Terry W. Ervin (6 page)

My jaw dropped. A prince? I turned to the other dragon carrying Road Toad. I saw the mercenary’s smile but couldn’t tell if he’d winked or if it was the wind buffeting his face.

“I have not,” replied the prince. “I desire to get one more view of the men.”

We circled the camp. On the far side, up wind, about fifty knights with squires tended their horses. Wagons and circles of small A-frame tents covered the rest of the area. Maybe eight hundred soldiers in chain armor, wearing the purple and gold of Keesee, made up two-thirds of the soldiers. The rest, based upon their assortment of dress and arms, were mercenaries. A number of freemen, equal to the mercenaries, tended to the cooking, supply wagons and beasts of burden.

One large walled tent flying the colors of Keesee dominated the camp’s center. Next to it a smaller but no less exquisite tent flew the white and red of Fendra Jolain, goddess of healing.

“I think my arm is broken,” I shouted to Road Toad, who still appeared to be enjoying himself.

His smile faded for a second. “Stick with me, Krish. I’ll see that you’re taken care of.” He paused, then added without mirth as the dragons descended. “You can trust me.”

Night Shard pulled up and flapped its leathery wings, buffeting the ground before dropping me next to Road Toad on a stack of cut brush. The tangle of branches cushioned my five-foot drop, but not enough to avoid reawaking the pain in my broken arm.

I gasped and grunted, straining to keep quiet while enduring the shooting pain.

Road Toad rolled over but had trouble moving his arms. The dragon’s grip had numbed his as well as mine. “Just lay still a minute, Krish. Let me get my blood flowing and I’ll help you down and we’ll get you to a healer.”

Militia generally had low priority for healing, but I’d followed Road Toad thus far and was still alive. “Thanks,” I said weakly through clenched teeth. “An ogre clubbed me in the river.”

“Just about any farmhand can run well enough,” said Road Toad. “But you kept your wits where most wouldn’t have.” When I didn’t respond he shook his arms and sat up. “Good thing ol’ Pops Weasel took off when he did. Knowing when to duck out is why he’s been around so long.”

I rolled on my side to get away from a branch digging into my back.

Road Toad watched me flinch at the pain when I moved. He climbed over. “This’ll be tricky.” He broke off a stick. “Bite on this.”

“Is that you, Major Jadd?” called a surprised voice. It sounded like the serpent cavalryman prince upon Night Shard. When we both turned to see who’d spoken he continued, “It was dark, but I had a hunch it was so.”

I didn’t know what to say or do. Road Toad removed his helmet and bowed. I did the same though it hurt my arm. Then I remembered to spit out the stick.

“Prince Reveron,” said Road Toad solemnly, trying to slide off the brush pile.

The prince, dressed in fine chain mail and breastplate painted purple and gold, stood at the base of the pile. He’d removed his black plumed helmet, revealing a youthful face framed by short dark hair. His wispy beard and mustache had faded to white—almost translucent. What stood out the most were his piercing blue eyes. Behind the prince another cavalryman held the reins to Night Shard, leading it toward the bevy.

The prince raised his hand to Road Toad. “Hold where you are.” He then looked to me. “Are you injured, soldier? I witnessed an ogre striking at you in the river.”

I didn’t know how to respond. What should a farmer—militia soldier—say to a prince? I decided to address him as Road Toad did, although the prince apparently knew the mercenary. “I ahh, I am, Prince Reveron.” I continued to stare at the branches and brambles upon which I sat.

“He believes his left arm is broken, Prince,” added Road Toad.

“What is your name, soldier?” asked the prince.

“I am Krish, Prince Reveron. Son of Thurmond, of Pine Ridge, serving in the militia of Lord Hingroar of the Doran Confederacy.”

Prince Reveron nodded and, clapping Road Toad on the shoulder, said, “Let me assist you in lowering a fellow soldier from this drop pile. Then, Major Jadd, take Krish to the healer. If they give you trouble, inform them you are there upon my request. Afterwards, report to my tent. I wish to hear your assessment of the new weapons the enemy has deployed.” He chuckled. “And how you found yourself on the wrong side of the river, pursued by ogres.”

