"Yarid is a dolled up pig," the first voice spat. "King jester of the court of fools and morons. He's going to get us killed."
Jarod held up two fingers behind his back, hoping Brynn and Aiden could make them out in the dark. He didn't dare shift his body. Two forms loomed out of the darkness, carrying no lights of their own, dark silhouettes against even darker night.
"You're free to leave," the second voice said. "If you don't like it, walk away."
"As if Kerris would let anyone just walk away once we've seen the sort of stuff he's been doing. Besides, gold makes up for it."
A laugh pierced the darkness, and the two figures stopped moving a dozen yards away from where Jarod crouched. "That's the spirit. It's all about priorities."
Jarod slid his sword an inch from its sheath, enough to ease the tension that held it in place. He glanced back. Brynn and Aiden gave him curt nods. They were waiting for his signal. Taking a deep, steady breath, he tensed his legs and launched himself forward.
He closed the distance with long strides, whipping his Oathblade out of its sheath in an arc. The white blade looked ghostly, leaving an ethereal afterimage in his eyes as he brought it to bear. Though his swing was near silent, the thug still managed to snap his sword out of its sheath. Jarod snarled a curse as his blade was parried.
Aiden spun and prayed, flinging one hand outwards towards another vague figure looming in the dark. He couldn't do much with it, but he'd found a little push with a telekinetic cantrip could do wonders at the right time. He bumped a foot right as it was about to step down, sliding it back a few inches. The attacker's weight came down wrong on it, sending him toppling to the ground with a curse.
There was almost no light, save a soft haze from the moon above. He fought mostly on instinct, focusing instead on the air between them, catching any movements and reacting.
Brynn and Aiden spread out beside him, one of their blades ringing steel on steel through the air. They were far enough from camp that it might not get heard, but they couldn't fight in darkness. Taking a trick from Daron, Jarod called a quick prayer, and his Oathblade sprung into subdued light. He barely got his blade up in time to deflect a blow, though his opponent flinched as the light hit him. Too close, Jarod thought. I'm too out of practice for this.
Yet he found himself grinning. The blade no longer felt unusual in his hand as something dormant struggled to wake within him. It had been years since he'd been out in the thick of it, his blade and mind pitted in actual battle. The time since his last team had gone on to better things had been peaceful, and he'd thought he hadn't missed this. As he parried and riposted, he felt his heart quicken in excitement as only an actual fight could give.
Aiden engaged the other man as he regained his footing, the taller of the two by almost a head. Thick, ropy muscles grew out of an embroidered vest, the man apparently oblivious to the promise of winter in the air. Brynn pushed to one side to flank, lashing out with halfhearted strikes designed just to get one of the men to defend and hopefully give Aiden an opening. Jarod felt pride at their teamwork surge through him.
Over the din of battle, Jarod heard the crunch of boots on decaying leaves. He snapped his gaze to one side. At the edge of his feeble light saw a third sentry. The man stepped around a tree and paused mid step, his confusion at the scene before him evident. The man shook himself free of the paralysis and turned, bolting through the underbrush.
"Brynn!" Jarod growled, but she was already sprinting off into the darkness before he'd even uttered her name. Good instincts. He'd picked his team well, and it hadn't even been for their skill with a sword. Just an added bonus, one he was quite thankful for at the moment.
He snapped his attention back to the fight before him, confident Brynn would catch the third man. He almost faltered when he realized that the man had run in the opposite direction of the camp. There were more of them out there. Lucen's breath, he swore in silence. He realized what was missing from the description Leah and Daron had given of the camp. Wagons. Bodies stolen from graves. They'd been so intent on the villagers that he hadn't even considered the possibility there were more out there.
His opponent withdrew a step, blade held low and defensively, eyeing Jarod. A glimmering suit of chain flickered with each motion of Jarod's blade. Jarod suppressed a snort of derision. It was so archaic. No had worn armor of that type in a score of centuries. Hardly anyone that wasn't a police force or the Order even wore a blade, aside from the occasional duelist rapier. Might as well carry a knitting needle for all the good one of those would do you. A bullet would tear through the chain like it was a fine silk dress. Maybe he should rethink his stance on carrying one.
Aiden's blade was a dizzying blur of strikes, though each was parried and knocked aside. The taller man was holding his own, his face was locked in a frown of deep concentration to keep up with the Justice. Jarod gritted his teeth and tried to press his attack, taking a small advancing step with each blow, slowly gaining ground.
Another small step forward. Jarod lunged forward for a strike, his opponent sweeping his blade up for a parry, but found nothing was there. Jarod swiveled in mid strike and swung sideways at Aiden's opponent, who was now almost adjacent to him. It didn't have much power behind it, but it struck true nonetheless, catching him low on the side above the hip. His blade came away crimson, but the blood beaded on his Oathblade and shed as the blade carried through.
