Dream (21 page)

Fred predicted a clear night so setting up camp was brief; the four original Black Talons had reverted to the military habit of minimalistic unpacking, and counseled Sam about the practice with a variety of insults and disparaging remarks.

Fred and Shad took turns with the group’s axe, cutting down a six-inch oak and then converting the trunk and large branches into firewood lengths. Derek had picked up some fishing arrows and quickly lost two before snagging a pike with his third and then blasting it with two bolts of arcane force.

“I don’t think that’s how arrow-fishing is supposed to work,” Jeff observed as the Shadowmancer dragged the dying fish, which was four-tenths Derek’s body weight, ashore by main force.

“Screw how its supposed to work,” the slender Texan heaved the pike’s head further up the bank. “I killed the damned thing. Gimme a hand before I pop the rod out of my back.”

The Talons sat around the fire Jeff had kindled in the fire pit and discussed the best way to cook the slabs of white pike flesh. They settled on the frying pan after Fred’s finely crafted multi-tined cooking spit caught on fire, and argued as to why the spit had failed for a while before turning to an in-depth discussion of Peter Jackson’s three-movie treatment of
The Hobbit
.

“The real weakness was that they found three great Elf-forged weapons in a troll-hole, two of ‘em legendary weapons, and never even considered finding the bones of the heroes who must have been carrying them,” Shad pointed.

“Or checking around for other gear,” Derek agreed. “You figure a guy who rated one of those blades would have had other enchanted gear on them.

“Trolls would have eaten the bones,” Fred countered.

“Doesn’t explain not looking for other gear,” Derek objected.

“And what’s with the glowing blade on Sting?” Shad mused. “Orcs and Goblins fight at night or underground by preference, so why make your sword light up like a neon tube when they’re close?”

“Maybe it’s a hero thing-I’m so badass that I make sure the enemy
knows
how to find me,” Jeff suggested.

“It’s so you never have to fight them in the dark,” Fred shook his head. “No matter when or where the fight happens the Orcs and Goblins can’t use their superior night vision to gain a significant advantage.”

“From the books it was to warn you that they were near,” Derek pointed out.

“If that’s the idea, then its like tracers: they tell you where you’re shooting at, and they tell everyone else where you are shooting
from
,” Shad jabbed a finger at the Shadowmancer. “If you’re right somebody didn’t think the thing through.”

“Yeah but...,” Derek was silenced by Fred holding up a hand. “What?”

“People,” the barbarian jerked his chin towards the road.

In the growing twilight Shad saw movement on the paler strip of the South Way, and moments later could see figures. “Five and a mule, looks like.” The Jinxman instinctively checked the flanks and rear as the others stirred.

“Six, one smaller,” Fred corrected him.

The group on the road slowed when they spotted the sparks arcing up from the fire pit, and then angled over towards where the Black Talons. “Hello the camp!” one of the figures called.

“Jeff,” Shad said quietly, and then raised his voice. “Come on in.”

The Night-grifter casually stood to set a well-dried chunk of firewood onto the bed of coals and then strolled over to check on Ula as the newcomers came across the clearing. Flames swiftly climbed the wood, illuminating the approaching group.

The man who had called was apparently the leader, a big man running to fat clad in stained and foul-smelling fighting leathers, his wide belt supporting three bone-handled knives and a short axe. He had shaved his scalp, which was tattooed in a pattern Shad couldn’t make out, and wore a thick walrus-style mustache and a few day’s growth of beard on a grimy face.

His four companions were rough-looking men who stank of blood and long-unwashed bodies, and who each carried several knives in addition to axes or maces. The remainder of the group consisted of a skinny overloaded mule that was limping on its left front hoof, and what appeared to be a self-propelled bundle of foul-smelling furs.

Walrus Mustache dropped onto a log section with a satisfied grunt. “Long day. I’m Ulrich.”

“Shad. We’re the Black Talons. You headed to the City State?”

“Only place this road leads,” Ulrich grinned, revealing strong white teeth. “Something smells good.”