Road Toad bowed his head again. “It will be done, Prince.”

“Major Jadd, I am not my brother. I fear he treated you badly, as does my father.”

Together they guided my descent. I held my arm against my chest and grimaced, refusing to cry out in front of the prince.

“The expression on your face indicates your injury is quite painful, Militiaman Krish,” commented the prince. “Will you and Major Jadd be able to make it to the healer? If not, I will summon assistance.”

“Thank you for the offer, Prince,” said Road Toad, “but Krish is made of stern stuff.”

“Very good.” Without further comment Prince Reveron turned and strode back toward the string of dragons.

I wanted to ask Road Toad how the prince knew him and a few other questions, but as my arm regained full circulation, it began to ache and throb with increased intensity.

“Krish, hold your injured arm against your chest like you have it.” With a quick snap, Road Toad tipped his head toward the camp. “Let’s get you to a healer, and then secure you some better equipment.” He walked next to me, ready to support if I stumbled. “Ever consider becoming a mercenary?”

I gave him the honest answer. “No.”

He slowed his pace to match mine and carefully removed one of my pouches. “You won’t want this when we visit the healer.” He stuffed my supply of white oak bark into his satchel and nodded. “Anything else that might raise a healer’s suspicions?” he asked, leaning close.

“No,” I said, concentrating on ignoring my broken arm.

“Good,” Road Toad said and changed subjects. “I heard you yell down from Night Shard. Your family is safe, or as safe as can be.”

We stepped aside as a squad of armed soldiers double-timed it somewhere. Road Toad nodded for me to follow. “Even if Prince Reveron doesn’t tell us, I suspect Pine Ridge will be overrun by midnight. But your family should be well gone.”

“I need to find them,” I said, realizing their plight. The entire night seemed a blur that happened too fast. The image of Guzzy dying reemerged.

Road Toad observed my slowing pace and matched it again.

“My father will need me,” I said, knowing Guzzy’s family would need him too. I’d have to tell his father and mother what had happened to their son, and realizing that twisted my guts even more.

“How will you find them?” asked Road Toad.

I gazed at him blankly without an answer. Maybe he thought I was going into shock. Maybe I was.

He led me between circles of tents until crossing a main path leading toward the center. Mercenaries stared back at us from their small fires as they ate, joked, repaired armor or sharpened weapons. Despite the variety of color, builds and equipment, all had confident faces. Or at least every mercenary that looked my way.

Laughter, philosophical discussions, and even bickering filled the circle camps. I sighed and drove worries about my family and grief for Guzzy from my thoughts. I leaned closer to Road Toad. “Major Jadd?” I whispered.

“Yes, that was me once.” He looked around, avoiding eye contact with me. “I once was a serpent cavalryman with my own steed.” He sighed, and picked up the pace. “I will tell you another time.”

We approached two attentive Keeseean soldiers with shields and spears, standing on either side of the path. Twenty yards beyond them the ring of soldier tents ended, leaving a gap before the two largest central tents. I knew the one flying the white flag displaying the prominent outline of a red cross was where the healers would be found. Pairs of soldiers in chain armor with gold and purple sashes paced in precise steps as they circled the pavilions.

The two guards on the path watched us approach and stood ready. We stopped eight feet away. Road Toad said, “Prince Reveron directed me to take this soldier to the healers.”

The guards eyed me, then returned their gaze to Road Toad. Something in Road Toad’s return stare must have impressed them. They stood aside.

The circling guards, three pairs marching equal spread around pavilions, didn’t stop us. Probably magic would be protecting the area. Besides, the prince wasn’t in his tent.

“If you think the prince’s guards are efficient,” said Road Toad, “or you thought some of those mercenaries were intimidating, you’re in for a new experience.”

I knew the Healer’s Guild supplied its traveling members personal guards, but the two towering men outside the main entrance to the healer’s pavilion made me stutter in my step. New pain shot through my arm and shoulder.

