with his bloody blade drawn and his face set in a mask of rage.

“I should gut you where you stand, wizard!” the captain screamed.

“The likelihood of your accomplishing such an act is about as probable as you holding the rear of that coach up the rest of the way to North Haven,” Azerick assured the angry soldier. “It it is also not a very nice thing to say to the man that just saved your life as well as whoever is in that coach.”

The guard stopped a little over an arm’s length from the sorcerer. “You could have intervened sooner. Those men are dead because of you!” he shouted and whipped his sword around to point at the fallen soldiers behind him which sent droplets of blood flying off the gore-covered blade.

Azerick was in no mood to listen to the soldier’s verbal abuse and accusations. Where was he when his mother was murdered? Where were the guards to come to his rescue when he when Hugo and his thugs were chasing and beating him through the streets of Southport? Of course, only nobles warranted the protection of guards.

“Let me remind you once more that it is also because of me that you and your passengers are not dead as well! It was none of my affair nor was I honor bound to risk my life in their defense. That was you and your men’s job, one at which I say you performed exceedingly poorly seeing as how were it not for me you would have failed utterly!”

The captain’s face went from red to a blotchy purple in fury. Spittle flew from his lips as he forced his words through strained vocal cords. “What do you know of duty or honor? That boy that died at my back had a greater sense of duty and honor in his hairless chin than you have in your entire useless body! You,
sir,
are nothing but a coward and a two-bit charlatan! I would run you through right now but it would be an insult to my blade to sully it with your yellow blood!”