Demon Horde
By Leroy Dumont
Copyright 2009 Anthony Dias Souza
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-1-4523-2785-3
Other Books by Leroy Dumont
Bitch of Balar
End of Forever
Keeper of the Seal
Reprisal
Sweet Revenge
Talons of the Gods
The Bladesman
The Crystal Curse
Chapter 1
Algin Tamas lowered his pack and sat on it a couple of yards away from the gate to the city of Rabas. He took a scarf from his disheveled tunic and wiped his perspiring brow, rolling and tying it across his forehead when he was done.
A strapping young man in his sixteenth year, Algin was broad at the shoulders with muscular biceps and forearms, and unruly dirty blond hair. His face was well on its way to developing a mustache and beard.
Though good-humored and congenial, Algin was well versed in the use of the broad sword he carried in his pack, trained by his father, the commander of guard in the city of Palaz. He served on the caravans in Menon, engaging lesser brigands who sought to steal their wares. The youth already killed two of the bandits, drawing his first blood.
Algin could ride the camels used in the desolate southern regions of Menon but preferred to straddle a horse. Camels were too ornery and easily spooked. They served well in the harsh barren stretches of the province. However, a horse was more maneuverable and better suited to a warrior who relied upon his sword. Horses were more prevalent, especially in northern Menon bordering on the Balai Sea and in the lusher province of Boral.
As Algin sat fumbling through his pack, one of the two external sentries manning the gates of Rabas took a few steps toward him. "Are you visiting the city?" he asked with a suspicious squint.
Algin smiled and nodded, picking up his pack and setting it on his shoulder as he stood. "I come from Palaz," he replied, moving toward the man. "It has been a long, tiring walk."
The sentry frowned and shook his head disapprovingly. "Sixteen days at least by foot."
"Twenty-two," Algin sighed. "I stopped often to rest."
"As I saw," the sentry said, returning to his post at the gates. He pointed to a smaller door in the iron-plated structure. "You can enter through there."
Algin dipped his head politely to both men and squeezed through the door without lowering his pack.
Like Palaz, the city of Rabas was a collection of clay brick structures, separated by narrow streets and alleys. Only its outer walls were made of stone, stacked and mortared with more clay. They stretched upward eighteen feet without ramparts or parapets. Crude towers graced the corners of its irregular walls.
Within Rabas, the streets were surfaced with cobblestones pressed into the hardened earth upon which the city stood. They were reasonably straight with narrow clay gutters that the residents used to dispose of their liquid wastes. Every few yards, the gutters were interrupted by a downfall, a small, round hole in the earth where liquids vanished and evaporated. The gutters and holes were the extent of the sewage system and they reeked of urine where the residents chose to relieve themselves. The holes served as toilets except that solid fecal matter was carried from the city and deposited outside the walls. The city administrator provided a pit for that purpose, covering it and digging another when it was filled. Each morning, women and children carrying clay gourds made a trip to the pit to dispose of their solid wastes. A single well in the heart of the city provided water. It was surrounded by a large square where vendors of various wares erected their tents. The area served as the marketplace.
Lugging his pack on his shoulders, Algin made his way down the nearest street, heading for the center of the Rabas. He smiled and nodded to the children sitting in doorways as he passed. At early morning, the majority of the population was outside the city, tending to its grain fields and citrus groves. Goat herders who lived in the nearby foothills did not come into Rabas except to deliver meat, milk and cheese.
Guided by a rumble of competing voices, Algin headed for the local marketplace. He veered into the city square and made his way through the irregular array of cloth tents and jostling shoppers, searching for a vendor of stew. A large steaming caldron on an iron rack drew his attention. It signified the nearest thing to a restaurant in the Menonese city.
"A bowl of your fare," Algin requested when he caught the attention of the vendor.
The man strode toward him, a ceramic bowl and ladle in his hand. "Show me your silver," the vendor demanded. "One for a bowl."
Algin lowered his pack to the ground and dug into his sash for his purse. He extracted the coin and held it out in the flat of his palm.
The vendor grunted and spooned out three ladlefuls of the stew. He took the coin before giving the bowl to Algin.
"A meager serving," Algin complained, staring into the bowl. It barely was half full. "For a silver, you should give me more. They only charge twenty coppers in Palaz."
The vendor scowled and dipped his ladle back into the caldron, adding an extra scoop to the bowl. "It has more meat than usual," he said to justify the sparse portion. "I should have charged you two."
"It has a fair amount of meat," Algin conceded grudgingly as he began to eat with his fingers.
After a quick check to see if there were any other potential customers, the vendor withdrew into his tent to emerge with a cup in his hand. "Some tea to wash it down," he said, handing over the cup.
"A boon," Algin mumbled through a mouthful, courteously tipping his head.
"Have you been traveling?" the vendor asked, taking note of his disheveled clothing.
"All the way from Palaz. I walked here."
"No camel or horse?"
Algin shook his head. "My father has a horse but it was his personal mount. I didn't have enough gold to buy one of my own."
The vendor grunted. "You're still young. It doesn't hurt to walk."
Algin silently bobbed his head then drank the remaining broth from his bowl. He held it out to the man.
"Do you want more?" the vendor asked.
"I can't afford it," Algin replied, raising his cup to his lips and drinking the tea in an extended gulp. "My silver must last at least a week."
"No work here in Rabas if that is what you came for," the vendor said, suggesting. "Best you return to Palaz."
"I came to join the royal guard," Algin announced proudly.
The vendor frowned and shook his head. "They take no more men. Better go back to Palaz."
Handing the vendor the empty cup, Algin merely shrugged. "I'll go to the Citadel and ask for myself."
"Citadel," the vendor sneered. "The place is a hovel like the rest of Rabas. Do you know where it is?"
Algin said he did not and the vendor offered directions to the largest building in the city that served as the local seat of government under the command of the sovereign of Menon.
A commander of the royal guard appointed by the sulan ruled each city in the province and its immediate environment, supported by a hundred men at arms. Most of his guard worked the fields like the majority of the residents except for a token brigade stationed at the Citadel. The latter served to watch the city gates and patrol the streets and the marketplace.