The Jinxman jerked his chin towards the frying pan. “Pike. We’re grilling some for tomorrow. When we’re done you’re welcome to the fire. There’ll be some pike left over, if you’re inclined.”

Ulrich shrugged disinterestedly as his fellows took seats. “Girl!” he barked.

The sixth member of the group turned out to be a young woman in a filthy dress that appeared to embroidered homespun who had been bent nearly double under an overloaded pack frame. She had been struggling out from under her burden when Ulrich spoke. Scrambling from beneath the pack she trotted to the mule and hastily unstrapped a bulging wineskin which she brought to the trapper at the double. The dirt and fear made her age problematic, but Shad guessed her to be around sixteen.

Ulrich noted the Jinxman’s expression. “You got a problem, or you want a throw on her?”

Shad heard Derek’s hissing growl and saw Fred shift his feet out of the corner of his eye. “Last guy I saw treat a woman that badly, I shot four of his camels and blew up his house.”

“She’s bought and paid for, right and proper,” Ulrich bared his teeth in a vicious grin. “Cost me three week’s pelts. I don’t care what you think, and if you’re smart you’ll keep your opinion to yourself. I don’t care for bravos.”

“You
bought
her?”

“Her folks were hard put-my pelts gave ‘em a leg up, I expect.”

“Speaking of pelts,” Derek observed. “You trap in winter for the richer coat. What are you doing moving fur in summer?”

A trapper with a large nose which had been broken and poorly reset muttered something and the others snickered. The girl slipped out of the circle of light and went to unload the mule.

“Winter cache,” Ulrich took a long pull at the skin and passed it to the next trapper. “We camp in the slopes of the Cloudtops, hunt aurochs in the warm months for meat and hides, and while the hides cure and the meat smokes we haul the winter furs to market, not that its any of your business.” He patted the axe at his hip. “We can keep what’s ours.”

“So, back to this purchasing the girl,” Shad casually hitched his sword scabbard to lay more comfortably. “I haven’t seen a place where slavery is legal.”

“Legal?” Ulrich laughed. Accepting the skin from a comrade he took a long pull. “There’s not much law around here. You sound like that ninny running the City-State.”

“The Ultimate Master,” Shad nodded. “I take it he had an opinion on the subject.”

“Don’t matter what he thought-he don’t lay claim this far out.”

“He doesn’t claim anything anymore-he’s dead,” the Jinxman said thoughtfully. “So a few furs buys a girl for life?’

“Buys her for as long as we need her.”

The mule brayed sadly as the girl managed to get the pack saddle off. “Keep that beast quiet or I’ll take a stick to both of you,” Ulrich snarled over his shoulder.

Shad scratched his jaw, elbowing his shield against his leg and glancing at his comrades. Sam was wide-eyed and shaking, Derek resembled a reactor whose core was about to go Chernobyl, and Fred looked sleepy, which was never a good sign.

The Jinxman leaned over to turn the slabs of fish sizzling in the frying pan. “Well, we’ll buy the girl off you. What do you say to ten Marks?”

Broken Nose laughed and Ulrich gave another of his mad grins, his walrus mustache wet with wine. “You can rent her, but other than that, piss off.”

“That’s what I figured.” Shad nodded, and a split-second later a silver-blue bolt of energy slammed into Broken-Nose’s chest.

Shad thrust his left arm into his shield’s strap as he plucked a throwing knife from its sheath and threw it at Ulrich, barking the command word as the steel left his hand. The knife ripped into Ulrich’s thigh as the big man hurled himself to his feet, drawing his axe and a long-bladed skinning knife. Next to the cursing Broken-nose a trapper fell off the log with a slender bolt standing out from the base of his neck as Fred leapt bellowing to his feet.

Ulrich led with his axe; Shad caught it on his shield and parried the skinning knife with a side-sweep of his sword, then tried for the trapper’s face. The big man hadn’t been expected the use of the point and ducked awkwardly, losing part of his left ear.

