2: Servants of the Crossed Arrows (3 page)

Several of the riders laughed out loud at this.

“It’s what any decent man would do.” John put an extra inflection on the word man.

“A little better.” The bearded man’s expression grew serious. “It’s a rare man indeed who travels through the godless night all alone just to deliver a warning to strangers. It sounds a little like something out of a child’s book, doesn’t it?”

“That’s right.” The clean-shaven man sobered as well. “Some nights devils dress in saints’ skins.”

John’s lip curled at the response. He hadn’t expected these men to throw their arms around him and thank him for his trouble, but this tone of accusation was outright offensive. He’d been terrified, nearly frozen, and had just run through half the night for these men’s sakes—for the chance to get into Amura’taye. He certainly hadn’t come just to be insulted.

He said, “Look, I’ve warned you. You can believe me or not. I don’t give a damn.” He started for the cover of the woods but froze when he heard the distinct sound of a gun being cocked.

“That’s no way to speak to your betters, dog.”

John turned back, meeting the bearded man’s gaze and refusing to flinch despite the gun aimed at him. The bearded man regarded him, and then with a smirk, he lowered his rifle. The clean-shaven man seemed surprised but made no comment.

“You want a reward for this, don’t you?” the bearded man asked.

John didn’t trust his voice not to betray his anger, so he nodded.

“What is it?”

“A little money and sponsorship into Amura’taye.” John kept his tone flat. “I want entrance for myself, my sister and her husband.”

The bearded man nodded thoughtfully.

“And if this trap of yours is a ploy? You’d expect to take some kind of punishment, wouldn’t you?”

“A ploy?” John couldn’t imagine how warning them could be a ploy or how this man might think it would serve John. So far all he’d gotten were insults and firearms pointed at him.

“You wouldn’t be the first Fai’daum to draw a guard off with claims of a threat. And you wouldn’t be the first beggar to pretend to be a hero for a handout.”

“I’m not Fai’daum and I’m not a beggar,” John stated.

The bearded man lifted his rifle slightly as if toying with the idea of shooting John. For one delirious moment it struck him as almost funny to think that if he got shot Laurie would really
have something to gloat about. But irony lost all amusement as John gazed down the silver-gray barrel and contemplated the reality of being killed.

The bearded man seemed to come to a decision. He looked to the clean-shaven man. “Pivan, take twelve men, and our Jahn here, ahead. If you find Fai’daum, kill them. If you don’t, then kill this dog.”
        

“Not finding them won’t mean they aren’t there,” John began to protest.

“No, but I imagine that you’ll be a motivated guide for my men this way.” The bearded man smiled at John again, showing his craggy teeth.

Pivan signaled to the rashan behind him. A minute later, John was hauled up onto a big tahldi behind a youthful-looking rider with wavy brown hair.

“I’m Alidas,” the young man said. “If you fall, you will likely be trampled. Try to stay on.” Then he made a slight motion with his legs and animal beneath them raced ahead in high, fast bounds. The motion was nothing like riding a horse. John gripped the cinching strap at the back of the saddle for dear life. A distinctly seasick feeling rose in his stomach as they soared up and then dropped with every stride.
    

“They should be in the woods.” John tried to keep his voice even despite the jolting leaps. “On the right side.”

None of the riders made any reply but Pivan’s gloved hand flashed up and he formed some sign. John noticed the way the silver crosses on his glove caught the dim moonlight. Immediately, the riders reined their mounts up into the woods. They formed a loose line, Pivan and Alidas riding at the front. John gripped the strap desperately and leaned out a little from Alidas’ back, attempting to survey the surrounding woods.

Everything seemed different when he didn’t have his feet on the ground. The angles were all wrong and he wasn’t used to mov
ing at
this speed. The black branches and underbrush blurred past too quickly. His knuckles ached from the tension of his grip, but he still concentrated on the woods ahead of him.

