The Mercenary Trilogy Boxed Set, page 31
part #1 of The Mercenary Series
Coly threw the robe––still damp––over his shoulders, and removed his djellaba replacing it with the floppy hat, pulling the brim down to hide his features. He found a knotted stick in a gutter, covered in shit. Retrieved that, wiped some extra shit on his face––ample supply in the drain––and the robe, and hobbled out the alley like the cripple he resembled.
Coly made it to the gates where the Guard helpfully tossed him out amid yells curses and kicks.
“Stinking bastard,” one spearman said.
“Thanks,” Coly had replied under his breath and limped out of sight. Once free of those watching on the walls he tossed the stick, climbed out of his robe and sprinted for the nearest caravan train, the tents sprawled like pointy hats half a mile ahead.
***
Borgil squinted in the afternoon sun. Behind him, camels were biting each other, flies buzzed his face, the odd one bit, and nearby vendors were exchanging insults. Shithole didn’t cover it. They should never have come here. It was Hagan’s fault, him and the long-legged bastard with the big sword.
That sword was propped in a corner of one of their tents. Trusting? Not when Corin an Fol had threatened to cut out the liver of anyone who got near it, and then nail that organ to their head. Clearly hyperbole, but the way he’d said it saw the sword stayed put.
Not that Borgil cared overmuch for swords, he was more of an ax man. He could sweep, clean, hard and fast. Stocky and broad, his frame worked well with an ax. He had his stowed inside the loop on his belt. Like the kettle helm—he didn’t see the need to remove it, even in this infernal heat.
Rejen and the other lads were playing dice, joking at a makeshift table they’d purloined. Their three tents were hidden amidst this vast camp of vendors, traders, cheese peddlers, goat shaggers and general villains.
Borgil didn’t have standards, but if he had Permio would sit neatly at the bottom. And this camp would be the dregs of that barrel. Besides, something wasn’t right––he could feel it. They’d been gone too long, those three.
He’d wandered through the camp earlier, squinting and blinking, cussing people––no problem as everyone did that here. The helmet got attention, not that Borgil cared about that. There was still the odd northerner working legally in this country, and few of those shifting eyes would trouble him with the ax swinging from his belt.
He’d reached a ridge, just past the camel corral, allowing wide views of the city walls. He counted nine tiny round objects stuck fast on poles; there were birds circling around them. Some had settled to feast. Fascinated, Borgil walked nearer. Three heads looked recent.
He wanted to make sure, but someone up there must have seen him as an arrow buzzed his way. Borgil got the hint, shunted back inside the maze of the caravan camp. He wasn’t certain those were their heads, but chances were…
Borgil ambled back to his tent. He’d made his mind up and would be leaving soon. Not staying here another night. He stole a sly glance at the longsword still leaning against that table. He’d be dead by now. I could take that.
He turned when someone shuffled. A shadow by the flap. Thought he’d been alone in the tent. “Who’s that?”
“Me,” Borgil blinked seeing Coly sprawled on a chair, his boots rested on Borgil’s supply chest. Bastard’s alive. Borgil wasn’t sure whether that was good news or not.
“Where the other two?”
Coly flicked his blonde pony-tail and yawned. “Be here soon I expect, had some trouble in the city.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The usual kind,” Coly said. “Now piss off, and let me get some sleep.”
Borgil left him and went outside where the others were still dicing. They ignored him so he wandered back to stare at the walls again.
“I’m not staying here,” Borgil chewed his beard. “But I’ll wait long enough to murder that long-legged bastard if he ain’t dead already.”
“You got a problem?” A vendor and his two guards were staring at Borgil.
“Trapped wind,” Borgil said, and returned to his tent again.
***
Silon rolled from the bed and grabbed his knife as the shutter blew open. No one there. He tried his door, the corridor outside was empty. He glanced back at the windows again, the drapes flapping in the night breeze.
He picked up the cranked crossbow he always kept in his study, adjacent to his sleeping quarters. No sign of his retainer, or servants. He went to the kitchens. No one there either.
“They are all dead,” the voice came from behind him.
Silon turned, fired the weapon and the bolt flew straight towards her head. It struck the wall and buried itself within. The woman had vanished.
