The Missing Caravans 3

A gaggle of people laughed and shouted, filling casks of water at a fresh spring, in good spirits. A few of them stumbled and squinted in the midday light, the effect of a long night of revelry.

They were dressed in the average Ascharon clothing – coat and breeches in various styles, or loose belted shirts and trousers tucked into leg wrappings.

Several wore boiled leather armor, chestpieces or vambraces or greaves. More wore jack-coats – coats that have been sewn with boiled leather pieces or metal pieces in the lining to provide a flexible kind of light armor.

The cloth and leather of their outfits was scuffed and worn. They were shod in animal hide, only a few wearing crafted leather boots or shoes. Most wore scrap pelt sewn or tied together over which a wooden sole was strapped.

They talked loudly, boasted and jeered in equal measure.

They were the very picture of mountain bandits.

Their words lofted up the incline where the spring was located, reaching the ears of eight people crouched in the shadow of the rock formations ubiquitous around the environs of the Lowpool.

"We can take 'em," whispered one of the eight. "Only twelve down there, and we have two archers."

Another was frowning. "Cuthes, have you seen this many bandits in one place before? Look at the casks, man. There's enough there for a platoon on double ration for a sennight."

Cuthes turned, patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Your division ran out of ale? Never experienced it m'self, but Chelua be damned if I haven't heard stories. Was it as bad as they said?"

The other glared, shook off the hand on his shoulder, whispered harshly. "Of course it was bad, you muck-son of a gargled swan! A soldier isn't a soldier without ale! You think –"

"Quiet."

The lowly-voiced word returned the silence from before.

They watched as casks were filled and various objects were washed.

"They're leaving," commented one of the archers. He glanced at Natan. "Not attacking?"

Defi thought his name was Hanel. He glanced around.

There were dissatisfied faces in the group.

The bandits below trailed away into the trees, casks on their shoulders, under their arms, unknowing of the discussion that would determine their fate.

"We're following." Natan's eyes were on the bandits. "Current intelligence says there isn't a place in the immediate area capable of hiding a large group of bandits. Would you not like to see what hole these rats have found, that they could be so confident?"

Cuthes perked up. "So let these little ticks go, so we could fight more of 'em big ticks?" He grinned wide, showing teeth yellowed with tobacco and gin. "I'm all for that!"

"We're not attacking the bandit camp, soldier. There's too few of us. But even if all we get is a direction, a general area of where they're hiding, the information is valuable. The military can smoke them out of their burrows then. For the safety of the people, we cannot be hasty."

The man was about to protest when Natan interrupted him with a faintly grim smirk. "Don't worry, soldier. I feel we'll all get a full taste of fighting today. Just make sure you don't get that taste too deeply in the gut, eh?"

There were a couple of snickers from the others while Cuthes grinned. "Yessir."

*

They crept along the mountain trails, at one point needing to leave their horses behind and continue on foot as the trees grew closer together and small canyons started to appear, making the trails more uncertain. They entered a land of mountain ravines and gullies, the bottom of the chasms still cold with mist despite the afternoon heat.

Defi thought the trees wreathed in fog to be beautiful, an odd juxtaposition of sharply jutting pines and soft curling white with shafts of sunlight glowing through the gaps in the trees.

Of course, his enchantment with this land of deep shadows and pure mist did not last.

Ernye flitted into sight before them suddenly, eyes dark with anger and self-recrimination. "Sir, I think the fog's laced with Shade. I…I didn't think to check, I…"

Natan nodded. "None of us did." He turned to the rest. "Retreat."

"What?" More than one voice protested.

Natan did not mind the protesters and all but marched them back. "The ability to imbue Shade into fog, it's a northern mountain trick. It's used extensively in the northern border, against Scaramar incursions."

"By the imperial army?" Defi understood the anger in Ernye's eyes.

"Hm," Natan confirmed. "These are not ordinary bandits. There needs to be multiple trained people to cast it, as it does not require sigilcards. The casters can discern movements in the fog."

"They know we're here." The woman archer paled.

"And we have no idea where they are, yes."

At that, they discarded caution and started scrambling to where they left the horses.

"The range of the fog is limited. They can't be far behind us."

They ran faster.

The moment the horses were in sight, Natan stopped, eyes narrowed at the peaceful sight of their horses tied up next to the tall bushes. "We—"

An arrow struck him down.

Everyone dropped, took cover.

"Natan?"

"The armor took it. Everyone, scatter. Inform the mayor."

Defi could hear the strain in his voice and did not believe he was unhurt.

The tracker bent over him, frowning.

"Go, damn it!"

A voice from the trees sounded, amused. "Too late for that, I think."

Defi let the Current seep into the ground beneath him, the way he practiced when healing the sansu orchard; felt the flickers of vibrant ever-changing life that indicated people.

