The Shadowed Path (11 page)

After several frustrating candlemarks, Jonmarc came upon a small patch of wormroot and knelt to harvest it. He had often helped Shanna and Elly gather the leaves, bark and roots they used for their teas and poultices, and the work made him melancholy. The wormroot was tougher than he had expected, requiring him to scrape away the twigs from the stem with his knife and spreading some of the thin sap over his hands in the process. The caravan moved on, taking no notice that he had slipped away. For a moment, it crossed Jonmarc’s mind to keep on going, leaving the caravan behind, and strike out on his own for Principality.

I’ve never been out of the Borderlands. I have no idea how to get to Principality, and only a week’s wages in my pocket. And Trent and Corbin have been teaching me what they know about swords and fighting.
He sighed.
Linton took me in when I had nowhere else to go. I’m not going to let him down.
He could not deny the lure of freedom and independence, but for now, he stuffed those thoughts away and hurried to catch up with the caravan.

The further they moved into the forest, the darker it became as the canopy blocked the late afternoon sun. After the previous evening, Jonmarc eyed the shadows warily. He had nearly caught up with the rest of the group when there was a loud noise ahead and the sound of men shouting.

Instinctively, Jonmarc flattened himself behind a tree and listened. He could hear Linton shouting, answered by a man’s voice Jonmarc did not recognize. More angry voices carried through the trees. Jonmarc dared a glance, and realized that the caravan had come to a complete halt.

Jonmarc had done his share of hunting, back in his home village. He could move through the forest quietly, and he could track game reasonably well. Now, he circled the caravan, as an uneasy suspicion grew. He stayed low, taking advantage of the brush to keep out of sight. The view from a small rise revealed a company of rough-looking men blocking the caravan’s way, and it appeared that several of the riggers had joined them, including the sharp-faced man who had caught Jonmarc’s attention earlier.

Why aren’t the caravaners fighting? They outnumber the bandits more than two to one.

Jonmarc gripped his knife and debated his next move.
If the others won’t fight, what can I do?
They were far from any villages where help might be found, and he had heard no mention of passing near one of the king’s garrisons. But the longer he thought about the riggers’ treachery, the angrier he became.

I may not be able to fight them all, but maybe I can harry them, give the others a chance.

D
USK CAME EARLY
under the spread of the large trees. The waning light filtered through the new spring leaves, enough for Jonmarc to pick his way toward the edge of the bandit camp. He crouched behind a large rock, watching, and looking for an opportunity to inflict damage. There were close to two dozen bandits, from what he could see. Freeing the others wouldn’t be easy.

The crack of a stick underfoot made him turn sharply, knife raised. A man slipped from behind a tree, and it took a moment for Jonmarc to make out who it was. He let out a sigh of relief when he recognized Trent.

“What’s going on?” he whispered.

“Bandits,” Trent replied. “Linton suspected someone was using magic to herd us in a particular direction, and the bridge collapse sealed it.”

“Then why isn’t he fighting them? We’ve got plenty more men than they’ve got.”

“Linton’s a cagy one. He doesn’t know how powerful their mage is, or whether they’ve got more than one. So he told several of us to fall behind as we moved through the forest, just like Ada had you do.”

“She’s in on it?”

Another figure slipped up behind Trent. “You bet I am,” Ada replied.

Trent chuckled. “Ada had several of her healers slip away as well. All told, there should be a dozen of us.”

“What’s the plan?” Jonmarc asked. “Whatever it is, count me in.”

“For now, we watch and look for an opening. If there’s a way to do this without an all-out fight, Linton would prefer it. We’ve lost enough people and supplies without taking more casualties,” Trent replied.

Jonmarc looked to Ada. “I understand having men who can fight. But healers?”

Ada gave a sly grin. “Watch and learn.”

They waited, watching the encampment. The bandits were well-armed, and had posted sentries at the corners of the encampment. Jonmarc watched, taking note of their movements.

“I’m willing to bet that tall one, the blond, is a mage, or at least a strong hedge witch,” Ada murmured, and Jonmarc followed her nod toward a slender man with greasy hair who looked too slightly built to be a fighter, but stalked through the camp as if he owned it.

“If it comes to fighting, I want a chance at those riggers,” Jonmarc muttered.

“You’ll have to beat Corbin to it,” Trent replied.