Making his way across Rabas, Algin arrived at the Citadel and stopped near the wide stairs leading into the aging building to retrieve a rolled piece of parchment from his pack.
The Citadel was a rather nondescript structure, distinguished from the other buildings in Rabas merely by its width and height. It encompassed three stories and was about sixty feet wide with a broad front door and modest stone porch that descended three steps to the street. Two guards stood to either side of the doorway, both watching the young man with only casual interest.
Algin hefted his pack and ascended two steps, and smiled at the sentries. He held out the scroll. "An introduction to Captain Satar Murti," he announced to the nearest sentry, indicating that he came to see the city's second in command.
The man leaned forward to examine the scrolled parchment without touching it, taking note of the wax seal. "Leave your pack here and come with me," he ordered.
Algin nodded, setting his pack to the side of the porch before following the guard into the building. He glanced about at the unembellished wooden walls as he trailed behind the sentry, down the carpeted hall.
The sentry stopped at the fourth door and softly knocked.
"Come in," a muffled voice called out from beyond the door.
With a nod to Algin, the sentry manipulated the latch and entered a step into the room. "Someone here with a letter, sire," he announced, tilting his head toward Algin.
"Then show him in," Satar Murti said impatiently. "You can return to your post."
The sentry lowered his head and pivoted smartly. "You can go in," he said to Algin as he exited to the hall.
Algin smiled and stepped into the room.
Satar Murti sat on a reclining sofa behind a low table that apparently served as his desk. He wore the dull gray uniform common to the city guard, billowing pantaloons topped with a matching tunic and braid at the shoulders to signify his rank. The captain looked haggard as if lacking sufficient sleep. His eyes drooped to a squint when he stared at the young man standing in front of him.
"Do you bear a letter?" Murti asked.
Algin stepped closer, holding out the parchment scroll. "From my father, sire."
Murti leaned forward to take the document. He glanced at the seal before he breaking it and unrolling the scroll, taking a moment to read the letter. "So you are the son of Cranas," he said, smiling at Algin. "I trust he is in good health."
"His leg still bothers him where he took the lance but otherwise he thrives."
"As does my shoulder," Murti sighed, rubbing the site of a similar injury. "Your father and I hobbled back after we both fell." He laughed softly. "Only the bitterness of our bile kept us alive. We swore all the way, cursing both the demons and the gods."
Algin grinned and nodded. "I have often heard the tale."
In their youth, captain and his father served as guards on caravans crossing from Boral to Menon. Both took lances hurled by the bandits and were thrown from their mounts as the rest of the caravan sped off with the bandits in pursuit. The horses they rode followed the other animals of the caravan. Satar Murti and Cranas Tamas managed to bind their wounds and walk the thirty plus miles to Palaz.
"So you come to join my guard," Murti said, motioning Algin to a chair.
Algin sat and nodded. "I served in Palaz under my father but came here to seek a better post."
"It probably pays better," Murti agreed. "The guard at Palaz is the smallest of the province."
"The smallest," Algin concurred. "They do little more than patrol the marketplace and watch the gates. There are no more caravans to escort."
Murti grunted. "Same here. The caravans no longer dare make the trek to Rabas from Boral."
"Because of Dagast," Algin suggested.
Murti scowled. "The bastard plagues us. No caravan has reached Rabas in months. They don't dare approach the river from Boral."
Algin rolled his eyes. "The same in Palaz. It has been months since the last one came from Rabas or Quezan. My father swears something has to be done."
"Easy said," Murti sighed. "Over fifty cutthroats ride for Dagast. No city can afford the men to guard the caravans."
Algin shifted uneasily in his chair. "Has anyone gone after him in the Desfalan?"
Murti sullenly nodded. "Some tried but, from what I'm told, the bastard hides high in the mountains and keeps a close watch on the paths. The last time a sizable force from Boral went after him, it found nothing but vacant campsites and not trace of the bastard or his scum." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It won't be much different serving here. Your duties will be the same as in Palaz. If you seek something more, I suggest you go to Boral, maybe Kerstan or Marutan, or further north to Zebrali or Wabanz. Those cities have a better guard and work the caravans. I could give you a letter of introduction to the guard at Kerstan, although I personally know no one there."
"Too far to walk," Algin sighed. "I have no horse."
Murti leaned back in his sofa, staring pensively at the young man. "For your father, I could provide a mount. In truth, I owe him a horse. However, it won't be a very good one."
Algin offered an appreciative smile. "As long as it carries me. Would it make the journey to Boral?"
"To Kerstan and beyond," Murti replied. "There are four grazing outside the city. You can pick the one you want but there will be no saddle."
"It will sit more comfortably," Algin said. "That was the way I learned to ride."
"Then I'll send a man with you. He will show you where they are. Wait outside for him."
Algin arose and dipped his head. "I'm in your debt, sire," he said, turning toward the door.
"Give your father my best if you return to Palaz," Murti called out as the young man stepped to the hall.
Algin again dipped his head, returning to retrieve his pack and wait to be shown to his new mount. I get to ride, he mused, grinning broadly. It was worth the walk from Palaz.
Chapter 2
With his pack strapped to his back, Algin rode southeast toward the Wabaz River and its narrow ford below the Desfalan Mountains. "At least, you can walk," he muttered to the horse. "From the look of you, I doubt if you could run very far." He shrugged and sighed.
The horse provided by Satar Murti was a motley mare with irregular patches of brown that made it appear to be molting. The patches were separated by streaks of dirty gray, which accentuated the contours of its ribs. The horse seemed underfed; its neck narrowed and knobby, and its haunches extending slightly above its spine.
"Father said never speak ill of a gift," Algin said stoically, again addressing to the horse. "I should be thankful I don't have to walk."
Pressing southeastward, he rode for the balance of the day and used his pack as a pillow after securing it, spending the night sleeping beneath an anemic mulberry bush. The sun awoke him as soon as it crested the foothills in northeastern Boral, above the city of Gustak.