It was an accidental and disconcerting discovery, to find that he could pinpoint the location of the vitality-infused people of Ascharon when he was pushing the Current into the land. But it did tell him of the sporadic presence of strangers near the borders of the Garge homestead some days.

Just like it told him now…

They were surrounded.

Defi glanced back, met the eyes of the downed Natan, and then launched himself over the rim of the canyon.

He ignored the shouts of alarm, reaching for the roots that would slow his fall. He grabbed and to his relief his hand grasped something sturdy.

His downward fall suddenly interrupted, he slammed into the cliffside. Dirt and grit rained on him.

He struggled not to choke and cough.

He heard someone laughing above him. "What a coward! Well, he's gone and done broken his fool head somewhere below."

"Go find him."

"What? Boss, he's likely not getting up from that."

"Find him." The voice was colder now. "Make sure there's a body."

*

Defi waited until long after the sounds of moving above him died off into the distance. His arms grew numb and started trembling before he deemed it safe to move. He coaxed the Current to flow throughout his body, easing the aches, and began to climb down the side of the cliff to a rock ledge.

He settled on a jutting ledge, shook the dust off his head and shoulders, looking around. The misty forest below was out of the question and he couldn't stay on the exposed cliff. He stood, inched along the ledge until it got him to a depression in the rock that allowed him to rest with reasonable comfort.

He leaned out.

If he went in a straight line against the cliffside, he'd come to a place where he could climb up.

Unfortunately, there was not a path in a straight line. He eyed roots, crevices, any possible handhold or ledge, planning.

Once he had a reasonable path, he swung himself out of the little cavern and caught his hand on a likely spur of rock.

His arms strained as he scrabbled for the foothold that was next in line.

Even with the Current helping, by the time he boosted himself up the lip of the stony gully, his muscles were protesting vehemently. He lay on the cool grass for a while.

He lifted his head.

It was doubtful the horses had been left behind. He had to return to the road on foot.

Genlet was south of the Lowpool, so that mountain and that mountain…

He squinted into the distance. Did he recognize that cliff face?

A quick recall of their path told him he needed to go west, toward the River Indar. He'd hit the road somewhere between here and the river, in any case. It was afternoon, and the shadows pointed east.

Defi set out at a fast walk.

"There you are."

He ducked.

The halberd swung through the air he'd just vacated.

He let his weight tip himself over, into a roll that sent him further from the man. Even then, he had to evade the halberd twice before he could draw his sword.

Defi lunged, catching the man off-guard. He slipped on a smooth protruding stone.

The sword, aimed for the gut, tore a hole in the halberdier's shirt and drew a red line on his ribcage. The halberdier brought up the shaft of the halberd sharply to push Defi away.

It cracked against Defi's jaw, forcing teeth to sink into soft flesh. Blood tainted his lips.

Defi retreated.

The halberdier laughed. "What, are you the stripling Kurman is grumbling the Captain's ordered him to find? I wonder how much of his share he'll exchange for your corpse."

"Have your leaders garnered that much of the take for themselves, that the lowly subordinates need to scrabble over what is left? As expected from thieves."

"We are not thieves!" growled the halberdier.

"No?" Defi nodded. "I suppose banditry in this country can be seen as charity for those who are so pitiful they could not acquire honest work for themselves. My mistake."

He avoided the man's charge.

The man was trained, and familiar with his weapon. Defi could only deflect and dodge while looking for opportunities to get in close.

"You think there is any work in this empire that's honest? You're naïve, a child. The commerce ministry controls the guilds and the merchants, the 'honest' workers either suck up to the representatives or fail the ministry's 'standards'. You obey or you die, boy. There is nothing else."

"Well." Defi was taken aback, even as he retreated from the increasingly furious halberd. "You're very bitter aren't you."

"Bitter?" The man laughed darkly. "I was in the military. I had a brother and he married, had children. Look at me now, a mercenary for hire, no brother, no nephews and nieces. The commerce ministry said his shop was illegal. For what, not paying a small bit of tax? They died, they all died starving for losing that shop, for fighting for what was theirs. So much for honest work, eh?"

He guffawed, stopping a moment, but his halberd was still at the ready. "Silent, child? Nothing to say? Where is your defense of honesty now?"

He pointed his weapon at Defi and charged. He stepped on the slippery stone Defi had skidded on earlier, had not noticed that Defi had been leading him in a circle through the trees.

The halberd whistled past Defi's ear, embedding itself in a tree trunk.

The man grinned, stepped back.

He fell, the sword slicing a greater wound through his neck as his weight pressed on it.

Defi stepped forward, to kneel before the dimming light of the grinning visage. "I cannot speak for other people. I hope I always serve the highest truth, my actions always offered toward the greatest good. But, as you say, that is an unlikely proposition."

He removed the man's weapons, arranged the body. He stood up.

"It still does not mean that one cannot try."

He picked up the halberd, then once again pointed himself west. The scuffle might have alerted someone.

He needed to hurry.