Jonmarc remembered the willow bark and wormroot he had collected. “Here,” he said, giving Ada the pouches that held the plants.

“This will do nicely,” Ada said, smiling. She looked to Trent. “Do you have your knives on you?”

Trent grinned. “Never without them.” He took a set of five throwing knives from beneath his coat. Ada carefully coated each blade with the sap of the wormroot Jonmarc had collected, taking care to get none of it on her hands.

“You’re going to make them throw up?” Jonmarc asked, looking askance at the preparations.

Ada’s eyes held a mischievous glint. “Oh, that’s part of it, but I’ve got their mages in mind. If you’re not a mage, wormroot will rile your stomach. But if you’re a mage—or even a hedge witch—even a small amount will drop you in your tracks. Get enough of it, and a mage can go mad—or die.”

“I’ll go after the mage,” Trent said. “And by now, the others should be in position. It’s up to your people, Ada.”

Ada sighed. “I should probably feel guilty about this. Healers aren’t supposed to do harm. Then again, the bandits are likely to survive what my folks throw their way. That’s more than I can say if it went to an all-out fight.”

Jonmarc watched, curious, as the healer worked her way closer to the encampment. He could see her lips moving, though he could not hear her words. Suddenly, the guard nearest them doubled over, clutching his gut. He moaned, and ran behind a tree with a panicked expression on his face. A moment later, the area was filled with a decidedly foul smell. Ada grinned triumphantly, and motioned for Jonmarc and Trent to come closer.

From where they hid, Jonmarc could see the other guards collapse, some retching and others soiling themselves. Ada’s healers had begun the assault.

“Can you do that to all of them?” Jonmarc asked.

Ada shook her head. “It takes energy to call on the magic, and we tire quickly, especially after all we’ve been through. But we can cut down on the number of men the rest of you have to fight.”

The bandit leader, realizing his guards were down, sent men to investigate, and launched into a shouting match with another man, whom Jonmarc presumed to be the group’s cook.

“Here we go,” muttered Trent.

The bandits had relieved the caravan members of their weapons and valuables, and bound their wrists. Jonmarc had no idea what plans the bandits had for the caravan, but he did not intend to wait long enough to find out. Ada hung back, promising to watch for opportunities to help. Jonmarc and Trent moved forward, staying low. There was barely enough light to allow them to maneuver, but the growing darkness hid them from the bandits and the moon would not rise for several hours.

Trent threw a rock at the nearest bandit, clipping him on the side of the head. Jonmarc followed with a second rock, striking another brigand in the temple and dropping him to the ground. The man Trent hit growled a curse and wheeled around, blood dripping from his scalp. Trent lobbed a knife. The bandit fell to his knees, his hands clutching his chest.

“Go!” Trent hissed, stopping long enough to retrieve his blade. Jonmarc was already on his feet, sprinting toward the next brigand, as the camp burst into action. Linton had been waiting for the attack, and had worked his wrists free. He kicked the man guarding him, then grabbed a stout fallen branch and began swinging it like a cudgel.

“Get the mage!” Jonmarc replied as the blond man Ada had pointed out began to chant.

Trent let his knife fly, catching the mage in the back. As the wormroot-tainted blade sank in hilt-deep, the mage gave a strangled cry. His legs gave out beneath him, and he fell, convulsing, into the dirt.

Linton grabbed a knife off the bandit he bludgeoned, and paused long enough to free one of the other captives, who began to move down the line, cutting the prisoners’ ropes. Having accomplished that, Linton snatched up a sword from one of the fallen bandits and began laying into the robbers with a ferocity Jonmarc had not imagined the stout caravan master was capable of mustering.

Across the way, Jonmarc saw Corbin emerge from the trees with a few more men. One of the bandits headed for the caravan wagons, and Jonmarc tackled him from behind, landing several hard punches before the man could react. The bandit twisted in his grip and his fist shot out, catching Jonmarc on the temple so hard that lights flashed before his eyes.

