Midnight Quest (26 page)

They left the Sorpan house and the city of Hawleywood early the next morning. They drew lots to decide who would lead Jewel’s horse for the day and then mounted up. The extra horse actually came in handy—Pursa and Stalton had loaded them with so many new supplies that only a merchantman would be able to tie it all on.

Rialt silently decided that all of the packing and unpacking for the next week would be done by Sarvell. They would no stand a chance otherwise.

The roads were clear and hard after a week’s absence of rain. As the day wore on, they exchanged the sweeping emptiness of grasslands for more fertile land spotted with groves of trees here and there. About mid-afternoon, Rialt noticed that Jewel was standing in her stirrups, or shifting about in the saddle with an uncomfortable grimace to her mouth. An expression caused, no doubt, by cramping legs that were no used to riding astride.

Most of the traffic in this season on the road had gone north, towards Zarraga. They’d gone south, towards Parod’s Ford, and so the roads were largely empty. Rialt saw no harm in dropping their guise for the space of an afternoon on a deserted highway.

They changed up so that Jewel was once again riding with him, her horse being led by Chizeld to give Sarvell a break. Rialt was secretly pleased by this but was no about to admit that he preferred Jewel riding with him.

Evening started to creep up on them, the sun taking to its bed, but with no city or town to speak of, they were left to looking for a good campsite. At least, with all of the supplies on board, they’d have a better camp this night than any time Rialt could remember.

Rialt had his hopes on a stretch of forest up ahead. The trees there looked nice and thick, perfect shelter from the wind, and with lots of deadfall for a campfire. It would have to be this place or another soon after, as the sun was nearly gone, the shadows stretching long and deep over the land. A chill was starting to set in too, and he knew from experience that Jewel would soon be freezing without a warm fire to huddle next to.

Bortonor was the first one to sense the danger.

He stopped dead in his tracks, head turned to look directly into the woods on their right, and his mouth curled up in a menacing growl.

Rialt reined in and gave the woods the same suspicious look. His eyes were no as good as the dog’s, but he could make out shadowy movement in between the trees.

“Ho,” he murmured to his companions, “it seems we have company. Chizeld, how much experience do you have with assassins?”

“Not a bit,” Chizeld admitted.

“We will leave it for another time then.” Rialt could feel Jewel’s tension as she took in his words. “You take her, and I will take them.”

She latched onto his coat, rapidly shaking her head. “Rialt, no! It’s just like the dream—”

“It will no be,” he corrected her. “I know they be there, see? So it can no be a surprise this way. This will no be like the dream.” He put a soft kiss against her forehead. “Go to Sarvell, now.”

She did no budge. “You’re not facing them alone!”

“Who says I planned to?” he refuted mildly. “Bort, you have my back.”

The dog let out a short bark, sounding eerily like agreement.

“See?” he gave her a quick, hard embrace before he handed her over to Sarvell. As he did, he met the other man’s eyes. Sarvell clearly did no like the situation any more than Jewel did. Rialt gave him a nod of reassurance. “It will be fine,” he promised. “This be no the first time I dealt with Daath assassins. I know their tricks.”

Sarvell clearly did no buy this reassurance completely. He let out a resigned sigh. “Just remember, if anything happens to you, Juven will come after Jewel’s head.”

“Eh, I mind it.” With his hands free, he slid the axe from its holder on his back and comfortably hefted it. “Now, go along at a good pace and steer clear of the woods.”

He breathed a soft sigh of relief when they obeyed him. He no doubt would get an earful from Jewel later for this stunt, but she could never be put at risk.

When they stated moving away from him, the assassins realized that their ambush was foiled. Without a sound, three of them burst free from the woods and started riding full out for the group. Rialt had expected this and placed himself squarely in their path.

“Bort,” he called to the dog as he tapped his heels to the stallion’s sides, “harry the horses!”

The dog darted forward in a streak of white in the twilight, going for the legs of the first horse he could reach. Warhorses were trained to either dismiss or handle almost anything on a battlefield, but no one really used dogs in war, so they reacted as any other horse would: they crow-hopped to the side and panicked.

