Shadowbred_ The Twilight War Part 24

"What is it?" Kavin asked. He halted his own mount and she whinnied.

"I thought I heard something," Miklos said, staring ahead. "A horse."

"I heard nothing, and we are nowhere near a road. A bird, perhaps?"

The tree-dotted plain ahead looked much like the terrain they had crossed for the past half-league. Uneven ground lay covered in tall whipgra.s.s and scrub, speckled with stands of larch.

"This smells wrong," Miklos said softly, eyeing the way ahead. He put a hand to the hilt of one of his enchanted rapiers. His horse turned a circle.

"We can circle back," Kavin said.

Miklos appeared not to hear him. "The two stands of trees there, to the left and right. Do you mark them?"

Kavin nodded. Two copses of mature larches were separated by perhaps twenty paces. He saw nothing suspicious about them but had learned over the years to trust his brother's instincts.

He uncapped a tube at his belt and pulled out an iron wand that fired blasts of magical energy. He was not a wizard, and could not always get the d.a.m.ned thing to operate, but when it did, it never missed. There was little else he could do from horseback.

As they watched, a dozen or so sparrows alit from the trees on the left, as if disturbed by something.

"Dark!" Miklos swore.

Kavin heard the tw.a.n.g of crossbows and two groups of chain-mailed men and their horses suddenly appeared at the edge of the larches. Kavin caught a glimpse of at least one robed figure among the group-no doubt he had cast an illusion to hide their presence. None of them wore uniforms or symbols revealing their origin.

A shower of bolts hissed around the brothers. Two struck Miklos in the chest and nearly knocked him from his saddle. Neither penetrated his magical mail. A bolt skinned Kavin's roan and she neighed in pain and bucked, but he held his seat. Another pa.s.sed through Kavin's sleeve but missed his flesh.

Cursing, Kavin leveled his wand and discharged five glowing shafts of violet energy at the robed figure, whom he figured to be a priest or wizard. All five blasts slammed into the figure's chest and he staggered backward then fell to the ground.

The rest of the ambushers slung their crossbows and jumped into their saddles with skill and speed. Kavin marked the men as experienced soldiers.

"Too many to make a stand!" he said to Miklos.

"Ride!" Miklos shouted. He spun his horse and drove his heels into her flanks. She raced off.

Kavin did the same. His mare snorted, turned, and ran like the h.e.l.ls themselves were at her heels. He spared a glance behind him.

The ambushers spurred their horses after them. He glimpsed a familiar face leading the group.

"Malkur Forrin!" Kavin shouted to Miklos.

His elder brother cursed.

Forrin hated the Selkirk family. Their father had dismissed him from his post in the Helms. Forrin led the Blades, a notorious mercenary company composed of former Sembian soldiers-skilled Sembian soldiers. Sembian soldiers.

Kavin steered with his legs and aimed his wand back at their pursuers. He put his finger in the triggering depression and the wand fizzled. A drop of arcane energy drizzled from the tip. He cursed and almost flung it in frustration.

Meanwhile, Miklos reached back and forced open the drawstring on one of his saddlebags. "Stay clear of them!" Miklos shouted. He pulled one of the sacks from his saddlebag and dropped it on the ground, then another, then another, in rapid succession. Upon impact, the bags broke open and the gummy substance within reacted with the air and began to expand. Viscous, sticky fluid pooled in the gra.s.s.

Kavin spurred his roan and she leaped the expanding, tangling mess. She hit the ground and he righted himself, then tried again to operate his wand. He succeeded and fired three bolts that hit Forrin in the chest and leg. Kavin grinned. The big mercenary grimaced with pain but continued the pursuit.

"Hyah!" Miklos shouted, and pushed his mare harder.

Kavin did the same and lowered his head along the mare's neck. They were gaining some distance. The mercenaries' horses, bearing armored men, fought against a much heavier load. Kavin and Miklos would outdistance them.

Kavin watched as the mercenaries rode near the spilled bags and two of the horses got caught in the substance. Both went down with their riders in a tumble of legs, shouts, and neighs.

Kavin and Miklos shared a hard grin.

Kavin faced forward in the saddle just in time to see two men rise up in the gra.s.s before them. Both wore hooded cloaks that shifted with their movement to match the background terrain. Both wore light armor and held arm-length wooden tubes to their mouths.

