Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (27 page)

“What
is your experience?”

“I
am combat trained and travel to Khorgan seeking employment. It appears you are
shorthanded.”

The
man stroked his beard in contemplation. “We are ten days from the city. For
that period I will pay you twenty linta, your employment to cease at the west
gate.”

While
he knew nothing of Chaldesian currency, Jeff did know a tightwad when he saw
one.

“Forty
linta, and you have a deal.”

The
chaffering continued until they settled on thirty linta and supplies for him
and Cynic. The leader’s name was Belstan. He instructed Jeff on his duties, and
the caravan resumed its plodding pace toward Khorgan.

Over
subsequent days Jeff earned his pay and more. The caravan was still short
several guards. Riding night patrol and providing his share of daytime
protection left little time to sleep. It wasn’t long before he began to
question his sanity for signing on. Cynic had no doubts at all. The other
guards had two or three spare horses, but he was stuck with the full load.
Still, he didn’t complain. The thought of Jeff riding another horse did not sit
well.

After
several attempts to become acquainted with the mounted guards, Jeff quite trying.
They were a clannish bunch and did not reciprocate the effort. That was fine
with Jeff. What he really needed was information, and that was easy to come by
when tongues loosened around evening campfires.

He
learned the caravan was carrying a load of spices from Lugsburg, a city near
the western border of Chaldesia on the trade route to Al Harad in Zomar. Three
days out, bandits had hit them. The attack was driven off, but they lost two
guards and one of the packhorses. Jeff couldn’t escape the conclusion that
Belstan mourned the horse more than the guards.

Four
days from Khorgan and stopped for the night it was time to relax. Farmland was
only a day away and bandit attacks were rare. The evening became really mellow
when a clay pot of brew that reminded Jeff of rye whiskey was handed around.
One swallow proved enough. Downing a long drink of water to quench the fire in
his stomach, he volunteered to take first watch.

The
party was still going strong when Cynic, then Jeff, grew uneasy.

“What
do you sense, my friend? I sense threat, but not its nature.”

Cynic
tested the air from side to side.
“I am also unable to locate it. Perhaps to
the south.”

“Let
us search in that direction.”

As
Cynic eased across the road, Jeff nocked an arrow. He considered rousing the
camp but decided not to until he had more to go on. It was a good party and
long overdue. They found concealment inside a stand of scruffy trees that was
barely illuminated by a moon about to rise.

Man
and horse remained motionless, Cynic’s nostrils never ceasing to work the night
air. Music and laughter drifted to their ears from camp, but the prairie was
silent and nothing moved. Cynic was puzzled.

“This
nose has never failed of its task. Perhaps it has gone astray on this
occasion.”

A
flicker of movement in a brushy area off to his right brought Jeff to
attention.
“It has not.”

The
moon was about to show itself, and Jeff picked out seven or eight people
crouching through the scrub. He selected a target.

“Hold
firm while I school them in our presence and warn our companions.”

He
waited until the last minute to get as much light as possible and let fly an
arrow. The shaft flew true to its aim, striking a bandit above the hip.
Screaming in shock, he fell spinning to flail about in the dirt. His comrades
stood up to look around and a second arrow found its target, sending another to
the ground with a cry.

Lanterns
flared high in camp followed by Belstan’s distinctive voice bellowing orders.
Jeff dropped the bow over his shoulder and pulled the saber. Roaring a war cry
at the top of his lungs, he put Cynic at the remaining bandits.

Jeff
leaned over Cynic’s neck with saber extended and impaled the first man they
encountered, only to have it jerked out of his hand. Without the wrist thong he
would have lost the saber then and there.

The
bandits had enough presence of mind to form a circle when they saw that Jeff
was alone. Both moons were over the horizon and bathed the land in a silvery
sheen of almost light. Wondering where the other guards were, Jeff wheeled
Cynic and crashed into the circle of bandits.