Fingers sweating, Silon fumbled with a second bolt. “Where are you?” No answer. He saw the front doors to the villa were wide open, a body prone on the floor there. Tense with fear, Silon recognized his retainer, throat sliced open. He walked out into the gardens, saw three other corpses.
He walked quicker, feeling the rage and horror accompany his fear. ‘What have you done with my daughter?” Silon shouted the words.
“Dracal the slaver has her.” Her voice came from somewhere in the trees above. “Even now she’s servicing his cock beneath the desert moon.”
Silon glanced up, saw movement. A large owl watching him. He fired again and the owl lifted, effortlessly and faded off into the night.
Next morning Silon boarded a vessel at Port Sarfe, his destination Cappel and beyond. Corin an Fol had let him down. Goes to show. Sometimes you have to do your own wet work in this life.
Chapter 15 | Slave
Dracal’s men were constructing the second camp when Ta-Kai rode in on the camel, the girl Nalissa chained to another beast she had tied behind her own. The giant mute saw her, wandered over.
“I’ve business with your master,” she glared down coldly at the brute. “Go fetch him.” The giant stared at her for a moment and then nodded curtly. Ta-Kai waited, glancing around at the makeshift camp being constructed.
She heard voices, then Dracal emerged hemmed by soldiers, mercenaries by their look. Northerners. Ta-Kai slid from the camel’s back and stood waiting for their approach, her arms resting at her sides, a half smile on her face. The soldiers looked wary, Dracal afraid––tough man but out of his depths.
Dracal stopped several paces away, looked across at where the girl slumped like a sack of barley across the other camel’s back. The mercenaries glanced that way too. No one spoke.
“So. Here we are.” Ta-Kai folded her arms and allowed her smile broaden, revealing her teeth––freshly filed––just to get their reactions. They were alarmed, edgy. Unsure how to react. The one on the right shuffled his feet. Dracal looked at Nalissa again, a shape wrapped in a blanket. Prone, sleeping––or too exhausted to contribute to the day.
“Here we are,” Ta-Kai said again, feigning a yawn. Still nothing. The men kept their hands away from their weapons, no doubt word had reached them about the incident at the harbor. They were cautious, expectant. “I have the girl,” she said, hinting the other camel.
“I see her,” Dracal’s voice was raw, like he’d been up all night smoking. The slaver had rings under eyes, looked disheveled. “The prize you promised.”
“Take her south into the deep desert and lie low.”
“We’re lying low here,” one of the soldiers said. Ta-Kai ignored him.
“The Crimson Guard will find you here, like I did,” she said. “Easy following a dry river bed.” She turned brazenly showing them her back and walked calmly over to the second camel. She untethered her prisoner and heard an intake of breath as the men saw Nalissa’s smoky locks spill from the blanket.
“Wake up, Sweetling––Your new master wants to inspect you,” Ta-Kai dragged Nalissa from the camel’s back and slapped her face. The girl spat at her and one of the soldiers laughed. Ta-Kai slapped her again, harder this time.
“I’ve a little trip to undertake,” Ta-Kai said. “Be back in a few days––for payment,” her eyes flicked across to Dracal, who was taking in Nalissa’s beauty. He nodded, said nothing.
Nalissa blinked in the sunshine. Ta-Kai slapped her again, affectionately this time, as though she were her little sister. “Be good,” she said, then turned to the slaver again. “Three days, maybe four. I’ll return for my gold.”
Dracal nodded again, looking like a man who’d reached a dead end with enemies closing in. She vaulted on the camel’s back, flashed them all a magnificent smile and rode from the camp, the second animal clomping behind her own beast.
***
Dracal watched rider and camels fade into haze and dust, at last vanishing in a shimmer of distance. He turned to the girl standing there, wild-eyed, fists clenched. A beauty he wished he’d never seen. And what price would that creature demand? Didn’t matter. He’d pay it somehow and the sorceress or whatever she was would leave him be. And hopefully the Crimson too, when word reached Selimo of this unfortunate state of affairs.