It wasn't enough to drop the man, but his attacks on Aiden slowed. The defensive front he'd barely manage to cling to against the onslaught wavered for a moment, and then shattered as Aiden was a heartbeat quicker.
Jarod heard the nauseating crunch of bone and a startled grunt, and suddenly there was only one attacker. Aiden stepped over the fallen foe, locking his gaze on the last man standing.
The man took an unconscious step back, and then lowered his sword, holding up one free hand. His eyes were wide and frantic as he backed away from the duo.
"I yield," the man said, licking his lips. The blade tumbled from his hand to the red and orange leaves churned up about their feet by the short fight.
Jarod hooked the sword with one boot and sent it spinning off beyond the range of his light. The man faded back another step, eyes darting between his captors.
"You're going to tell us what's going on out here," Aiden said, detached and emotionless. The effect was chilling to Jarod.
Furtive eyes glanced about in the darkness. "I don't think that's in my best interests," he said. "You don't know the things they'd do to me if I talked."
"Everyone always says that," Jarod mused. "Of course, you don't know the things we'll do to you if you don't."
The man licked his lips again in thought. A slow smile crept into his face, nodding to himself.
"You can't do anything," the man said, grinning almost cheerfully at them. Relief at his own realization washed through him, and his posture relaxed. "You're Order. You aren't going to do anything to me. Well, let's get on off to town then. I expect you'll want to turn me over to the constable." His grin widened. "I could use a warm bed to sleep in tonight."
"I don't think you understand our predicament here, friend," Jarod said lightly. "You're involved in some pretty nasty work out here. Abducting an entire town would net you a few months in a hole." Jarod took a deliberate step forward, and the man jumped. "But desecrating graves? That's final judgment right there."
Their prisoner's eyes widened, and his mouth worked, but no words came out. Aiden began to slowly circle him, sword still in hand, blade held at a low angle, always within sight of the man. Frantic eyes darted back and forth between Aiden and Jarod.
"May your soul speed on to the Eternal Hall," Aiden intoned in a low, emphatic voice. The man's head snapped around so fast Jarod thought it might snap itself clean from his spine.
"Make him stop," he pleaded.
"May the gods judge you according to the weight of your heart," Aiden continued, still slowly stalking around the man.
"You can't do this," he wailed. "I haven't done nothing!"
"May the Seven give shelter to the departed that have earned their place amongst the glorious host."
Jarod eyed Aiden cautiously, looking for some sign if he was serious. The words for final justice were etched into his heart, but the man would need to be tried and convicted before he could be given it. Was he just scaring the man, or was he serious?
"Kneel," Aiden whispered in unyielding command. The man drew in a deep, shuddering breath and shook his head like a child being scolded. "Kneel," Aiden urged. The man shakily dropped to his knees, eyes pleading with Jarod, hands clasped before him in supplication. Jarod frowned at Aiden and shook his head slightly, but the Justice paid him no mind. Hard eyes locked on the kneeling man as he continued to circle.
"So as you kneel in this life, so shall you kneel before the gods in the next." Aiden rested his blade on the man's shoulder. The blood drained from the kneeling prisoner's face. He began muttering to himself, inarticulate words choked out between sobs.
"I'll tell you what you want," he cried. Aiden paused a moment, and withdrew his blade, sliding it back into its sheath. Jarod let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Would he have gone through with it? Aiden flashed him a slight grin, so quick Jarod almost missed it. Maybe not.
Jarod squatted down, resting his blade across his lap. The man refused to meet his eyes, wringing his hands unconsciously before him. Aiden loomed close behind.
"Tell me about Kerris," Jarod urged. The man twitched at the name, a hunching of the shoulders and a lowering of his head. He began to nod absently to himself.
"He's a sorceror, you see? He's promised us a great deal of things if we help him out. Delivered on a lot of it, too."
"Help him do what?" Aiden asked, leaning down. The man flinched and fixed Jarod with eager eyes, licking his lips again.
"All sorts of different things," the man said, nodding in earnest.
"None of which he wants shared," another voice called. Jarod swiveled and rose to his feet, snapping his blade up and willing the light brighter. Three men stood to one side, one leaning against a tree casually, though he leveled a pistol directly at Jarod. The others were similarly armed.
Blood and darkness, another patrol, he thought. How could he have been so stupid? As soon as it was evident that there had been more than the drunken lot at camp, he should have realized it was a much larger operation. He cursed himself.
The leader, a man with a wild crop of flame-red hair, detached himself from the tree and motioned with the pistol. "How about you divest yourself of those pretty blades?"
Aiden rose slowly, never taking his eyes off of the armed group. The man kneeling between them glanced up at the Justice as he rose, and then dashed forward, crawling on all fours before pushing himself into a scrambling gait.