A
flurry of sword strokes felled another bandit. Throwing down their weapons,
they raced helter-skelter through the brush away from camp. Not until that
moment was Jeff able to hear the battle cries, clash of weapons and screams of
pain from the other side of camp.

“Oh,
shit! They split up!”

Cynic
heard the commotion at the same instant and sprinted toward the caravan. With
no time to circle around, they blew through a herd of bucking packhorses. Jeff
spotted the three guards at once. They were on foot fighting back to back with
five bandits a short distance from the caravan. A quick glance at the caravan
revealed two men on horseback and three or four on foot attacking the packers.

His
appraisal required only an instant and Jeff guided Cynic’s headlong rush toward
the ring of five with a shout. His abrupt appearance took them by surprise.
They were slow to respond and one bandit lost his head, the saber sweeping it
from his shoulders as Cynic thundered by.

Taking
heart, the embattled guards went on the attack. Cynic knew where the action was
and slid to a haunch-dragging stop. He swapped ends and took off at a dead run
toward the two horsemen charging directly at them.

Selecting
the rider to his left, Jeff again leaned forward with saber extended. As they
closed with a rush, the bandit whipped his sword up for an overhand blow. An
instant later the saber sliced along the man’s ribs opening his chest to the
night air, and he toppled from the saddle with a wailing cry. The stirrup
trapped one of his boots and he was dragged bouncing and tumbling into the
night.

Cynic
leaned hard into a turn but had not straightened out when the second bandit’s
horse slammed into him. He was knocked back onto his haunches and nearly bowled
over. Cynic struggled wildly to find his feet but the bandit’s horse kept
plowing ahead and he could not. Half out of the saddle, Jeff clumsily parried a
whistling stroke that ripped off most of one shirtsleeve. Cynic was about to fall
when Jeff vaulted from the saddle and sprinted off.

“I
will draw them away! Regain your feet and come for me!”

The
bandit savagely reined his horse away from Cynic and dug in spurs. Jeff stood
balanced on his toes and leaped to the side in a diving roll as the bandit
thundered by. The sword whispered close enough to nick one of Jeff’s boots.
Jumping to his feet, he heard a furious scream and Cynic slid to a plunging
halt by his side.

“Mount
quickly! I will have revenge!”

Jeff
was no more than settled when Cynic bolted. The bandit had his horse turned
when Cynic cannoned into them with an impact that nearly unseated both riders.
Curses flew and the horses squared off. Cynic was beside himself with anger and
flew at the other horse with hooves and teeth.

Although
he still found it awkward to fight on horseback, Jeff’s encounter with Morgat
paid off. He handily parried a two-handed blow aimed at his head and lashed out
with a backhand cut that drew sparks from his opponent’s sword as they clashed
together. Holding nothing back, both riders tried for a quick kill. Slashing,
thrusting attacks almost driving home, but not quite.

“Damn
this guy’s good,” Jeff grunted between clenched teeth as he turned a cut aimed
at his neck and counter-thrust.

Sweat
running from his face to sting his eyes, Jeff realized he was dealing with a
professional. Not only was the man a superb swordsman, he might be more than a
match. Unwilling to accept such a possibility, Jeff attacked with renewed fury.

Cynic
also had his work cut out for him. The horse he had squared off with was a big
stallion and partially armored. Neither gave an inch and hammered away, adding
their screams of fury to the ring of swords.

The
duel surged back and forth indecisively for some time before Jeff picked up on
the bandit’s style of swordplay. He landed a vicious blow that glanced off the
bandit’s helmet, sending him to the ground with a crash of light armor. The
chinstrap broke and the helmet went flying.

The
bandit lay stunned for a moment before standing up. Long black hair cascaded
into view to frame finely chiseled features. Moonlight revealed an hourglass
figure and a way of moving that could not be mistaken.

“Oh,
shit. That’s a woman!”