One of the soldiers coughed beside him. Dracal snapped his fingers. “Get those tents ready. We’ll spend the night here then move south again.”
“I like it here,” Dracal turned to see Snake-Heart Rylen staring hard at his face. “Good position––and the lads are done with roaming. We’re not breaking camp a second time, Slaver. We stay put.”
Dracal didn’t have time for this. “Fetch Ren Daul––would you? We’ll discuss this further at nightfall.” Rylen looked at him for a moment more, then nodded, and strolled off, the other men walking alongside. More trouble around the corner.
I’ll deal with them later. Solve one problem at a time. That way a man kept his head above the waterline. He hoped the sharks would stay away.
Dracal looked at the girl again, appraising those long wavy locks, the proud face. The bruises only enhanced her beauty. Good figure, voluptuous, feisty. She would bring an excellent price once she was cleaned up. The girl stared at him, almost challenged him. Dracal like that. Made a change. Captive girls were usually so afraid. This one would take some breaking in.
Ralco Ren appeared by his side and for the first time the girl looked worried, shrinking back from the giant.
“This is Ralco Ren Daul,” Dracal told the girl. “You obey his every signal very carefully. He can be quite sensitive when upset. Get Ranysi,” this last to the mute. “Tell her clean this one up.” Dracal gave the girl a final appraisal, and walked off to see when the tents would be ready.
As he walked he formed an idea in his head, and for the first time that day he smiled. That girl was worth a small fortune. In Yamondo or Vendel, or any of those southern lands. A Raleenian beauty. She could be his ticket out of here. Rylen’s mercenaries wanted to stay here––so let them. Dracal had other plans
He would leave before dawn, nice and silent, taking only Ralco and the Yamondon girl, Ranysi, who could keep an eye on his new prize. That way he’d avoid not only the Crimson Guard, but the Lynx woman as well. There was a cove twenty miles west of Sedinadola, frequented often by some old associates. A secret known only to those in his trade, ideal for the purpose.
The pirates of Crenna would pay handsomely for the Raleenian wench knowing they would double their money in the southlands. Dracal’s smile widened. He was a nomad at heart. Time to move; he’d been in this part of the desert far too long. Grown stale, his wits needed honing again.
He found an outcrop with wide views over the camp and beyond. Dracal reached for the small pipe hidden in his pocket. He struck flint to tinder, lit up and leaned back against the sandstone. He closed his eyes and breathed in the heady smoke, finally relaxing after what had proved a very trying couple of days.
***
The giant terrified her, and the stench that lingered around his person left her gagging. He’d grabbed her once and shoved her down in the dirt, standing over, grinning like a diseased dog. Nalissa had closed her eyes at that point.
But she opened them again on hearing a woman’s voice. The giant had left. Instead a black-skinned woman surveyed her with hard critical eyes. She was tall and lean, muscular with a strong, beautiful face. Nalissa glared up at her.
“That…man…”
“Ralco Ren,” the woman’s accent was strange to her ears, husky and deep. She smiled briefly––a fierce ironic grin. “He has that effect on all of us.” She reached down and pulled Nalissa to her feet with uncanny strength. “But I’ve a feeling he’ll not lay a finger on you.”
“How do you know?” Nalissa glanced about but there was no sign of Ralco.”
“Call it a hunch,” the woman said. “My people trust their hunches.”
“You’re…?”
“A Yamondon princess,” the woman laughed bitterly. “Or rather I was, until the Vendel kidnapped me and sold me to that slime Selimo, and him to Dracal. No pretenses anymore. I’ve learned to please my masters, stay alive. You’ll need to do the same.”
“I’m not serving anyone,” Nalissa said. “Especially in that way!”
“The black girl smiled patiently. “Then you will perish my dear. Come on––let’s get you some food and clean the grime from your face. You’re going to have to learn to please your master very soon. If you’re clever, Dracal will keep you for himself. It’s better than being passed around the camp like most of the girls here.”
“I told you I’m not servicing that pig or anyone hereabouts.” The Lynx had deserted her. Strange how she felt the sting of betrayal from a woman who she hated. The one who had caused her pain.