“A little to the east of that cropping of trees there should be a rise. It will give us a better view,” John whispered.

“Which trees?” Alidas asked.

“Just ahead on the right.” John pointed and then quickly returned his hand to the cinch strap.

“I see it now,” said Pivan. He moved slightly on his mount and the animal instantly responded, bounding towards the thicker outcropping of trees. Alidas followed his lead and the other men fell in behind.

No one spoke. The riders communicated only by hand signals, moonlight sparking off the silver crosses on their gloves. Pivan swung his hand out and all the riders stopped. Witnessing these riders’ skill and discipline, John understood why they would feel assured enough to send twelve men to face twenty.

The night sky grew lighter, changing from a dull charcoal to the color of concrete. Far in the distance, John spied a human form leaning close to a tree. The moment he saw one, he began to notice others close to the road. Most crouched in the underbrush, their rust-colored coats fading into the dull branches and leaf litter.

“There,” John whispered. He pointed to the nearest man. “You see, I wasn’t lying. They—”

The rest of his words were knocked out of him as Pivan gave a sudden gesture and the entire force of riders charged ahead.

Alidas’ body shifted in front of John as he reached to the side of his saddle, and in one swift practiced motion, brought up his rifle and fired. One of the shadowy men ahead of them jerked and fell to the ground. A thunder of shots cracked out from all sides.

The Fai’daum scurried behind trees. Some fell. A few turned with their own guns and fired return shots. None of the rashan’im fell. They fanned out, crashing through the underbrush and trampling the men on the ground.
 

Alidas reined his mount after three men who had broken from the cover of two fallen trees. Fine branches slapped at John’s face as they charged through the dense woods. The smell of black powder filled the air. Alidas fired again, the crack of the gun deafening. A red burst of blood erupted from the back of one of the running men’s heads and he crumpled to the ground. Alidas fired again but then John only heard a metallic snap of an empty rifle.

Alidas cursed and urged his mount forward faster. Two men still ran ahead of them. The tahldi sprang ahead, raking its horns across the nearest man’s back. The man gave out a cry of pain and jumped to the side. As he did, Alidas slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s face. Hot blood spattered up across John’s cheek.

The man fell and the tahldi sprang with its full weight onto his chest. John heard the man’s bones snap beneath them. A horrified nausea washed through John as he glanced back and saw the bloody mass
 
of the man’s body. He looked like the spattered remains of a crushed insect, arms and legs twisting out from a mulchy red ruin.

Alidas took no notice. He urged his mount forward after the last man. John stared at the Fai’daum man’s back. He didn’t know if it was right or wrong but he couldn’t keep himself from wishing that this one would escape. As the man wove between bushes and branches, he gave a soft cry and John recognized his youthful voice.

Saimura.

They bounded over a charred stump, landing only a hand’s length from Saimura. John could see his young, terrified face clearly. The mount swung its horns but Saimura lunged aside and sprinted towards a thick crop of trees.

“Jid!” Alidas cursed and reined his mount after Saimura.

Just let him go, John thought.

But he knew it wouldn’t happen. All around him, he caught glimpses of the same brutality. Half hidden by tree branches and
distance, other riders impaled men, shot them, trampled their fallen bodies. The smell of gunpowder and the sound of screams filled the woods.

Alidas loaded his rifle and took aim at Saimura’s back. John considered bumping Alidas. But he was pretty sure that Alidas would kill him for that offense. John wanted to close his eyes but found he couldn’t. He stared at the young man, knowing that this slaughter was, in part, his doing.

Just as Alidas fired, Saimura’s ankle caught in some knot of hidden roots and he went down. The bullet missed him. He struggled to his feet, but his leg wouldn’t hold him. He fell again.

“This time you stay down,” Alidas whispered. He lifted his rifle and took aim again.

John saw a motion from the left, very close to them, something bright and moving fast. Then the tahldi shrieked and reared. Alidas’ rifle fired up into the branches of the trees. John rocked back. His fingers slipped from the straps and he hit the ground with a sickening snap.