She
saw that Jeff was holding back and leisurely worked the kinks out before
sauntering over to pick up her sword. On the way she gave the helmet a kick.
Pointing the sword at Jeff, she laughed derisively.

“Come,
my warrior. Do you fear to try your skill against a woman? Let us meet on the
ground so I may know your true mettle. You have killed the man, but now must
face the harder part.”

The
bandit advanced on foot, teeth bared and gleaming white. Dancing Cynic sidewise
to avoid engaging, Jeff cursed in agonized frustration.

Leaping
forward, she slashed at Jeff’s leg. The blow missed but nicked Cynic’s flank.
Infuriated by what he saw as an attack on Cynic, Jeff leaped from the saddle.

“Damn
you!”

She
stood at least six feet tall, long, raven-black hair gleaming in the moonlight.

“Damn
us both, man, for nothing awaits but death.”

Snarling
a curse, she stamped forward with sword in motion. Frozen by indecision, Jeff
was forced to backpedal. Concentration had vaporized and one blow nearly gutted
him. On the verge of sobbing with frustration, he fought to survive while internally
an entirely different battle raged. Black desperation cleared his mind.

“Cut
the shit! Fight or die!”

Howling
anger at the sky, he counterattacked and picked up the pace until his sword was
a blur. Forced backwards by the attack, she countered skillfully and held her
ground. Toe to toe, they hammered away at each other until their arms were numb
from the impacts.

For
one eternal moment they locked guards and were face to face. Chests heaving,
they looked into each other’s eyes and truly saw death—and something else as
well. It was respect and the recognition that one of them would die for nothing
but pride. Leaping back, Jeff disengaged.

“Lay
down your sword. There is no point to this. Your attack on the caravan has
failed. I do not wish to kill you.”

She
threw her head back and laughed wildly. “Kill me? You have not and cannot. No
man will ever best me!”

“I
don’t want to best you. I want you to surrender. We both know that even if you
kill me you will be dead shortly after. Look around.” All was silent. Belstan
stood nearby with the guards and drovers. No bandits were visible. “Give it up
and live.”

“Such
soothing words! Do you fear to surrender life? Now you shall.” Having gotten
her breath, she laughed again and skipped forward, sword flashing with regained
speed.

He
met her advance with quick parries and attacked, the metallic din of combat
picking up a tempo that defied human endurance. Illuminated by both moons,
their dance of death found its rhythm in stamping, shuffling feet, burning gasps
to find air and the bright ring of sword on sword.

Forward
and back, whirling around one another, their blades winked and glittered in the
moonlight but found no fatal opening. Spectators stood frozen in disbelief,
seeming in the moonlight to be demons come to claim a soul.

Although
his body and reflexes carried on, Jeff’s mind became numb with exhaustion. She
split his tunic again, opening a cut along his side. He penetrated her guard
and sliced her arm, then again on recovery. Face twisted in a grimace of
exhaustion, the bandit’s sword drifted ever lower even though she was using
both hands to wield it.

Gritting
his teeth, Jeff attacked in an all-out attempt to disarm her. He could not and
fell back on the defensive. The bandit was so tired she flailed at him like a
novice. Bravado and overconfidence had flown, leaving a single-minded desire to
win through. To survive. Yet pride would not condone surrender.

Jeff
was about to hit the wall. All the signs were there. In spite of that and even
though her guard was like a sieve, he could not press his advantage. Deep
inside another part of his being free of introspection would not relinquish
life on a whim. The bandit gripped her sword and heaved it up.

There
was no thought in the smooth thrust of Jeff’s arm, only a brief sparkle of
moonlight on his blade before it struck home deep in her chest with a grating
shudder.

Her
sword fell to the ground in what seemed slow motion. Grasping the blade with
both hands, she collapsed to her knees. Lifting her gaze from the sword she
searched his face with unbelieving, pleading eyes. Her mouth opened as if to
speak, but only a dribble of blood came out.