“My friend had too much drink, I’m afraid,” Ghaul explained with a smile.
The woman gave him a scornful look-barely after noon and this man was too inebriated to stand on his own. She continued on her way without noticing the bloody blade in Ghaul’s hand.
“What did you-?” Khirro began.
“Help me, he’s heavy.”
Reluctantly, Khirro grabbed the man’s arm and directed him to a spot under the chestnut tree by the horses. Blood bubbled at his lips as he moaned, his head sagged forward.
“On the horses, quick,” Elyea urged loosing the reins.
Khirro watched the man’s life drain out onto the ground, mesmerized and appalled he was watching yet another man die.
How did this happen?
One moment they were purchasing supplies, the next a man’s life was ending.
“Now, Khirro,” Ghaul commanded. “Calmly. Don’t attract attention.”
His trance broken, Khirro slipped a foot into a stirrup and glanced again at the bulky soldier with the thick black beard, his eyes now closed. If not for the dark patch spreading on the ground beside him, the man may have fallen asleep under a tree on a hot summer day.
Death can look so peaceful.
Khirro pulled himself into the saddle.
They guided their steeds back toward the market gate at a forced pace, faster than they’d entered but not reckless enough to garner attention. Khirro felt eyes following as they departed, accusing them. He shifted in the saddle, looked over his shoulder at people as they passed and wondered if they knew what happened. Ghaul rode ahead, the bloody knife hidden beneath his cloak. As they rode through the gate, Ghaul nodded to the guard, and then they were in the less crowded street beyond.
“Stay calm.” Elyea pulled her mount even with Khirro’s. “Go right at the next lane and we’ll be out of sight.”
He nodded and prompted his steed on. With a few yards left between them and the corner, a woman’s scream made Khirro twist in the saddle, straining to see. A guard rushed from the guardhouse, pushing through the crowd toward a woman standing by the dead man. She lifted her head and pointed toward them. Other soldiers broke from the crowd and ran to their horses.
“Go!”
Ghaul’s horse sprang forward as he dug his heels into its sides. Elyea followed, her mount kicking up a veil of dust from the parched ground. Khirro had time to see several soldiers urge their horses down the street before his own mount surged forward. People dove out of their way as they thundered along the boulevard and around the corner onto the narrower lane. He kept his eyes on Elyea ahead, not knowing where they’d go, how they’d escape.
“Follow me,” she cried over her shoulder, the beating hooves all but drowning her out.
People cowered against the rough walls of buildings as they raced past. Khirro choked the reins, each powerful stride shifting him in his seat. Elyea slowed rounding another corner and Khirro glanced back. Their pursuers were past the first corner, closing ground.
The deserted street they veered on to was narrower than the last. Hoof beats clattered on the cobble stones, echoed from the close walls, multiplying their trio into a platoon on the run.
A figure appeared in the lane ahead.
Khirro stretched, nearly sacrificing his seat to see past Elyea and Ghaul. Maes stood in the middle of the avenue, signaling them into an alley. They reined in their horses and followed his direction, crowding into the tight space where Athryn waited.
“Stop. Be silent.”
The magician looked to Maes as he entered behind them; the little man nodded, drew his dirk, then pulled up the leg of his breeches and pressed the blade against the flesh of his calf. Athryn began a whispered chant as Maes cut his leg. Khirro cringed at the sight of fresh blood.
A sere breath of wind coughed down the alley, standing the hairs at the back of Khirro’s neck on end. The air grew hazy, like distant heat shimmering on a sweltering day. The opacity swirled about them, concentrating at the mouth of the alley, first solidifying, then changing color to match the walls around it. Athryn’s incantation continued, the only sound other than the panting of the horses.
Hoof beats broke the calm. Khirro held his breath and stroked his horse’s mane to calm him as the sound grew louder. A rider passed, oblivious to them hidden behind the illusory wall. Another went by, then another. A cloud of dust wafted into the alley. Finally, two more riders galloped past and the sounds receded. Athryn chanted until the noise of pursuit disappeared, then his whispers ceased and the conjured barrier disappeared. The magician rushed to his brother’s side, pulled a bandage from the pouch on his belt.
“They will soon realize they have been deceived,” he said as he wound gauze around Maes’ leg. “We must make for the forest to the south. Stay close to me and we should be safe.”
He boosted Maes into the saddle and swung himself up. Khirro’s heart raced, keeping time with the pounding hooves as they spurred their horses down the street in the direction their pursuers had gone. No one spoke as they rode from the alley, soon turning toward the southern town limits and the forest. Beyond lay the Vendarian border with its line of guard towers. After that, a potentially hostile country, and then the cursed land.
As he bounced along in the saddle trying to keep from falling, Khirro wondered if he’d ever feel safe again.
Chapter Seventeen
Colorful dresses and frilled undergarments hung limply from the line strung between two trees with no wind to make them flutter. Suath watched, his patience honed through years spent lying in wait for the enemy. In this case, the variety of clothing on the line told him the enemy was three women. Gathering information from one person could be difficult but, with more than one, the job should be easy.
One of them would tell him what he wanted to know.
A young blonde emerged from the waddle and daub cottage to check the laundry, her hair pinned up in a tussled nest at the back of her head. The mercenary didn’t move. He needed to know where they all were, choose the right time before showing himself, otherwise it could be dangerous and messy. He hadn’t survived this long by making things dangerous and messy. He watched as she ran her hand down the fronts of the dresses; finding them still damp, she left them hanging and returned to the hut’s shaded interior.
Suath shifted slightly, keeping himself alert. Eager to pick up the trail before it grew cold, he’d ridden two days without stopping except to feed and water his horse. He didn’t dare drift off now. There would be time to nap once he returned to the saddle.
Another hour passed before an older woman waddled out the door, a wooden bucket swinging in her grip. On her way to the well, she passed a few feet from the bush hiding Suath. The mercenary didn’t so much as flinch. The woman-perhaps the young one’s grandmother-fished water from the well, then struggled back to the cottage, slopping water over the lip of the pail to be quickly absorbed by the parched ground. Suath could have easily reached out and taken her. He didn’t.
Two accounted for, one to go.
He put thoughts of his quarry’s increasing lead from his mind, breathing quietly through his nose. He could make up the time spent waiting, but it would be more difficult if he had to fight his way out of town because of impatience.
The sun had reached its zenith when the third woman appeared. By then, the blonde had retrieved the laundry and the old one had hung a fresh batch. Both of them were in the house when the last resident walked out of the woods, a man in tow. They crossed the yard, giggling. The woman’s disheveled hair fell across her pudgy face still caked with day-old make-up. The man caught her by the arm, spun her toward him, and drew her in for a kiss, but she pushed him away, admonishing him with the shake of her finger.