The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist
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had an arrow out of his hip quiver and nocked on the string. ‘Sister!’ he shouted.
She turned to see him draw and quickly crouched and raised her shield.
‘Little knot in that tree behind your horse!’ He let fly the arrow. The shaft whizzed past Sandreena’s ear: then she heard the thunk as it hit wood. Turning, she saw there were two knots in the bole of an old oak about a dozen yards behind her, and in the smaller of the two the arrow had struck dead centre.
‘Wasn’t joking, sister. If I had wanted you dead, you’d be dead. Even beaten, I’m the best archer I know. Now, I’ll get me horse.’
She watched his retreating back, unsure of what to make of him. Bodie was a long way from here, up on the southern coast of the Sea of Kingdoms, near Timmons. It was frontier country, with a rough and ready population of fishermen, miners, workers of all stripes, and had a fair reputation for fighting men.
Ned appeared typical of the brawlers she knew from the docks of that town; it was impossible to mimic how those men mangled the King’s Tongue, with their contractions and missing h’s at the start of words and missing r’s at the end. But there was something about his manner that was different. He was smarter than he let on, she thought. It was not a foolish man who allowed a potential adversary to underestimate him. And with the speed and accuracy with which he had put that arrow into the place on the tree he had called, she knew he could just as easily have put one in her throat, as he had boasted. Now she wondered how much damage she had really inflicted on him and how much of his current condition was feigned.
So, what to do? she wondered silently as he returned leading a nicely-cared-for bay gelding. She mounted her grey mare and the two horses made greeting noises. She gestured down the road. ‘Let’s go see why that man wanted me slowed down, and you can tell me all you know about him as we ride.’
‘Not much to say, sister. He was a dark-haired fellow, medium build, wore a heavy cloak. Spoke the local tongue with an accent; northern Keshian I’d say. Seemed to know who you were, though.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, he asked if I’d seen a Knight-Adamant of the Order of Dala and I said I’d seen you take your grey into the stable. But later he mentioned you by name, if that’s Sandreena.’
‘It is,’ she confirmed.
‘Anyway, sister, I take this Nazir bloke for a smuggler, except he wasn’t trying to slow down Imperial Customs, but a Knight-Adamant, and at last I paid attention; you lot don’t care who’s not paying the Emperor’s customs fees, so I figure it’s got to be something else. He don’t look like no slaver, but you never can tell, and freeing poor villagers is something more to your calling, I’m thinking.
‘But in the end it’s all guesswork, isn’t it?’
Sandreena said nothing. He could be leading her into a trap, but why all the theatre if that was so? He could have taken her out of her saddle with a fowling blunt arrow, of that she was certain, or at least distracted her long enough for others to have dragged her from the saddle. She knew she would have inflicted a fair degree of damage on anyone doing so, but three or four men could have swarmed her down.
So maybe Ned was telling the truth and the only thing his employer, this Nazir, wished was for her not to overtake them before they concluded whatever business brought them to this distant, forlorn shore.
The grey of the overcast clouds matched her mood.
They rode along quietly for half an hour, until Sandreena could smell the sea air and hear the distant pounding surf. The rolling woodlands had started to thin and as they came out from between two stands of trees, Sandreena could see sails on the horizon. A pair of longboats in the distance was rowing towards one remaining ship, while half a dozen wagons stood empty on the beach. They were on a rocky bluff a mere dozen feet above the sand, in the middle of a notch cut into its face by weather and obvious traffic. It was clearly the way down to the beach.
‘Where are they going?’ she asked Ned, not taking her eyes off the ship. If their sudden arrival had disturbed anyone still on the beach, there was no sign of it.
‘Don’t have a notion.’ He turned his horse in a lazy circle away from hers. ‘You’ll have to ask him.’
‘Who?’ she said, then her head whipped around as men came out of the trees behind them, a pair on each side with bows trained on her, while two others hurried forward with their weapons at the ready. For a brief instant she contemplated fighting, then she saw four horsemen coming up the road. More than a dozen men quickly surrounded her.
The man Ned had described as Nazir approached with the men on horseback. ‘Good. She’s unharmed.’
‘As you requested,’ said Ned. He grinned at Sandreena. ‘Sorry, sister, but I told you the truth. He paid me to slow you down, not kill you. I didn’t mention the part where he paid me to bring you here, though.’ He rubbed his bruised cheek and winced. ‘You made me earn my pay, that’s a fact.’ Turning to the robed man, he said, ‘Now, my gold.’
The man reached into his robe and nodded once. Suddenly an arrow shot from behind them took Ned through the neck, the head protruding from his throat. His eyes widened briefly and his fingers touched the arrow as if he could scarcely believe what was happening to him. Then his eyes lost focus and he tumbled out of his saddle.
The robed man rode up next to Sandreena. ‘He was not one of us. Co-operate and you will live. If you don’t, you will end up in the dust like him.’ His men quickly rid Sandreena of her weapons and shield, but allowed her to remain on her horse.
‘Come,’ said the leader of the band. ‘We have a fair distance to ride yet and much to do.’
Without another word, Sandreena was led away. Remembering the summons that morning, she hoped that her lack of reply would mean that Pug was sending someone to find her, for she had no doubt into whose hands she had fallen.
These murderers were Black Caps.
• CHAPTER ELEVEN •
THE LOOKOUT SHOUTED.
‘Ships off the headlands!’
A village boy named Jerrod turned and knelt before a small brazier, blowing furiously on the coals for a second, before plunging an oil-soaked straw torch into the hot coals, whereupon the flames almost exploded in his face. He rushed to a giant wicker construction, a bundle of reeds, grasses, and wood, on top of which a pile of inflammable tinder was piled, and tossed the torch in as he had been shown. As he had been warned, the volatile bundle roared into flames within seconds. The mix was designed to burn bright and produce voluminous black smoke so that it could be seen by day or night. The heat it gave off was enormous and the boy backed away. ‘It’s done!’ Jerrod shouted.
The lookout, named Percy, came scampering down from his rocky perch shouting, ‘Come on! Our job is done!’
It was late afternoon and a fresh breeze was blowing. The smoke rose and scattered, yet the two boys knew another lookout up the coast would see it and another lad would start his fire and that one in turn would be seen at the castle above Crydee. It would take the two boys the better part of a day to reach the closest outpost, a garrison camp ten miles up the King’s Highway, for neither could ride, and even if they could, horses could not be spared for them.
A series of signal fires had been erected along the coast by order of the Duke of Crydee. Earlier fires had told the garrison that ships had been sighted along the coast, heading north from first Tulan, then Carse. Only one report from Carse had got through to the castle from Earl Robert, reporting that he and his men were attempting to repulse an onslaught of Keshian soldiers.
The report had arrived with Lord Robert’s wife, Marriann, and his daughter Bethany, who was not happy