With Bortonor throwing the horses into confusion, Rialt had an edge over their riders. He could feel the adrenaline in his blood flow, the world coming into clearer focus as he gave himself over to battle-hardened instincts. He met the first assassin with an overhead swing, which the other man ducked.

The assassin knew better than to stay on a half-panicked, bucking horse and try to fight an experienced Ramathan at the same time. He quickly threw himself off the horse and got his own feet under him. When he did, he took a swipe at Rialt’s mount.

Rialt would put up with a lot of things in the heat of battle, but having his favorite stallion crippled did no appear on the list. With a growl of anger, he threw a leg over the stallion’s head and jumped quickly to the ground. The warhorse would still guard his back, as he was trained to do, but this way he had a better chance of fighting anyone that came near him.

The assassin took a swing at him, which he blocked with his axe handle. Quickly throwing the man off, he swung the axe up and around again, narrowly missing the assassin’s head. The Daath soldier came at him with his sword held off to the side and low, no doubt intending to slash Rialt’s gut wide open. Rialt stepped into the attack and checked the action, then threw him bodily off. With a grunt of impact, he flew back, landing on the ground in a sprawl.

Rialt knew he only had bare seconds to deal with the other assassin that had joined his companion on the ground. Bortonor still had one occupied, barking and snapping at the horse’s legs so that the other man could no dismount without risking being kicked by his own mount. He did no expect the dog to be able to handle two opponents at once.

So he turned and faced the second assassin that had been trying to close in on his unprotected left side. With two hands on the haft, he swung the axe upwards, closing on the other man’s chin. The assassin ducked backwards, his balance upset, but he quickly came back in. Rialt detected the sly movement of the man’s hand as he reached in his pocket for some devilry trick. He had been waiting for just such a movement—this was what he had meant earlier. The Daath always had some shenanigans up their sleeves. Anything from a powder bomb to a flask of poison could be tossed in Rialt’s face.

In the same movement, he dropped the axe and used it like a battering ram, knocking directly into the man’s sternum. All of the breath in the Daathan exploded in a whoosh of displaced air as he crumpled backwards, struggling to breathe.

No forgetting the man that had only been temporarily knocked down, Rialt whirled to confront him again. The man closed in with a ferocious battery of swings, which Rialt met instinctively, paring each with the hilt of his battle axe. As he parried, he stepped into the man’s reach, closing the gap between them, giving him enough leverage to catch the hilt of the sword with the haft. When he had a good lock on it, he jerked the axe’s haft up and over, yanking the sword out of the assassin’s hands. With the man neatly disarmed, Rialt slammed his elbow into his nose.

With a grunt of pain, the assassin dropped heavily to his back. With no hesitation, Rialt brought the axe up and around again, ending the assassin’s life with a sickening crunch.

One down. Rialt spun on his heels, looking at the other two. The one he had hit in the chest earlier was blowing blood bubbles from his mouth. Rialt had apparently hit him harder than he had realized—the man’s lung was punctured. He would no survive the night.

Bortonor’s prey still could no manage to get off the horse without risking his own life in the process. But his blood had been fired up seeing his companions so neatly dealt with by Rialt. Choosing to risk it, he kicked both feet free of the stirrups and threw himself to the ground.

With his sword free in his hands, he landed lightly to his feet and darted straight for Rialt. He did no make it more than three feet before Rialt’s stallion charged him and ran him down.

Rialt let out a breath he did no realize he was holding as the last assassin died. Daath assassins were generally deployed in three man teams. He had no doubt that this group had been dealt with. But they could have deployed two teams… Worried, he whistled for the horse and dog. Both obediently trotted to him.

Rialt bent enough to give Bortonor’s head a pat before he gave another pat to his horse’s neck. They both seemed to preen a bit under the silent praise. Keeping the axe in hand, he quickly remounted and turned back toward the road.

The fight, as short as it had been, had still taken a good candle’s mark. The other three were well down the road. Rialt had to go at a flat run to catch up with them and even then it took long minutes afore he caught sight of them.