What options did they have? The two of them, against three men armed with loaded and ready pistols? That wasn't a chance. That was a slaughter. He could probably draw their attention, maybe get all three to fire at him at once, giving Aiden a chance to charge and finish them off. If the shots weren't lucky, the Justice might be able to heal the wounds. Maybe.
He realized one simple fact, standing there with pistols pointed at him. He would die for the Order, yes. But he would much prefer to live for the Order. With a slow nod to Aiden, Jarod slammed his blade down into the earth through the decaying leaves. He prayed that Aiden didn't mistake the signal as one to attack, but a moment later another blade joined his.
"That's much better," the man leered. The pistol did not lower, however. "I know I'm breathing a bit easier knowing we won't have any accidents here."
The leader of the group wore fine cut clothes, better suited on a wealthy merchant or minor noble, looking entirely out of place in the midst of a forest surrounded by heavily armed thugs. His grin was mocking and arrogant, a man well used to having his desires met.
Away from his hand, the light on his Oathblade faded to a sullen glow, barely doing more than cast harsh shadows across everyone's faces. With a thought, he could plunge them into darkness. It was only a dozen steps to cross.
As if sensing his thought, the leader nodded his head to both sides, and the two other men with pistols spread out wider. Even if Jarod charged them, he'd never have a chance to tackle all three before finding himself sporting new holes. He ground his teeth in frustration. Hopefully Daron and Leah wouldn't start their attack without the rest of the group, and would keep safely hidden. He had no idea where Brynn was, but he prayed she'd stay away long enough to find Daron. Even with her there, the odds weren't in their favor.
It galled him. His first excursion out for the Order in many years, and he'd failed. If he'd spent more time thinking critically it would have all been avoided. He'd underestimated the situation, and now they would pay for it. He prayed the gods were watching over them, but he doubted they looked favorably on wanton stupidity.
"So, now what happens?" Jarod asked. He forced his voice into the most conversational tone he could muster, but it sounded flat and seething to him. The redhead's grin widened.
"Now you get to meet Yarid."
"Not Kerris? I'd planned on having a nice, long heart to heart with him."
"That I'd pay to see," the man laughed, and then grew serious. He gestured with the pointed gun in the direction Brynn had set off, following the other sentry. At least it wasn't toward Daron, catching them unaware. "Move along, now. We've got a bit of walking to do."
He wasn't sure where Brynn was, but the last thing he needed was for her to stumble into them. Jarod began a leisurely pace, Aiden falling into step beside him.
With each passing step his sword's light faded away to nothingness, throwing them fully into the pitch black night. The redhead yanked something from one pocket and shook it. A moment later a sullen red light began to bloom out of his hands, which he held up above his head and pointed the way. The light was just bright enough to help keep them from stumbling, but not enough to completely rob them of their night vision.
"Yarid will decide what to do you with," the redhead said. "If you're fortunate enough, you'll be drug kicking and howling to Kerris." He paused for effect. "You wouldn't like that."
"Very ominous," Aiden said, boredom in his voice.
"Laugh all you want. You'll know the truth soon enough."
"I wasn't gonna tell them anything," the man Aiden had scared into speaking said. "Just was keeping 'em talking long enough for you to arrive, Sammet."
The redheaded man, Sammet, shoved the disarmed man forcefully, sending him stumbling forward a few steps. He barely managed to keep his footing, dancing out of the way of further attacks.
"We'll let Yarid decide your fate."
They trudged the remainder of the trip in silence. Jarod saw no sign of Brynn, at least. Hopefully she'd return and find their discarded blades. He frowned. Then what? Get Daron and Leah, and mount some sort of a rescue attempt? There were bound to be quite a few more soldiers, where ever they were going. They'd know enough to get help from Tel. All he and Aiden had to do was hold out a little longer. He set his jaw. He was no stranger to being a prisoner.
Chapter 14.
Daron shook his head lightly, forcing the sleep away from his mind. He was weary to the bone, but couldn't rest yet. They'd retrieved the keys to the cages, and had freed the rest of the villagers. It wasn't long before they had half a hundred men, women and children standing about near the fires, trying to get themselves warm. It pained Daron, watching them. They were cold and tired, yes, but what had happened left deeper wounds within them no amount of his healing could fix. He stared after them for a long while, wondering what they'd gotten themselves into. Someone would be made to pay. Little else mattered at this point.
Leah had gathered up what food could be found and shared the paltry pickings with the group. It wasn't enough to go around, and the meager pickings were given to the young and elderly first. Most just lounged around the fire, hollow and haunted gazes staring at nothing. It would be a long time before they'd be well.