Algin stood and stretched, arching his spine as he surveyed the surrounding terrain. The portion of Menon where he stood was irregular with low rises separated by sharply cleaved gullies that flooded during the spring rains. The vegetation was sparse and dry except for the more deep-rooted bushes and trees, which showed a fair amount of green. Little of it survived on the rises amongst the outcroppings of boulders and hardened brown earth.
Digging into his pack, Algin retrieved a piece of jerky and a lime that would serve as his morning fare. He munched on the jerky as he mounted his mare. "If you walk a little faster, we might reach the river before dark," he said to the horse, nudging it with his heels.
The horse snorted then fluttered its lips with a disgruntled gush of exhaled air as if objecting to the remark. It continued to move at its plodding, unhurried pace.
Two drinks of water from the goatskin bag he carried and two more helpings of jerky saw Algin through the better part of the day. He emerged from a gully and scaled a gradual rise overlooking the Wabaz River. The only available fording place lay to his right.
"Well, at least, you made it this far," Algin murmured to his horse as he veered it south along the raised ground.
The Wabaz River had its headwaters high in the Desfalan Mountains, running deep and swift northward to the Balai Sea. Its banks were steep for the most part and, though the river was not very wide, it extended to sixty feet at its ford where the water level dropped to less than three feet. The Wabaz could be crossed only at that point.
The sun was low on the horizon behind him when Algin approached the ford. A small cloth lean-to sat a few yards from the river.
Algin halted the horse and stared at the lean-to, searching for signs of life. A boot jutted out from the left side of the cloth cover, obviously belonging to a man.
Reaching back into his pack, Algin withdrew the long dagger he carried along with a broad sword and stuck it in his sash then urged the horse forward.
A snort from the animal provoked the emergence of a head from beneath the lean-to and a burly youth rolled out to sit beside it, staring up at Algin.
The camper was impressive in his height, appearing well over six foot even as he sat. He was fair in complexion with only a hint of a beard but bore an overgrown mound of unruly hair. His biceps were huge muscular posts that hung from expansive shoulders at the sides of his barrel chest.
"Are you going to Boral?" Algin asked merely to invoke a conversation.
The young man glanced at the river then returned his eyes to Algin. "No way to cross over without getting my boots wet."
Algin halted his horse. "You could take them off," he suggested. "The water doesn't seem to be very deep."
The young man finally took to his feet, standing a good six foot eight. "It's moving too fast," he grumbled. "If I fall, I'll drown. Never learned to swim."
"Then why are you staying here?" Algin asked, his face contorting with a perplexed frown.
"Because I'm going to Boral," the young man replied without expression.
From the response, Algin concluded the camper was not very bright. "I am called Algin - Algin Tamas," he said, deciding introductions were in order.
"Brenad Olaf," the young man responded, presumably stating his name.
"Are you from Rabas?" Algin asked.
"Rabas," Brenad confirmed. "I'm going to Boral."
Algin quietly smirked. "Not unless you cross the river. Boral is on the other side."
"I have thought about it," Brenad muttered. "Maybe you could let me hold onto your horse."
Algin thought a moment then nodded. "You can hold the tail when I cross. Best take off your boots first."
Brenad dipped his head and sat down. He removed his boots then dislodged the two short poles that held up his cloth shelter. Scooping up his sparse belongings, he placed them on the cloth, tying its corners to form a bundle and inserting the poles before setting the entire collection on his shoulder.
"I'm ready to go," Brenad declared.
"Take hold of the tail," Algin said. He waited until Brenad complied then urged his horse toward the river.
"The water is moving fast," Brenad noted with a worried frown.
"Fast but shallow," Algin said, looking back at the young man and offering a reassuring smile. "It should not be over your knees."
"Well move slowly," Brenad urged.
"My horse knows no other pace," Algin sighed as they entered the swiftly flowing water.
They crossed the Wabaz with Brenad stumbling twice, once falling on his rear and getting wet above the waist.
"You made it," Algin declared when they reached the opposite bank. "You are now in Boral." He halted the horse and turned partially. "You can let go of the tail now," he said with a patient smile. "I'm moving on while there is still enough light."
"I'll walk with you," Brenad announced.
"Why?" Algin asked suspiciously.
Brenad shrugged. "I have never been to Boral. I'm not sure which way to go."
"Where are you going?" Algin asked.
"Boral," Brenad replied with a wide-eyed but blank glaze.
Algin heaved a labored sigh. "Where in Boral?"
Brenad again shrugged. "A city. I go to find work. There was none in Rabas."
"The grain fields," Algin suggested. "That is where most people work."
Brenad vigorously shook his head. "Too hard. They work from sunup to dark. I left to find something easier."
Algin reined the horse to a stop. "Have you a skill?"
Brenad spent a brief moment in thought then again shook his head. "I am strong," he said as if it was his only attribute. "Too strong to spend my day pulling the weeds in the fields."
Algin hesitated, debating the merits of his unsought companion. The oversized youth seemed friendly enough.
"Are you going to a city?" Brenad asked, his eyes pleading to be invited along.
"I am," Algin said. "You can come with me if you like."
A broad beaming smile extended Brenad's cheeks and brightened his eyes. "I can walk as fast as your horse," he declared.
"Maybe faster," Algin groaned.
Glancing back at the western horizon at the descending sun, he pointed to a small alcove between two outcroppings of rock. "It will be dark soon. I'm going to spend the night over there."
"I'll sleep up front," Brenad said with a nod. He dug in his bundle and withdrew a large fish. "You can share this if you like. I took it from the river today."
"It needs to be cleaned and gutted," Algin observed.
Brenad stared down at the fish in his hands. "I have no blade. Could I borrow yours?"
Sliding off his horse, Algin set down his pack and eased the hilt of his sword out of it in easy reach before he handed his boot dagger to the young man. "Best clean the fish in the river," he suggested, squatting close to his pack.
Brenad smiled and nodded, and walked off in that direction, carrying his fish.
Picking up his pack, Algin headed for the alcove. "I guess I'll build him a fire," he said, addressing the horse. "After all, it is his fish."
