The ground rose and became an incline of another hill. Shrubs, underbrush, and trees lined both sides of the road. They found the crest of the hill and looked ahead. And there, was another valley, this time with a village situated along the road where a river cut the through the center.
Dancer asked, “Pass through it or go around?”
“Through it,” Quint said.
They walked down the slope and rounded a bend where one side of the road met a steep hillside while the other fell off a short cliff. In the center of the road stood a man.
The man had his fists on his hips and a cruel smile on his face. He was only twenty paces away, but waited, as if his very presence would stop them from passing.
“A good morning to you,” Dancer said at ten paces, without slowing.
“Not such a good morning for you,” the man snarled, raising a hand as a signal. Two others stepped out from the forest, arrows drawn and directed at the travelers. They wore clothing not much better than Raymer and Quint had worn in the dungeon, and their beards and hair were tangled masses of brown.
The first man continued, “Now, I’d ask you to drop any valuables on the road, and we’ll allow you to pass—after I inspect you for what you have hidden, of course.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Raymer asked, keeping his voice steady and doing his best to distract the man. Instead of halting as other travelers had probably done, Dancer hadn’t, and Raymer suspected what was to come.
The man looked to be middle-aged and slightly stooped. His beard showed streaks of gray, and as he clumsily fished a knife from inside his shirt, his evil grin displayed a broken tooth.
Dancer still hadn’t paused and was only a step away from the highwayman. He reached out and slapped the knife away with a backhand. In the same motion, he grabbed the man’s shirt with his other fist and pulled him closer, so close Dancer butted heads with him. The sound was a dull thud.
The man’s knees crumbled. Dancer spun the man so his body protected him from arrows. He reached out and grabbed the knife slipping from the loose fingers. He held it to the highwayman’s throat.
“Drop your bows,” Dancer called. “Now. We’re in a hurry, and it would be easier to leave this man dead than stand here and talk.”
Raymer and the others dropped to their knees to reduce the size of the targets they represented. Raymer watched the archers closely, expecting arrows to fly, and judging if he could sprint to them before they noched another. He would never make it. In doing so, he’d be the prime target. He decided running was the better option.
However, Quint had another idea. He stood still and shouted, “I am going to count to three and charge. I believe it will take at least five or six arrows to slow me but know this. I will be angry if even one arrow strikes me and for that I will rip the heads from both of your worthless bodies.”
Dancer added, “This man also loses his head when the first arrow flies.”
“One. Two. . .” Both archers turned and fled into the forest.
Raymer said, “You could have just told them who you are, If they killed you, a thousand soldiers would try to collect the reward for their heads.”
“Didn’t think of that,” Quint said. “Wouldn’t have worked any better.”
“At least, you wouldn’t have threatened to run right into their arrows,” Raymer said.
Quint gave him an odd look, “Threatened?”
“What about this one?” Dancer asked.
“Thanks to my big mouth, he knows who Quint is,” Raymer said.
Dancer shook his head. “He’s still out from my head butt.” He let the man fall the rest of the way to the ground, limp and unmoving.
Ander said, “Let him live. No sense in killing him.”
They started walking past, but Raymer rolled him and felt for a purse. He pulled it and found two small coppers, enough for one mug of good ale or two of swill. He tossed them into the dirt and walked away.
Again Ander had impressed him. For a Dungeon Master to allow a thief to live showed how misplaced Ander was in the job his father had provided. Raymer took up the last in the little procession. He watched the four in front of him and reassessed each of them.
Fleet caught his attention. The boy seldom said anything. He was slow to act and quick to obey. Almost the exact opposite of Raymer. Yet they were nearly the same age.
Raymer called to Quint, “Any idea when we reach your castle?”
“By nightfall tomorrow, and it’s not my castle. It belongs to my father.”
Raymer smiled to himself. Poking fun at Quint was as much fun as anything he’d encountered in a year.
The village they’d seen came back into view. It was large enough for three cross streets, and the buildings in the center appeared to have two stories. Ander said, “I’ll bet they have an inn.”
Quint said, “A mug of ale and meal will carry us farther and faster than passing it by.”
Dancer scowled at them, but it didn’t hide his smile. The pace picked up, and a few barbs were passed back and forth. They ignored the curious looks of the villagers as they entered the edge of the village.
Raymer noticed expressions of recognition when they spotted Quint. A few whispered to others, but none came forward to speak to him.
Dancer veered to the entrance of a sturdy building with a swinging sign of a blue dog hanging over it. They almost ran inside in their rush to eat. The room was dark, with tiny windows and a low ceiling. Inside were scruffy tables and benches, with a massive stone fireplace containing a smallish fire.
Sitting at the two tables in front of the fire were ten soldiers, all who wore the uniforms of the Northwood Kingdom, and reported to the Earl.
Dancer looked like he didn’t know if he should run, stand his ground, or fight. Raymer longed for the staff he’d left in Myron’s village.
Quint pushed forward and faced the soldiers. They leaped to their feet at attention. His eyes roamed over the ten, and he roared, “Where is your officer?”
One pointed at the row of doors lining the upstairs rail. “He’s working in there, sir.”
Quint headed for the stairs. Half way up he called to Raymer, “Order food and drink.”
Raymer watched him knock loudly on a door. When it opened a crack, Quint shoved it the rest of the way and barged inside. The man inside wore no shirt and an amazed expression. He turned to follow Quint. The door closed behind them.
The four of them sat at a table away from the still standing soldiers. Dancer motioned with his hand for them to sit. He leaned closer to Raymer and asked, “Do you have coin?”
“What? You don’t use them in your village?” He laughed at Dancer’s reaction. Raymer had seen only a few coins in his life until he’d left his home, and still felt confusion when using them. The Dragon Clan shared most of what they owned and had little use for coins.
He pulled the purse he’d taken from Ander as well as others taken from the soldiers who tried to capture them at the apple trees. He smiled as he held a large silver coin, flashing it at the innkeeper who had emerged from the kitchen.
Ander said to the innkeeper, “Five tankards of your best ale. We also want bread, meat, and cheese.”
The innkeeper, a man of undetermined age, eyed the coin in Raymer’s hand and said, “Please sir, do you have any smaller coins? Nobody has used one that large since I built this inn.”
Raymer fished around for a smaller silver or even large copper. He knew they were inside the purse somewhere. His patience wore thin as the smells from the food enticed him. He placed the large silver on the table in front of him and said, “We’re in a hurry, good sir. Satisfy us with food and ale fast enough and this coin is your reward.”