They still had one prisoner, his face an angry welt affixed with a newly misshapen nose. Daron hadn't bothered to heal it. It was the very least that he deserved. Not that he had the energy to do so anyway, but it was the principle of the matter.
"I can't keep calling you 'Order'," Martin said, wandering away from the crowd and up to Daron. Despite the incarceration, his clothes were neat and fastidious, aside from the blood that caked his shirt. Short cropped blond hair was perfectly combed to a hair, despite having lain in the grass while bleeding out a short time ago. His beard was so fair in color it almost blended in with his cheeks. "You remember your name yet?"
Daron forced a grin onto his face, though the effort cost him more than he'd like. Sometime soon he needed to find a comfortable bed and sleep for a week. At this point, stony ground would be a welcome relief.
"Justice Daron," he said, thrusting out on hand. Martin grabbed and shook it once, and then lifted it to examine closely.
"Sorry about earlier," Martin said, spinning Daron's hand around to examine both sides. Daron frowned, but didn't feel like wasting further energy protesting. "I don't normally take energy from others. It's exceptionally rude, but I assume you'll forgive me, given the results."
Leah shuffled over to where they stood a ways off from the villagers, at the edge of the camp. She looked as haggard as he felt, her eyes as haunted and distant as those they'd freed. Was she reliving the final moments with her uncle? Copper eyes met his, but then flinched away back to the trampled dirt with a sigh. He fought back an overwhelming urge to give her a hug. They had other things to deal with first.
He glanced across to the large group mingling around the fire. What next? Get them back to their homes, of course, but what then? Where were Brynn and the rest? With a sigh of his own, he turned back to Martin.
"The cold I felt. Like you were sapping the warmth and life right out of me," Daron said. Martin nodded.
"They'd stripped everything I could steal energy from to blast open the lock," he said, shaking his head. Daron's eyes sought the barren patch of dirt surrounding the cage the sorceror had been held in. "I could have beat my hands against the bars for a few days, I suppose, though that would be a dreadful way to escape."
"I hold no grudge," Daron said with a smile, this time much more heartfelt. "You likely saved our lives there."
"Not my best work, but I'm not going to quibble," Martin grinned, flourishing a bow.
"Do we go searching for Jarod?" Leah asked, stepping up close to him. She was close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of her. In the chill air, it was pleasant.
"Our priority is the villagers," Daron said with a shake his head. "Get them home and taken care of. Jarod can take care of himself for now." He looked out into the looming darkness. Nothing moved. "Then we can look for them."
"Sir?"
Daron turned. A grandfatherly man had wandered over from the group, standing with eyes downcast and hands clasped subserviently in front of him. His clothes were heavily worn and caked in dirt, bony shoulders slumped. He looked up finally, exhaustion cut deep into his face. As tired as Daron felt, he had nothing on the poor folk that had been caged like animals for days.
"I think we're ready to move out," he said, glancing back at the gathered group.
"We'll have you back in your homes in a few hours," Daron said, trying to be reassuring.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but most of us don't want to go back home."
"You're afraid that your town isn't safe." Of course it wasn't safe. He should have realized that. There were others out there, somewhere. Until the threat was removed, there was no way to guarantee they'd be safe back in their homes. He couldn't even speculate why they'd been taken in the first place. He tried to push the fog out of his mind to focus.
"We'd prefer to go to Upper Terrin," the elderly man said, nodding. "A few of us are too stubborn to do anything but return home, but the rest of us think the city is a better place."
"Of course," Daron acknowledged. "I'll get you rooms at an inn, and some warm meals." The Order would cover the cost, though it might be a bit of a haggle to get the innkeeper to agree to such a thing up front. With so many, it'd be a fairly heavy drain on wherever they stayed without immediate reimbursement. He wondered if Tel might have any insight.
"Thank you, Lord Justice," the man said, tapping his throat with two fingers. Some of the weight lifted from the elderly man's shoulders, and he straightened. "They caught us unaware. I'd be more than willing to fight to protect the town, but I've got seven grandchildren I've got to take care of first, see."
Daron looked up at the gathered crowd. Almost a third were children under the age of sixteen. Given the small number of people, it was less a village and more a large extended family, most likely. The area was littered with such, woven around the city between open fields and lucrative farmlands. He'd have to check some of the other towns nearby and make sure that no others had been similarly emptied.
"Can you walk with me a bit, grandfather? I know it's been a trying few days, but any answers you can give me will help set this all right."
The old man nodded, and fell into a slow step next to Daron. The time in the cage, unable to move more than a few feet, had not been kind to him, Daron saw, and they walked into the tent instead. A large table filled the majority of the tent, enough to seat a score. Small crates dotted the sides, the food that had been within now resting in the bellies of those rescued. A few cots sat at the far side. Daron slid out a simple wooden chair, which the man graciously accepted, lowering himself into it with a sigh.