Chapter 3
Algin sat leaning against a boulder, watching Brenad turn the fish over the dancing flames. "How did you catch it?" he asked.
Brenad offered a ridiculous smirk. "It caught itself. The thing got stuck between two rocks near the bank. I just went over and pulled it out by the tail."
Algin eyed him dubiously. "Was it alive?"
Brenad looked up and nodded. "Its tail was thrashing about. That was why I saw it. The thing was splashing a lot."
"You could have eaten earlier," Algin suggested.
Brenad shook his head. "Nothing to start a fire. I lost my flint and rasp somewhere outside of Rabas. It must have fallen out of my bundle."
Algin peered over at the unfolded cloth. It held a small clay jug and an assortment of odds and ends, with a few limes added to the mix. "You don't seem well prepared for a journey," he observed. "Have you any food?"
"Just these," Brenad replied, picking up and exhibiting a lime. "I figured I would catch something to eat or dig up some roots along the way."
"Catch what?" Algin asked, noting the absence of weapons in his bundle.
"A hare."
"With what? Hares are not easily caught."
Reaching over, Brenad retrieved a leather patch to which two leather thongs were attached. "With my sling," he replied, holding up the weapon. "I can hit anything at a distance. I almost never miss."
"A fair weapon for hunting hares," Algin conceded. "Were you born in Rabas?"
"In Quezan. I was taken to Rabas after my father died. My uncle took me in. He works in the groves. That was where I got the limes." He sniffed at the fish then lowered it back over the flames. "Where are you from?"
"Palaz. My father is commander of the royal guard. I served under him for a time."
Brenad scowled. "I tried to join the guard but they said I had no skills."
"You could have trained," Algin suggested. "Most anyone can learn to use a lance or a blade. Little else is required for the guard."
"Anyone but me," Brenad muttered. "They said I used the blade like a club and I couldn't hurl the lance. The blasted thing kept going sideways when I threw it. Besides, I never learned to ride a horse."
"It is no more than sitting," Algin said. "Anyone can learn to ride if he keeps at it for a while."
Brenad gave a disheartened shrug. "Maybe I'll try it someday. Anyway, I have no love for the guard. All they do is push people about in the marketplace. I saw them kick over a beggar's bowl more than once."
"Not in Palaz," Algin countered. "We only looked for thieves."
"To cut off their hands," Brenad said in a low growl. "All most want is enough coppers to eat."
"Not in Palaz," Algin insisted. "A thief was give five lashes the first time and only two if he stole food. My father would give him three silvers when he was released."
"Better than Rabas," Brenad conceded. "Your father has a good heart." He lifted the fish from the ebbing fire and held it out to cool. "I rather work in a storehouse, lifting and moving things. There were two in Rabas but they were full up. Maybe there are more in Boral."
"Possibly in Kerstan," Algin suggested. "The city is by the sea and a lot of wares come in from the Balai."
Brenad shrugged. "I never saw the Balai. They say its water stretches as far as the eye can see."
"And beyond," Algin added. "Some say there is no end to the sea."
"Everything has an end," Brenad said with a deep frown. "If you go too far, you will fall off the earth. That is what my father used to say before he died."
"How did he die?"
"Killed," Brenad replied. "He tended the animals on the caravans. Bandits took his head."
"My father was wounded by them but he lived," Algin offered. "He still has a leg that gives him pain."
"Better than my father," Brenad retorted. "They say his head came clean off." He leaned and held the fish out to Algin. "Here. Take what you want and I'll eat the rest."
Reaching out, Algin pared off two large sections of the fish, rebalancing it on the spit before handing it back to Brenad. The pair silently ate.
After several minutes, Brenad tossed the fish's skeleton to one side and licked the grease from the pole before stowing it with the rest of his gear. He stared at the reddish gold clouds above the western horizon. "Almost night," he observed. "Do you want to put more wood on the fire or go to sleep?"
Algin wiped his lips and arose, hefting his pack to his shoulder. "I think I'll sleep. You can see to the fire if you like."
Taking the reins of his horse, Algin moved further back into the alcove and tied the animal to the narrow stump of a dead bush before lying down to rest his head on the pack. As a precaution, he laid his dagger at his side. He seems harmless enough, he murmured, peering at Brenad through the legs of the horse. He positioned it to block the mouth of the alcove. Anyway, I sleep lightly. I'll hear him if he moves about.
Chapter 4
Rising with the sun, Algin moved out of the alcove and gave the sleeping young man's boot a tap with his own. "I'm ready to leave," he announced when Brenad opened his eyes.
"It is barely morning," Brenad grumbled as he sat up. He reached into his bundle and withdrew a lime. Grimacing at the taste, he bit off a piece of the rind and squeezed its juice into his mouth. He threw it away without eating its pulp.
Algin waited patiently as the young man gathered his belongings and secured them in the knotted cloth.
"We can go now," Brenad said, taking to his feet.
Algin nodded and walked off, leading the horse.
"Why not ride?" Brenad suggested as he moved alongside.
"I will when I tire," Algin replied, balancing his pack on the back of the horse. "It won't hurt to walk for a while."
"Better for the horse," Brenad smiled.
The pair headed northeastward toward Kerstan, engaged in idle conversation. Algin recounted his days growing up in Palaz, telling of the many trips he and his father made with the caravans that plied the paths leading from the coastal port of Terlaz to the inland cities of Rabas and Palaz. An occasional side trip would take them to Quezan in the deep southern end of Menon.
Twice during their journeys, minor bandits attacked their caravan, descending from the foothills that lined the coast between Terlaz and Palaz. On the second occasion, Algin was forced to defend himself. He drew his first blood by killing two of the marauders and giving a fair accounting of his skill with the sword.
Both of his opponents attacked at once but inflicted no more than a slight gash on his left abdomen. His father ran to his aid when he saw the bandits draw his son's blood. However, with several quick strokes of his blade, Algin dispatched both before his father reached his side. When the attack was over and the remaining marauders took flight, his father chided him for failing to parry successfully after he inspected the minor cut.