Miklos and Kavin's mounts, startled by the unexpected appearance of the men, whinnied and reared up on their hind legs. Both men held their seats, but barely.

"Beware!" Miklos shouted, drawing his rapier.

Kavin pulled one of his throwing daggers and flung it awkwardly at the man nearest him. As he let it fly, he heard a peculiar whump whump and felt a sting in his cheek. The dagger caught the man in the leg and he went down. and felt a sting in his cheek. The dagger caught the man in the leg and he went down.

Kavin righted his horse, glanced behind-the mercenaries were closing rapidly-and spurred her forward.

"Move, Miklos! Move!"

He brushed at the sting in his cheek and came away with a small, feathered dart. A dark substance and a bit of blood coated its tip and his finger.

He tried to shout for his brother but his mouth was suddenly dry. Events slowed down, blurred. His skin felt thick, numb. He struggled to keep his head up and his hands on the reins. His horse sensed his weakness and slowed, then stopped. One of the men who had been hidden in the gra.s.s appeared near her, waving his wooden tube, and she bucked. Kavin could not keep his seat. He fell to the ground. He knew he landed hard but he hardly felt it.

The hooves of the onrushing mercenaries caused the ground to vibrate under him. He felt weight on his chest. He looked up, but saw nothing atop him.

The poison was killing him, he realized.

He caught sight of Miklos. His brother was racing back toward him, his face twisted in anger and concern. The two mercenaries in the magical cloaks turned to face him, drew short blades. One of them limped from the wound Kavin had caused.

Miklos held the reins with one hand and his rapier in the other. He slashed quickly and opened the throat of the man Kavin had wounded. The other dived aside and his cloak caused him to disappear into the whipgra.s.s.

Miklos swung off the horse and knelt beside Kavin. Kavin focused on his tanned face, his moustache, his black hair streaked with gray. The features were like a mask, floating on nothingness. Everything else was a blur. Kavin tried to speak.

"Say nothing," Miklos ordered.

Miklos picked him up and tried to sling him over his horse. Kavin heard the sound of crossbow fire. Miklos exclaimed, stiffened. He dropped Kavin on his back.

Kavin tried to rise but could barely move. He turned his head and saw his brother on his knees with five crossbow bolts sticking from his back. More firing, and three more sank into his chest. Miklos swayed and fell face down beside Kavin. Kavin heard the crossbow bolts snap against the ground as his brother fell.

Tears welled in Kavin's eyes. He struggled to breathe, to pull out his wand. His body would not answer. He felt his heart beating irregularly, failing.

He reached out for his brother. He worked his fingers around Miklos's forearm and inched them down to his hand. He took it in his own and held on with all the strength he had left.

Figures appeared around him. He could hear them, see them as silhouettes, but could not make out details or sounds. He a.s.sumed Forrin was among them, and tried to curse him.

He heard his heart in his ears, slowing, slowing. He was floating away.

He squeezed his brother's cooling hand and his heart stopped. For a single moment, he could see clearly.

His last sight was a blue Sembian sky.

[image]

Malkur dismounted and looked down on the dead Selkirk brothers. The younger Selkirk's face was blackened and swollen on his cheek from the poisoned dart. He looked at the scorch marks on his breeches caused by Kavin Selkirk's wand.

"That stung," he said, and kicked the dead n.o.ble in the head. The men near him chuckled.

Th.e.l.l, one of his sergeants, stepped beside him to deliver a report. "Dertil is dead to the Selkirk's blade. Whelin broke his neck when the horse went over. Ferd's shoulder came out of joint but that's easily fixed. Xinnen took bolts from the wand but lives. Two horses are down but we've got the Selkirk horses to replace them. That is all."

Malkur frowned. He hated to lose men, especially a skilled man like Dertil. But he had others. "Collect Dertil's gear, especially the cloak." The magical camouflaging cloaks were an a.s.set of the company, not one man.

Th.e.l.l nodded agreement.

Behind them, Ferd shouted a string of expletives as Millen, a priest of Talos, forced his shoulder back into its joint.

"Where the h.e.l.ls is Xinnen?" Malkur asked Th.e.l.l. "The man gets. .h.i.t with a wand and cannot keep up?"

Xinnen, one of the company's wizards, had located the Selkirks through divinations. His illusions had masked the ambush, which the Selkirks had almost sniffed out.

"Here he is now," said Th.e.l.l.