The air smacked out of John’s lungs and a hard pain exploded up his back. Only the rush of panicked energy gave him the strength to roll up to his feet and away from the flailing hooves of the rearing animal.
    

The dog had it by the throat. As her jaws crushed through the mount’s flesh, dark blood welled over the dog’s muzzle. The tahldi thrashed desperately, trying to shake the dog off. Alidas swung like a doll in his saddle. His rifle went flying and landed near John’s feet.

Suddenly, the dog was thrown aside. A geyser of blood sprayed from the mount’s neck and it collapsed with Alidas half pinned beneath it. The moment the dog hit the ground, it turned and sprang for Alidas.

“No!” John grabbed Alidas’ rifle and took aim at the dog. She stood over Alidas’ limp body, growling, her eyes on John.

“Just go,” John said softly. “Get out of here.”

The dog barred her teeth. Blood so dark that it was nearly black glistened across her entire face.

“I’ll kill you if I have to,” John told her.

Slowly, her eyes still on John, her teeth still barred, she backed away. John kept the rifle trained on her until she at last turned and fled into the deep shadows of the western woods. The empty rifle dropped from John’s hands. His arms shook with shock. He wondered how badly he’d been hurt by the fall. Definitely not as badly as Alidas.

John knelt down over the fallen rider to check his pulse and breath. Alidas was alive, but not conscious. There was blood all over him, but John thought it was his mount’s. The tahldi lying on top of Alidas’ left leg was a mess, its head connected to its body by only by a stretch of tendon and a flap of skin.

John touched the ground. It was soft and moist. A thick layer of half-decayed leaves and twigs covered the actual soil. He dug fistfuls of dirt and leaves from around Alidas’ pinned leg and then pulled him out from beneath his dead tahldi. The leg looked bad, twisting at the wrong angle below the knee.
   

John stripped off his coat and tucked it around Alidas’ inert body. He didn’t trust himself to attempt to splint the leg. He’d probably do more harm than good and there had to be some kind of physician in Amura’taye. For now he just needed to keep Alidas warm and safe.

Distantly, John heard gunshots and the sound of a tahldi screaming, but it was so far from him that it could have been a bird call. Even with the growing morning light, he couldn’t see any of the other riders. He guessed they each chased their own chosen quarry, as Alidas had.

John sat down beside Alidas, exhausted and shaking. His eyes burned and his back ached. He’d been up the entire night. But he knew he was trembling from more than simple exhaustion.

He’d never seen brutality like this. He hardly knew how to react. Intellectually, he knew that this battle would have taken place whether or not he had warned the Bousim convoy. Still, he couldn’t keep from feeling responsible for the carnage surrounding him, for Alidas’ hopelessly mangled leg.

More gunshots cracked through the woods.

If John hadn’t warned the Bousim convoy, then perhaps Alidas would not have been injured; but then again, maybe he would have been killed. John pulled the rifle close and leaned his head down on his knees. He would stay with Alidas until Pivan came searching for his surviving rashan. He didn’t think that there was anything more he could do. Just wait.

His eyes were drooping closed when he heard a hushed moan behind him. Turning back, John realized that he had forgotten completely about Saimura.

The young man’s chestnut hair was tangled with dirt and rotten leaves. Mud streaked his tattered, reddish coat, pants and bare feet. He had his hands wrapped around his right ankle.

As John pushed himself to his feet, the young man looked up at him and went pale. His brown eyes were wide with fear. The moment he caught sight of the rifle in John’s hand he drew out a long hunting knife. He didn’t hold it towards John. Instead, he turned the blade to his own throat.

“Don’t,” John whispered to him.

“I won’t burn on your Holy Road,” Saimura said.
  

“Saimura,” John said his name and the man almost dropped his knife. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
        

“How do you know me?” Saimura asked.