Starting at age six, his father trained Algin in the use of the broad blade. Commander Cranas Tamas of Palaz was a renowned swordsman, often heralded as the best of the royal guard and twice cited by the sulan of Menon. Algin exemplified his father's skill and, as he reached his teens, began to best him in their practice jousts. However, he was much less competent with the lance. The weapon seemed unwieldy in his hand and, riding at a gallop, he would miss his target more often than not.
In contrast, Brenad led a reasonable peaceful life. He was always larger than his companions but not given to brawling. The uncle who reared him was a grove tender. A meek and soft-spoken man, he seemed to care only about his trees, nurturing them as a mother sees to her children. Gares Plagas attempted to instill his passion in his nephew with little success. Brenad was more fascinated by the bugs that infested the groves than he was in the trees. Only the fruit they produced interested the strapping young man. He gorged himself on oranges and small hard apples but ate sparingly of the limes. The date and olive trees were beyond his uncle's domain. Brenad would sample them only when the carts passed, carrying the produce into Rabas. He would rise eagerly at dawn during the harvest season but had to be harassed out of bed by his uncle during the balance of the year.
The only distinguishing feature Brenad possessed was his brawn. He was stronger and taller than most men, with broad hands that could cup and cover the top of a man's head. Despite his size, he was gentle in nature, preferring to withdraw from an argument rather than being involved in a brawl. He engaged in a fight only once where he picked up his adversary and hurled him through the window of an inn, out into the street. Still, Brenad followed the man, bending over him to apologize.
Pressing their way northeastward, the pair traveled for most of the day, stopping only once when Brenad felled a rabbit with his sling to serve as their evening meal. Algin remounted as the late afternoon shadows grew long.
"How far is Kerstan?" Brenad asked, looking up at Algin.
"Probably nine or ten days at this pace," Algin replied. "I went there once with my father but we had good fast mounts. We made it there in three after we crossed the river."
"Maybe sooner than nine," Brenad suggested hopefully.
"Not by much," Algin sighed. "You are walking faster than the horse."
Chapter 5
Trudging alongside his mount, eight days after he crossed the Wabaz River into Boral, Algin pulled back on the tethering rope and squatted in the shadow of the horse. He peered ahead at the terrain. The environment grew decidedly greener and flatter, broken by small isolated stands of modest trees.
"We are nearing Kerstan," Algin announced, glancing upwards over his left shoulder at Brenad. "There are no more rises from here on."
"How much further?" Brenad asked as he bent to massage his thighs. The walk was beginning to stiffen his limbs.
Algin shrugged "Two days, three at the most. I can smell the sea in the air."
Brenad sniffed, turning his head from side to side. "I only smell the trees. What does the sea smell like?"
Algin raised a brow in thought. "Like salt. Its water isn't fit to drink. When it dries, it leaves salt behind in the ponds."
"Then nothing lives in it," Brenad suggested.
Algin disagreed with a shake of his head. "No, the sea abounds with fish and other forms of life."
A skeptical frown rippled across the young man's brow. "How can fish live in it if it isn't fit to drink?"
"They have grown accustomed to it, I guess," Algin replied with a shrug. "At any rate, the fish seem to thrive. The fishermen at Terlaz used to return with their nets full."
"It makes no sense," Brenad grumbled. "Bad water would make the fish sick."
Algin heaved a patient sigh. "Maybe they don't drink it. They could swim to the surface when it rains to catch mouthfuls of fresh water."
"Well I'm not going near the sea," Brenad said adamantly. "It seems like an unhealthy place."
Algin heaved another sigh. "We are going to Kerstan, not into the sea. It is set back a ways from the water. You won't be too near the Balai."
Rising, Algin tugged at his horse's tether. "We best keep moving. My legs are beginning to cramp. If I don't start walking, I'll end up rooted to this spot."
Without a response, Brenad followed him between two stands of trees. The pair continued for the balance of the day, choosing a sequestered cluster of low bushes near the tree line to spend the night. It was about an hour before sunset when Algin decided to stop.
Flopping on the ground, Algin turned his head toward the trees, scanning the foliage. A number of gray squirrels were moving about the branches.
"We could use a couple of those," he said, pointing out the squirrels.
Brenad looked. "For what?" he asked blankly.
"To eat," Algin sighed. "You helped eat the last of my food. Go see if you can catch one or two."
Studying the movements of the squirrels, Brenad grinned. "They will be easy to kill," he declared. "They keep stopping to look at me."
"Then see to it," Algin muttered, closing his eyes.
Exhaustion overtook him and he was asleep when Brenad returned with his catch. The young man sat for almost a half hour, staring at Algin. Finally, he reached out and gave his boot a shake. "It will be dark soon," he announced as Algin opened an eye and peered at him. He held out the dead squirrels by their tails. "Two of them," he said proudly. "I could have killed a dozen more."
"Two will do," Algin murmured as he sat up. He drew his dagger from his boot and tossed it near Brenad. "I'll start the fire while you clean them," he said, rising to his feet.
While his companion skinned and gutted the squirrels, Algin gathered the necessary wood and set fire to some kindling, using his rasp and flint. He prepared two spits then sat down to watch Brenad roast the squirrels.
"Good meat," Brenad mumbled through a mouthful, "much better than hare."
"Because you are hungrier," Algin suggested. "An empty bowel adds flavor to the fare."
"I am hungry," Brenad conceded. He leaned forward to toss more wood on the fire, as the sky grew dark.
"What will you do when we reach Kerstan?" Algin asked.
"Look for work."
"Have you the silver to feed yourself until you find some?"
Brenad hesitated, his brow furrowing as a haze of despair rippled across his face. "I didn't bring any," he murmured sullenly. "My uncle had none to spare. Besides, he didn't want me to leave Rabas."
"Then you will starve if you don't find work."
Brenad woefully nodded. "I will starve," he conceded. "Maybe I better kill more squirrels. I can dry the meat."
"When we get closer to Kerstan," Algin suggested. "We still are a ways off." He tossed the remains of the squirrel carcass into the underbrush and wiped his hands on his pantaloons. "Give me back my blade. I'm going to sleep."