The two guards, holding halberds, barred our way. They wore steel helmets that hid their eyes. Thick straps of woven leather laced with iron rings made up their armor. Beneath it, bulging muscles flexed as we stopped.

Not intimidated, Road Toad looked up at the silent guard on the right. “I have escorted this soldier at the request of Prince Reveron to seek a healer for his injury.” His authoritative statement brought no response. “Stand aside and allow us entry, or notify those within of our purpose.”

After staring up at the unmoving guard for twenty seconds, Road Toad put up his arm and ushered me back. A wicked grin crossed his face as he drew his sword, our fallen captain’s sword. “It is disrespectful that Prince Reveron’s wishes go unheeded.” His eyes shifted from guard to guard. “I, however, do not hold the honorable followers of Fendra Jolain responsible for this insult.”

I couldn’t believe it. Road Toad was going to fight these brutes. I looked left and right, seeking the patrolling Keeseean guards. They simply marched and watched with interest, but didn’t move to interfere.

“It is possible,” said Road Toad, “that the healers within will come to your aid and then grant us admittance.” Balancing on the balls of his feet, Road Toad held his long sword ready. He rushed forward just as a squat man in red and white robes threw a tent flap aside and raised his hands, calling, “Stop, no need for that!”

Road Toad ignored the robed man as did the hulking guards. I let loose of my broken arm and pulled my sword. I didn’t know why Road Toad decided to attack but I couldn’t let him fight alone. I might at least be able to injure one guard if they ignored me. If they didn’t, I’d give Road Toad a chance to deal with just one for a few seconds. I cried out more in pain than fury and charged guard on the left as Road Toad had gone after the one on the right.

I feigned at closing and circled left, holding my sword to block any attack. My quick moves sent crippling pain through my body, accompanied by nausea and lightheadedness.

Road Toad parried a halberd thrust, closed and drove the dagger he’d drawn into his opponent’s thigh before backing away.

The short, middle-aged man shouted, waving his arms. What he said, I wasn’t sure. I struggled to simply hold my sword ready and remain standing.

My opponent, no longer considering me a threat, turned to aid his partner. He knocked aside the robed man.

With the guard’s back to me, I forced down the nausea and ignored my arm. I ran forward, this time without shouting.

A woman emerged from the tent between me and the guards and ordered, “Cease!” Everyone, the guards, Road Toad and the robed man stopped. Everyone except me. I couldn’t stop and tried angling to the right and avoid colliding with the tall, olive-skinned woman. I would’ve failed except the robed man managed to yank me aside.

The woman didn’t even try to avoid me as I lost my footing and fell to the ground at her feet. She simply stared in disdain, first down at me, then at her wounded guard, before focusing on Road Toad.

A red sash tied at her waist held her white robes closed. Leather sandals were on her clean feet. “Explain your assault on my guards,” she demanded as she walked to her wounded man. He held Road Toad’s bloody dagger in his hand.

Road Toad responded, “Explain the refusal of your servants to honor Prince Reveron’s request.”

Her eyes widened, only for fraction of a second. In a haughty voice she said, “You do not wear the colors of the prince.”

“The prince commands more than simply those who wear his colors.” Road Toad’s tone was flat but assured.

Her eyes narrowed before focusing on the robed man. “Acolyte Rellar, was a request made by this mercenary in the name of the prince?”

The man bowed his head and replied, barely above a mumble. “It is possible, Priestess.” He was visibly shaking.

“Tend to Moxel’s wound, Acolyte.” As soon as the priestess said that an equally large and intimidating guard emerged from the tent to replace the wounded one. The priestess looked from Road Toad to me. “You may follow and I will personally see to Prince Reveron’s request. If you are misrepresenting him—” She didn’t finish her threat before turning.

“May I have my dagger back?” asked Road Toad.

The mercenary threw it point down into the ground, inches from Road Toad’s foot.

Road Toad caught the dagger’s guard with the toe of his boot and flicked it in the air before snatching the grip with his right hand. “My apologizes for any misunderstanding,” he said to Acolyte Rellar before helping me to my feet.