Xinnen rode up at a trot, scowling. The men heckled him mercilessly for being out-wizarded by a nonwizard. Xinnen cursed them and called them sons of wh.o.r.es.

"Get down here, Xinnen," Malkur ordered.

The mage dismounted and stood beside Th.e.l.l and Malkur over the dead brothers.

"Serves them appropriately," Xinnen said.

"Find the magical gewgaws," Malkur said. "We might as well have those."

"The wand is magical, certainly," Xinnen said. He spoke the words to a simple spell and studied the bodies. He turned both corpses over with his foot. He looked up at Malkur and said, "Their blades, their armor, Miklos's boots, and the ring on his left hand. Nothing else."

"Gather it, Th.e.l.l," Malkur said. "Then search them for coin."

Th.e.l.l set to his task. Malkur would distribute the booty among his men. A fee on top of their fee.

Malkur gathered his men. "Well done, Blades. Now saddle up. We ride for Ordulin immediately. Dertil and Whelin are coming back with us for a Sembian burial. But these," he nodded at the Selkirks, "these were bury out here. And we bury them deep."

He knew that what could not be found could not be resurrected. As of that moment, Miklos and Kavin Selkirk had vanished from Faerun's history.

As the men saw to the Selkirks, he said, "And the first man who speaks of this outside the company has his tongue cut out before I gut him personally."

The Blades nodded. They knew he spoke truly.

He allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. He hoped that Lorgan's attack on the Saerloonian delegation went as smoothly.

[image]

Lorgan and his commanders sat atop their mounts in a stand of four towering elms, a few bowshots west of Rauthauvyr's Road. The sea of whipgra.s.s that covered the plains snapped in the gusting wind. Slate-colored clouds obscured the afternoon sun. If not for the drought, Lorgan would have expected rain by nightfall. As it was, he expected only clouds.

The rest of the Blades lounged in the gra.s.s under the trees, eating, sharpening blades, sparring, jesting.

Two riders approached from the west. Lorgan could not make out enough detail to determine their ident.i.ty but he could guess well enough.

"That is Phlen and Othel," said Reht. His sergeant shielded his eyes and squinted into the distance. Reht had an archer's eyes.

"They ride fast," Lorgan said of his scouts. He turned to Enken, another of his sergeants. "Get the men up."

Enken, a scarred, dark-hearted veteran with a talent for throwing knives, turned and gave a piercing whistle.

"Mount up, men!"

As one, the mercenaries left whatever pastime had occupied them, adjusted their armor and weapons, readied their mounts, and climbed into their saddles.

The two riders neared and Lorgan could make out Phlen's long hair streaming behind him and Othel's black leather armor.

The two scouts were racing, Lorgan saw. Both were bent low over their mounts' necks. Each was shouting encouragement at his horse.

"My coin is on Phlen," Reht said, and smoothed his moustache.

"Ten fivestars on Othel," said Gavist, the youngest of the sergeants. He could not yet grow a respectable beard but he had won his rank and the respect of his men in several battles fought in Archendale.

"Twenty," said Reht. "If you've the b.a.l.l.s."

"You are looser with your coin than a wh.o.r.e with her favors," answered Gavist with a grin. "Twenty it is."

As the riders drew nearer, the men and horses gathered around Lorgan and his commanders and shifted in antic.i.p.ation. They knew, as did Lorgan, that the return of the scouts meant that an attack would soon follow. Horses whickered. Mail c.h.i.n.ked. Men murmured.

Othel and Phlen tore over the plains. Their shouts carried on the wind. Othel wore his characteristic grin. He spurred his mount and pulled in front of Phlen.

Gavist laughed aloud.

Reht shouted, "Ride, Phlen, you orcwhelp!"

Othel widened the distance and Phlen surrendered the race. Othel raised a fist in victory. He slowed as he approached the company and pulled his sweating mount to a stop.

"Sir," he said to Lorgan, saluting in the Sembian military fashion. A former Sembian Helm, his military habits died hard.

Phlen arrived in the next moment, chagrined.

"That's ten fivestars to me for outpacing you," Othel said to him.

Phlen ignored him and saluted Lorgan. "Sir."

"Report," Lorgan said.

Othel said, "The Saerloonian delegation is north of us. We watched them pa.s.s. They did not see us. They are moving slowly along Rauthauvyr's Road."