Out of the corner of his eye Shad saw Broken-nose’s head bouncing across the ground and Jeff closing, Blackwand in hand, from behind the trappers, but his main attention was focused on Ulrich; keeping his shield squarely between them he stayed with the point, using the sword’s longer reach to his best advantage. Ulrich was bigger and stronger but he was accustomed to working in close with the edge, and he couldn’t get past or through the Talon’s shield. Most of the wounds he was receiving were just shallow punctures, but he was losing blood and more importantly he was getting frustrated and angry.

“Quit dancing and
fight
, you motherless bastard,” the trapper snarled.

Shad grinned. “Come at me, bro.” To his left Fred was roared as he hacked a trapper limb from limb, Derek covering the raging barbarian’s back. Jeff was keeping two trappers busy, fighting defensively.

The trapper led with a mighty swing but the Jinxman angled his shield and deflected it to the side, throwing the big man off-balance as Shad stepped forward in a thrust that slid the point of his sword up under the sternum and through Ulrich’s heart.

Stepping away from the expiring trapper Shad saw Fred noisily dismembering the last trapper who was no longer anything close to being alive. Jeff was to one side, liberally splattered with blood, wiping off Blackwand with a fistful of grass. Derek, sword and buckler in hand, was checking the downed trappers for signs of life, and Sam was clutching his sword-rapier and looking paler than a ghost.

“You going to faint or barf?” Shad inquired.

“
Ahh..ahhh..ahh
,” the Bard stammered.

“Good, glad to hear it.” The Jinxman eased Sam’s sword down so the point rested on the ground and went to find some grass to clean his blade.

“Well, that was a massacre,” Derek observed with some satisfaction as the Jinxman returned. “But we didn’t get any blood on the fish.”

“I knew you were going to start the dance,” Shad worked his shoulder. “That bastard hit like a sledgehammer. Anyone hurt? OK, Derek, turn out their pockets. Jeff stand watch, Fred and I will send the bodies downstream. Sam, check the girl. Sam…
Sam
!”

“Yeah?” the young man looked up with a start.

“Talk to the girl,” Shad repeated. “The fight is over.”

“Never really started,” Derek snickered.

“You get mean when you’re between goats, you know that?” Jeff grinned. The Shadowmancer flipped him off in reply.

“They’re
dead
,” Sam said slowly.

“Yeah, that’s how it works sometimes. They should have taken the ten Marks,” Shad shrugged.

“We don’t have ten Marks,” Derek advised as he knelt by Ulrich’s body.

“Well, they were just screwed, then,” the Jinxman spread his hands indifferently. “I don’t care for that sort of thing.”

“
What
sort of thing?” Sam threw his arms out is agitation. “Did you even
ask
the girl what she thought? No, you just killed them.”

“Feces occurs, Sam. We saw this sort of thing in Iraq, old bastards with child brides they bought, all sorts of sick stuff.”

“Its
their
culture.”

“Yeah, well, it sucks to be them.” At Fred’s nod Shad picked up Ulrich’s feet as the big barbarian lifted the corpse’s shoulders. “Crap: my boots were nearly dry.”

“Derek…” Sam turned to the Shadowmancer, who was tossing and kicking weapons into a pile. “Why?”

“Its wrong,” the lean Radio Shack assistant manager explained. “Its slavery. Its sexual assault and probably physical abuse. Look, we’re just trying to get home, but we can’t let stuff like this pass.” He slapped the Bard on the shoulder. “Talk to the girl, and let the rest go. We’re that sort of guys, is all.”

“
What
sort of guys?”

“Heroes. Or assholes-it all depends on where you’re standing when the blood starts flowing. But mostly just guys who get the job done.”

“Man, that turned out to be more work than it was worth,” Shad grumbled as he and Fred slogged back to where Derek was moving their gear. “It would have helped if you could kill them in one piece.”

Fred shrugged disinterestedly.

Derek had lit a candle in a lantern and was moving their gear to clean grass well away from the scene of the fight. “Got the last of the fish cooking,’ he advised cheerfully. “At least the last of what we’re taking.”