Brenad reached around the fire, handing him the dagger hilt first. "Do you always carry that in your boot?"
Algin stretched out on the ground and rested his head on his pack. "Always when traveling."
"Why?" Brenad asked with a perplexed frown.
Algin looked over at him out of the corners of his eyes. "To protect myself if I am ever attacked. You would do well to carry one with you after your reach Kerstan. With no silver, you'll have to sleep in the alleys. There are those in the city who may set upon you at night."
"Why?" Brenad murmured. "I have nothing to steal."
"They may not know that. Men have had their throats cut by those looking for a purse. You best keep your wits about you in Kerstan. The city is much larger and different from Rabas. It has a lot more people. Some of whom are cutthroats and thieves."
Brenad remained pensively staring into the fire as Algin fell asleep. He added the last of the gathered wood as the waxing moon began to rise, painting the stretch of grass that bordered the trees in a shadowy monotone.
Leaning against a tree trunk, Brenad closed his eyes, allowing the fire to ebb and reduce itself to a mound of embers. The young man remained awake for almost an hour, pondering his chances of finding employment in Kerstan. As he finally began to doze, the cracking of twigs beneath someone's feet drew his attention and he opened his eyes. His head turned slightly toward the approaching sounds and reached out with his boot to nudge his companion.
Algin slowly rolled toward him. "I heard," he whispered. "One person, moving toward the horse."
The animal was tethered off a few yards to their right, in plain view of Algin. Brenad was partially hidden behind the tree.
Algin again rolled a turn. "Move quietly and circle around behind the sounds," he ordered softly. "I'll keep an eye on the horse."
Complying, Brenad leaned to his right and slipped to a crouch. He crept slowly into the trees, pausing every few feet to listen for the movements of the intruder.
In the diminished moonlight, Brenad caught sight of the diminutive figure that now squatted behind a tree near the horse, intently watching Algin. He drew a quick breath and lunged, throwing his arms around the intruder and toppling him forward. The pair rolled across the ground, ending up a short distance from Algin.
Containing his catch, Brenad rolled the intruder over and sat on his stomach, pinning his arms to the ground with his knees.
Algin was on his feet, dagger in hand. "Can you hold him?" he asked as he ran over to the struggling pair.
"Easily," Brenad grinned, placing his palms on the intruder's chest.
"You don't place much value on your life," Algin said ominously as he squatted to get a better view of the interloper's face. "A man gets killed for trying to steal another's horse."
"She's not a man," Brenad rasped, giving the intruder's chest a squeeze with both hands.
"You sure?" Algin asked.
"I am," Brenad replied. "Here, feel for yourself."
Algin reached out and clutched at a breast. He leaned around Brenad and ran his hand up the interloper's pantaloons to verify the sex. "It is a woman!" he gasped.
"Of course, I'm a woman," she groaned. "If you're done pawing my body, would you get this hulk off me and let me stand. My stomach is being crushed."
"No weapons," Algin said after a quick check of her trousers. "You can let her up."
Dressed like a man, the girl wore a course tunic and pantaloons, and a pair of leather boots. Her hair was pulled back and secured in a bun beneath the scarf she wore wrapped around her head. She slowly arose and glared at the pair, first at Brenad than at Algin. "I was only looking for something to eat," she growled. "You didn't have to knock me down."
Algin leaned toward her and frowned. "You were trying to steal my horse."
"So what?" she sneered. "I got tired of walking."
"Who are you?" Algin asked, deepening his frown.
"Wisti," she replied arrogantly, snapping out her name.
Algin glared at her. "Have you no father?" Apparently, she gave only her first name.
"Wisti Venema," she replied, adding caustically, "That was the bastard's name."
Algin scowled at the coarse retort. "Watch your tongue."
"Why should I?" Wisti sniffed. "What are you going to do to me?"
Algin looked over at Brenad. "We can't just her go. If we sleep, she'll probably come back for the horse."
Brenad stared at the weapon in Algin's hand. "You're not going to kill her," he rasped.
Algin slowly circled the woman, tapping the blade of his dagger on his palm.
"You can't kill her," Brenad pleaded.
Algin stopped and nodded. "We'll tie her up until morning then let her go."
Walking back to his pack, Algin retrieved a short piece of rope and returned. "Over there," he ordered, pointing to a small bush near the extinguished fire. "Go there and lie down."
Wisti jerked her shoulder away from him when he reached out to give it a shove. She stomped over to the spot he indicated and dropped to the ground.
"Lie down, I said," Algin growled. "Otherwise, you are going to spend the night sitting up."
"On your side," he added when she grudgingly complied. "Wrap your arms and legs around the bush."
Wisti snarled as he bound her hands to her ankles. "I can't sleep like this," she grumbled. "You twisted my back."
Algin glared down at her. "I could slit your throat if you like. You have a choice. Stay tied up or die. Which would you like?"
"Bastard," Wisti muttered under her breath but otherwise did not reply.
"I'll see you in the morning," Algin said as he walked off.
Brenad hurried over to his side. "Do you think she is alone?"
Algin glanced toward her. "Must be. If she had a companion, he would have tried taking the horse himself. I think we can safely go back to sleep. You can sit up and watch her if you like."
As Algin sprawled out on the ground, Brenad returned to sit against a tree. He stared at the bound woman until his eyelids began to droop and close. Throughout his brief vigil, Wisti had not moved. Eventually, she too fell asleep.
Chapter 6
Algin and Brenad were awakened at first light by Wisti repeatedly screeching, "Let me loose!" They arose and shuffled over to the woman.
"Shut up," Algin groaned. "Your voice hurts my ears."
Wisti glared up at him. "I can't feel my hands or feet. I think they died."
Algin squatted to untie her while Brenad stood by, watching. "They are only numb," he said, loosening the last knot in the rope. "There. Now you can get up."
Wisti rolled on her side and tried to rub her wrists with uncooperative hands. She fumbled on an elbow and sat up. "You didn't have to tie me so tight."
"Can you stand?" Algin asked, reaching out and taking her arm to help her to her feet.