He was too angry to give up. Jonmarc came at the bandit again, this time getting the man in a chokehold. The bandit was wiry, but Jonmarc’s arms were strong from work in the forge. The bandit sputtered and gasped for air, unable to buck Jonmarc loose. His hands tore at Jonmarc’s clothing, and dug at the dirt as Jonmarc kept up the pressure. With a gurgle, the bandit slumped forward, and Jonmarc let him fall, pivoting as he heard footsteps behind him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two more of the robbers fall to the ground retching, and smiled, knowing the healers were at work. Trent and Corbin were both busy fighting back the brigands who had gone for the horses, and from the look of it, the robbers were losing badly. Someone had reclaimed the caravan’s weapons, and the men and women of Linton’s caravan were giving the robbers a thorough thrashing.

Jonmarc spotted movement toward the wagons, and went to investigate. He glimpsed the thin tent rigger, and scrambled up and over the wagon between them, taking a flying leap onto the rigger and knocking the breath out of the man.

“You led us into a trap! You sold out the caravan!” Jonmarc had the rigger by his hair, and the man’s poxmarked face was flushed with the struggle.

“It would have been better money than I’ve seen with this whore-spawned caravan,” the rigger snarled, gasping for breath.

The rigger was taller than Jonmarc, and strong. He broke free of his grip, and got to his feet. Jonmarc grabbed a fistful of the man’s shirt with one hand, and landed a roundhouse punch with the other, solidly connecting with the rigger’s chin.

The rigger fell back a pace. “You’ve done me out of my share of the take, boy,” he said, and flashed a malevolent smile. “I’m going to enjoy taking you down a peg.”

Jonmarc braced for the rigger to come at him with a knife. Before Jonmarc could launch another attack, the rigger spoke a few strange words, and he found himself gasping for breath as if iron bands crushed his chest. The rigger’s lips moved once more, and Jonmarc fell hard onto the ground as the pressure moved to his throat, cutting off his air.

He’s a witch too
, Jonmarc thought, struggling to breathe.
And he means to run out on the fight and save his own skin.

His ears were ringing painfully, and his lungs burned. His body spasmed, and he began to tremble violently. He could hear the rigger laughing.

The fight from the main camp was moving past the ring of wagons. Two brawling men fell hard against the wagon nearest Jonmarc, rocking it up on two wheels and causing it to dump several casks, which shattered on the ground. For an instant, the rigger’s concentration broke, loosening his hold.

Jonmarc sucked in a great gasp of air and threw his knife with all his remaining strength. It dug into the rigger’s shoulder.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” the rigger mocked.

“Just wait,” Jonmarc gasped.

The rigger’s expression took on a look of horror and his face twisted in pain. “What did you do? By the Crone, what did you do?” His last words came out as a strangled cry as he went down in a heap, convulsing.

Trent came around the wagons and ran toward Jonmarc, who was struggling to his feet, still breathing hard. “What happened?”

“Wormroot. On my knife. From before. Mage.” Jonmarc answered, his voice raspy from the near-strangulation.

Trent took one look at the downed rigger, then crossed the distance in two strides. He bent down, and brought his blade across the traitor’s throat in one clean movement. Trent straightened, his expression both resolved and regretful. “That’s done,” he said. He turned back to Jonmarc.

“We’ve won,” he said. “There’s just a little mopping up left, but it’s all over for the bandits.” He managed a wan smile. “Good job taking down the hedge witch. He could have caused some problems.”

“He was running away,” Jonmarc managed. “I didn’t realize, until just before he went down, that he was a hedge witch.”

Trent regarded the rigger’s corpse with contempt. “He was a thief and a traitor, probably sent by the bandits to steer us here. Don’t lose sleep over it. I suspect the bandits meant to kill us all, or sell us as slaves.” He bent down and retrieved Jonmarc’s knife, wiping it clean on the rigger’s tunic, and offering it, hilt first.

Jonmarc took the knife and sheathed it. He looked at the dead rigger, and thought of the other times he had killed raiders.
Does the Crone count their blood against my soul?

“There you are!” Linton’s voice boomed as he strode past the wagons. He took in Jonmarc’s torn shirt and bloodied arm and the dead rigger.

“Jonmarc took him down,” Trent said before Linton could ask. “I just happened along at the end.”

Linton clapped Jonmarc on the shoulder. “Nicely done, m’boy. Nicely done.” He frowned at the blood on Jonmarc’s forearm. “Go see Ada and have her patch you up. We’re going to put as much distance between ourselves and this accursed spot as we can, night be damned, just as soon as the wagon masters can pull everything together. Goddess! I’ll be glad to see Huntwood.”