“I’m Ranysi,” the young woman said ushering Nalissa into a large tent. Two girls were seated on rugs. Ranysi signaled and they stood up and left without a word. “Get some rest, I’ll be back shortly to clean you up.”
Nalissa watched Ranysi slip out of the tent. The fear came back when the other woman left her. What if that giant returned.
I’m Silon’s daughter––not letting them win…
***
The craft beached on The Silver Strand a dozen miles west of Syrannos. Silon paid the smuggler handsomely and leaped ashore, the warm seawater soaking his garments as he waded onto the beach, a pack across his back, two throwing knives, a short sword, sling and stones, and enough dried beef for a three-day hike.
First up, lie low and wait for darkness. The moon was waning, and he’d make good progress ere sun up. The merchant reached the shelter of the dunes, unpackaged his pack and erected his makeshift cover, laying low, munching on dried meat, the sea birds crying, and waves crashing endlessly down on the shore.
He closed his eyes, allowing a half sleep relax his muscles. The next few days would test his every nerve.
***
Ralance Jago leaned back in his saddle and took stock of the scene ahead. A deserted campsite. The villain Dracal had fled with all his people, which was proof of his guilt. The general grunted as his soldiers rode through the camp looking for discards and signs, or hints of where they had gone.
It wasn’t difficult to decipher. There was only one logical route. South. A dry river bed conveniently led that way, skirting the infamous High Dunes, a terrain rumored impassible. Flanking the dry river on its west was endless flat featureless desert––also rumored impassable. An empty world. Few ventured this way. Why would they?
Captain Coralion, his newly promoted second, rode up alongside the general. Sharp and eyed and ambitious, neat features, freshly clipped goatee. A soldier with prospects. “Clear marks from camel and horse, carts also. They have a day on us––no more.”
“Good,” Jago rubbed his stubble. “We shall have Dracal’s head by dusk if things go to plan. Tell the men to remount. We’ll follow the river bed.”
“There’s a small oasis several miles from here,” Coralion said, rubbing sweat from his face. City lad, Coralion. Like Jago he was well connected and ambitious, and young enough not to pose an immediate risk to the newly promoted general. “That’s where they’ll be, Sir,” Coralion flashed his confident smile.
Jago had sixty riders. That was all he could spare, as most were still stationed in and around the city in case there were others in league with the slaver. Jago couldn’t understand Dracal’s motives. The man was rich and successful, until now he’d had right of entry into the city even through curfew. Why throw all that away in some reckless venture? It didn’t fit. There was something else going on here and General Ralance Jago was determined to be the man who unraveled the mystery.
***
Ta-Kai took her time, there was no need to rush. Guided her beasts up onto the high ridges of sand and watched as the crimson cloaked column of riders filed down from Dracal’s recently abandoned camp close to the city. She counted sixty horsemen, and three officers stood out––all wore breastplates and helmets which glittered and announced their presence clearly even at this distance. Men were such fools.
She thought of Dracal, his mercenaries. Stupid and petty. How had this race outwitted her own? Ta-Kai felt that ancient rage, the old grudge rising like a bile worm in her belly. Her people gone forever, and these shallow creatures the victors. She would have to kill again soon. The need was on her.
She lay low throughout that day; the relentless desert sun bothered her fair skin––whichever form she took. Hers were a people more comfortable in darkness.
The riders past beneath her, a clatter of hoof on stone, voices, steel and leather clonking, the sun dazzling off their polished steel.
She waited until they were out of sight and then guided her beasts back down to the dry river bed. She needed to contact Selimo, report the job done. But there was no rush. She returned to the caravan camp where they’d sold the carriage. She hired a tent, slept for a time, until dusk turned the desert a dusky pink and the sea to the north was a silver sparkle.
Ta-Kai flew that night. Along the coast. Mile upon mile, and westward. The desert eventually yielded to a vast river delta and swamp. Past that the terrain changed entirely and the dark green fuzz of jungle looming ahead. She dipped low into that dense canopy. Perched for hours in the heavy downpour, another night stalker among so many. In cat’s guise she hunted and killed until sated. By dawn she turned about, glided back to the traders’ camp by the city, entered her tent and waited for the mid-morning rush to pass.