Wisti shook off his hand with an abrupt jerk of her shoulder. "I don't need your help," she snapped as she arose.
"Suit yourself," Algin said with an unconcerned sneer. "I could care less. You are free to go."
"Go where?" Wisti snarled.
"Back wherever you came from," Algin replied dryly.
She scowled. "I can't. I was dumped."
"Dumped?"
Wisti nodded without change of expression. "By Babu. The bastard pushed me off his horse in the middle of nowhere. I walked around until I saw your fire."
"And my horse," Algin added with a frown.
Wisti slightly relaxed her face. "And your horse," she conceded. "I wanted something to ride."
"Unfortunately, so do I," Algin retorted sarcastically.
While they spoke, Brenad stared intently at the girl. Wisti appeared about fourteen and reasonably attractive, a woman by Menonese standards. She was a shade less than five foot and well formed, with modest breasts that elevated the loose front of her grimy man's tunic when she leaned backward. The contours of her lower body were hidden behind her billowy male pantaloons.
"What are you staring at?" Wisti growled, glaring at Brenad.
"Your face," he replied innocently. I have seen it before."
"Where?" Algin asked.
"In Rabas. She was dressed different and talking to men in the marketplace. I think she is a whore."
"I am not a whore," Wisti snapped.
"Then what were you doing?" Algin asked. "Decent women don't stand around talking to strange men."
Wisti continued to rub her bruised wrists. "Tending to business," she replied curtly.
"The business of whoring," Algin retorted.
"I am not a whore," she insisted. "Babu and I worked the ruse."
Algin sat near his pack. "Who is Babu?"
"The bastard who dumped me off his horse." She squatted near him. "He said my face was too well known."
Folding his arms, Algin stared at her. "Care to explain?"
"We worked the ruse," she said as if the meaning of the word was self-evident. "I would find a man in the marketplace and take him back to our room."
"As does a whore," Algin added.
"I did not give my breach," she snarled. "We would undress then Babu would come in."
Algin stared skeptically. "Why?"
"To play the role of my husband," Wisti said with a labored sigh. "He would act angry and draw a blade. The dupe I picked would then pay him to escape with his life. He never laid a hand on me . . . not much, anyway. Always, the dupe would leave and not complain."
"Because he thought he was consorting with another man's wife," Algin frowned. "If he was killed, the act would be considered justified. However, you would be branded as an adulteress."
"Well it never happened," Wisti retorted. "The dupe always would pay. He was glad to give up his purse."
Elevating his brows, Algin woefully shook his head. "Did you do that often?"
"We traveled the cities," Wisti replied obliquely. "It was a good ruse."
Algin sneered. "Until he dumped you off his horse. What happened? Did he grow tired of your mouth?"
"Of my face," Wisti muttered. "The bastard said it was too well known. We had been to all of the cities in Menon and Boral."
"Where is he now?"
"Off to Marutan to find some whore to take my place."
"One like yourself," Algin smirked.
She glared at him, staring through narrowed eyes and snarled. "I said I was not a whore."
"And not a virgin either," he countered. "No doubt you have a well visited breach."
Wisti turned away her eyes, looking off across the grassland. "I am not a virgin," she acknowledged, softening her tone, "but neither am I a whore."
"Neither a virgin nor a whore," Algin conceded. He retrieved his water bag and took a drink.
"Can I have some?" Wisti asked.
Algin hesitated then nodded, handing over the water bag.
The girl took several healthy gulps before returning it.
"You could have said thank you," Algin frowned.
"It's only water," Wisti retorted. "It didn't cost you a thing." She reconsidered and sighed. "Thank you," she murmured reluctantly.
Algin nodded then turned to Brenad. "We best be on our way," he said, rising and picking up his pack.
"Where are you going?" Wisti asked, also taking to her feet.
"Kerstan, if it's any of your concern."
The girl's expression changed suddenly, offering a warm, inviting smile. "Can I go along?" she asked sweetly.
Algin flashed a suspicious frown. "Why?"
"Because I'm lost," Wisti replied with the innocent trill of a small child.
Algin glanced at Brenad. "I guess you can walk with us. Kerstan isn't very far away."
"Will we be there by tonight?" Brenad asked, finally taking his eyes off the girl.
"Possibly," Algin replied. He reconsidered the question. "By tomorrow for sure. It has been years since I last visited Kerstan."
Wisti followed as he went over to his horse. "Where are you from?"
"Palaz," he replied.
"I was there," she said.
"Plying your ruse, no doubt."
She nodded. "It has a meager marketplace."
"With few rich fat merchants to relieve of their gold," he added.
Wisti looked up at him and shrugged. "It was our trade."
"Thievery," Algin suggested.
Wisti wryly smiled. "We never stole. The dupes always gave Babu their purses willingly. They would offer it up as soon as he drew his blade, saying that they didn't know I was his wife."
Algin rested his pack on the horse, tugging at its reins. "Were you?"
"Was I what?"
"His wife."
"Not really," Wisti replied as she followed along. "He took me but I was never declared."
"A consort," Algin suggested diplomatically.
"Whatever," she said with a passive shrug. "He found me in Marutan."
Brenad fell in behind the pair as they walked. "Were you born there?" he asked.
Wisti glanced back at him. "I left when I was eleven. That was when I met Babu. He said we would be rich."
"Was he?" Algin asked.
"Never," Wisti sighed. "He spent almost all we made gambling. The bastard never won. I don't know why he tried."
The trio continued to travel on a northeast course for several minutes without exchanging a word. Wisti drifted behind the horse with Brenad following her. The girl suddenly increased her strides, moving forward next to Algin. "Why are you going to Kerstan?" she asked.
"To join the guard," he replied without looking at her. "I was a guardsman in Palaz."
She mildly frowned. "So why did you leave?"
"Boredom," Algin sighed. "I got tired of standing watch at the gate."
Wisti shrugged. "It won't be different in Kerstan," she suggested.
"More opportunities," he countered. "I want to escort caravans."
"Why?"
"Travel and better pay. A caravan guard makes three times the salary of a city guard."