He did no relax until he saw that they were alone and unharmed. Apparently it had simply been that one team. Letting out another breath of relief, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the heavens, and any god that happened to be listening.

Jewel must have been listening hard, as she turned afore any of her escorts did, head popping up over Sarvell’s shoulder. “Rialt!”

“Eh, lass, I be fine. So be your dog.” A smile tugged at his mouth when she openly beamed at him. “He put up a good fight, he did.”

“We’ll find him a proper reward later,” she responded easily as if having Bortonor fight off Daath assassins was no remarkable thing. “You’re not even scratched up?”

“No. They were good,” he admitted with grudging respect, “but I have been targeted by the likes of them since my voice started cracking.”

“Which means, what? Fighting Daath assassins for the past ten years?” Chizeld turned to regard him with open curiosity. “Why?”

“Ah, well, that be about the time I became an officer. They always target the officers.” Rialt shrugged as if this was common practice. For the Daath, it was. The easiest way to cause confusion in the ranks was to eliminate the officers.

With no apparent threat to face, the axe did no need to be in his hand. He slung it back into its holster with the ease of long practice. Jewel turned her head, tracking him as he came up along Sarvell’s side. With silent appeal, she leaned forward and held both arms out to him.

He knew that signal well enough. Looking up at Sarvell, he saw the other man’s open amusement at her actions. Well, if he did no mind…Rialt kneed his stallion to come in closer and reached out, transferring Jewel back over to his lap. She had barely settled before her hands were roaming all over his chest and arms.

Rialt blew out an exasperated breath. “Fine, I said.”

“
Your
definition of ‘fine’ and
my
definition of it are worlds apart,” she informed him tartly. “I do not believe you. But it’s true, I’m not finding any wounds. Sarvell, have I missed something?”

“Not a thing,” Sarvell assured her, eyes crinkling with repressed mirth. “He’s truly fine.”

Finally satisfied, she responded only with, “Good.” Slipping both arms around his waist, she snuggled into him, head buried in his chest.

Rialt could sense it even if she did no say it. Her worry over him was only part of it. She also felt very frustrated that she could no do anything to help in those moments of danger. He returned the embrace with one arm around her shoulders and lowered his mouth to her ear. “Sorry I be to have worried you.”

“Sorry enough not to do it again next time?” she asked against his coat.

“Ah…no quite.”

For that, she punched him as hard as she could in the ribs.

Chapter Eighteen

They travelled for four uneventful days to reach Parod’s Ford. No other Daath Assassins appeared, and with the deserted highways they didn’t even encounter any Thornock guards or bounty hunters either. While Jewel appreciated the peaceful days, she felt nervous about it as well. Her fears of other assassins appearing out of the woods were not dismissed because of one victorious encounter. She knew Cherchez better than that. Any god that could encourage a three hundred year war, a war that had never once succeeded, wouldn’t give up after a single failure.

She also wished that they’d had the chance to test her disguise on strangers at least once. As it stood, they would be at Parod’s Ford, a sizable town, without knowing if other precautions needed to be taken or not.

After riding so much, Jewel’s body had slowly started to adapt to being on horseback. Still, she also felt very sore. Her legs felt stretched and tingled with the unaccustomed exercise. They planned to stop and stay the night at Parod’s Ford, and personally she looked forward to a hot bath to ease the aches and a soft bed.

“See it,” Chizeld announced from beside her. “Should reach town soon.”

Right as Sarvell had predicted—the sun had just now started to wane, setting for the night. She could feel its warmth withdraw as it sank beyond the horizon. That meant she only had to stay strong for another hour or so. Jewel blew out a covert sigh of relief.

Without warning, Elahandra’s voice spoke into her mind. “
Jewel. Once you’ve crossed the Hatton River, I need you to go to Wheelock.”

Jewel started slightly at the abrupt order.
Certainly, but why?

“There is a former guardsman there called to serve as an armsman for Clarion. His name is Ian Kaelberer.”

Jewel broke out into a relieved smile. So Clari wouldn’t have to face building the Order in Bryn by herself after all.
I’ll find him. Does he know that we’re coming?