"Because it's more dangerous. Bandits raid the caravans."
He glanced at her and nodded. "On occasion. I rode on many with my father. We were raided only twice."
"Did you have to fight them off?"
"Once. The first time, I was too young to raise a blade."
"And the other time?"
"I fought," he said.
Wisti leaned to catch a glimpse of his face. "Did you kill anyone?"
He turned toward her. "Two. I took only a small mark on my side."
A spark of interest ignited in her eyes. "What was it like?"
"Busy," he sighed. "They were trying to kill me. I had no time to examine how I felt."
"What about when it was over?"
"It was over," he said flatly. "I was glad to be alive. Not much goes through your mind when you fight. Your full attention is fixed on the other man's face and the movements of his blade. When there are two of them, you seem to have two minds, one for each of the men you face. If you don't, you die."
Wisti pensively nodded. "How did you learn to fight?"
"My father taught me. He made me practice every day from when I was about six. He would say that the blade must become a part of your arm."
"Did it?"
Algin thought briefly then bobbled his head. "I guess it has. I wield it without thought, the way I wield my arm."
"Was your father very good at it?"
Algin smiled and nodded. "Most say he is the best in Menon, twice cited by the sulan."
"Trained by a master," Wisti mused. "You must be very good."
"Skilled enough to best him in our practice jousts," Algin boasted. "I never won one until I was thirteen."
Wisti stared at the ground as she walked, her face growing sullen. "A female is trained to do no more than cook and spread her legs. If I stayed in Marutan, my father would have sold me off."
"As a wife," Algin suggested.
"As a whore," she snarled. "The bastard started dipping into my breach when I was nine. He said I had to learn the ways of pleasing men." She glanced back at Brenad and lowered her voice. "The bastard began giving me to his friends after I turned ten and developed breasts. I think they paid him but I'm not sure. By the time, I met Babu, I had been visited by more than twelve."
"A sordid life," Algin said passively. "I knew of two in Palaz who suffered the same fate. Their fathers pandered their breaches in the marketplace."
"That was why I left," she muttered. "I wanted to stop being my father's whore."
"A wonder you never spawned a child."
"A whore has her ways," Wisti sighed. "My father taught me well."
"Is that why you dress like a man?"
Wisti looked down at her garments and shook her head. "I only wear these when we moved from city to city. Babu has my robes."
"More comfortable riding," he suggested.
"Safer. After we took a dupe's purse, I wore this as a disguise just in case he hired someone to look for me. Babu would also change his appearance and clothes."
Algin halted the horse and sat to catch his breath. "What are you going to do in Kerstan?"
Wisti squatted next to him. "See if I can find work. I can pass for a man."
"A boy," he suggested. "Men have hair on their faces. You have to profess to being very young."
"A boy," she conceded. "I think I am small enough. I refuse to be a whore."
Algin gazed at her for a moment then smiled. "At least, you're being more civil. You were a bitch for a while."
Wisti nodded, returning his smile. "I was tired and hungry." She plaintively shrugged. "I still am."
"But less of a bitch," he laughed. "I'll have Brenad kill us a couple of squirrels when we reach that next stand of trees. My stomach could do with some food."
"I'll kill three," Brenad offered. "One for each of us."
Wisti turned to stare up at him. "Did he come with you from Palaz?" she asked Algin.
"From Rabas," Brenad interjected. "We met back by the river."
"Are you going to join the guard, too?" she asked him.
Brenad pouted and shook his head. "They won't have me. I'm going to find something else to do."
"Like me," Wisti sighed.
"Have you any silver?" Algin asked.
She squinted suspiciously. "Why?"
"To buy food in Kerstan. I didn't intend to steal it."
After hesitating for a moment, Wisti nodded smugly. "I always took some from the bastard's purse when he was asleep. Babu didn't know I had a purse of my own when he dumped me. I have enough to eat."
"Better than me," Brenad muttered. "I don't have a copper to my name. I'm going to starve in Kerstan if I can't find work."
"Ask your friend for a loan," Wisti suggested, glancing at Algin. "He evidently has a well filled purse."
Algin scowled. "Enough to get me by. Why don't you loan him some?"
"I'll buy him a meal to repay him for the squirrel if he catches one," Wisti offered. "You can do the same."
"Four meals," Brenad said, grinning at Algin. "One each for the fish, the hare and the other squirrel."
"Four meals," Algin conceded with a labored sigh. "If you eat one a day, you should survive for five. By then, you should find work."
Standing, Wisti looked down expectantly at him. "Can we move on to the trees? I really would like something to eat." When he hesitated, she added. "Please?"
"I am moving," Algin murmured, taking to his feet. "I expected to arrive in Kerstan alone."
"You are better for the company," Wisti laughed, walking ahead of him and his horse.
"Much better," Brenad said, joining her in laughter as he moved up to keep pace with her.
"Maybe better but poorer," Algin muttered to himself. "He probably will eat more than this horse."
Chapter 7
By midday, Brenad managed to bag three squirrels and provide a substantial meal. The trio ate and continued until nightfall, stopping within a small stand of trees to await the dawn and presumably the final leg of their journey.
Building a small campfire shortly before dark, Algin tethered his horse to a low tree branch then retrieved the short rope from his pack while Brenad went off to gather more wood. "Take off your boots," he ordered, standing over the girl.
Wisti looked up and scowled. "Why?"
"Because I'm going to tie your ankle to mine."
"You don't trust me."
"No, I don't. I want my horse here in the morning. So, I'm tying you up."
"Only my foot." She removed her boots and set them aside. She smirked. "Do you want me to take off anything else?"
Algin knelt, taking hold of her foot. "Your tunic and pantaloons if it wasn't too dark to see your form," he laughed as he fastened the rope to her ankle. "However, I'll forego the pleasure for now."
"At least, you aren't like most men," she said as she watched him attach the other end of the rope to his boot. "They would have been all over me by now, being here alone in the woods."
"I was raised to respect women," Algin said as he completed the task, "even former whores."
Wisti tilted her head to look at him. "You don't think much of me, do you?"