Apprentice Swordceror Read online

  As Kevon drew closer to his destination, he added another focus to his spell. He muffled his already quiet footsteps down to silence, and continued his advance. Kevon reached the last bit of cover shortly after both of the bandits reached their destination. Worried that the two might start keeping watch, Kevon leaned against the rock he was hiding behind to rest and collect his wits.

  The bandits did not look like much from what Kevon had seen. To have subdued Carlo must have taken a good deal of either skill or luck, though. Kevon hoped it had been luck, and that it would not hold.

  Kevon considered several things. The bandits were now armed with at least one sword, and possibly a crossbow. There were at least two of them. Kevon doubted there were any more; they would have come out to help the others if there were. They were now where they were headed, and if Carlo were still alive, Kevon figured it would not be for long.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. His Art would be useless in a direct assault on someone wielding a sword. He did not think he could pull off an Illusion that would be convincing enough to scare off two men. He also did not want to risk exposing his magic to Carlo, or anyone else, for that matter.

  Carlo’s Horse!

  Kevon formed a Control rune and visualized the stallion, willing the animal to move away, and then flooded the symbol with power.

  Carlo’s horse fairly screamed in anger, and two voices rose in anxious shouts. There was a sickening crunch and one of the shouting voices turned to a scream and trailed off.

  Good, Kevon thought. He hadn’t expected that, but he’d take it. The sound of hoof-beats trailing into the distance was Kevon’s cue to drop his concentration. He stood and stalked over to one of the entrances to the hideout.

  As he peeked around the corner, the first thing he saw was Carlo, hands and feet tied, slumped against one of the trees. Kevon’s heart skipped a beat. They wouldn’t have tied him up if he was dead.

  Then Kevon noticed the two bandits, one leaning over the other. Seeing how badly his partner is hurt, Kevon thought. And his back’s to me!

  Kevon quickly scanned the area for weapons. Carlo’s sword was lying sheathed an arm’s length away from the bandits on the ground. That was no good. Leaned against a boulder a short distance away was a club, and next to it a stubby, strange looking crossbow.

  Kevon wrapped himself in improvised magical silence, and dashed over to snatch up the club. He grabbed the end of the weapon and sprinted toward the kneeling bandit, trying to reach his target before his concentration or magical reserves gave out. Less than ten feet away from his target, Kevon felt the runes go dim in his mind. Pebbles skittered unhushed beneath his feet. He was already swinging the club upward from its lowered position as the bandit turned, looking for the danger.

  The blow meant for the back of his head caught Carlo’s assailant squarely on the bridge of the nose. He went down without even a whimper.

  Kevon threw the club aside and swept Carlo’s longsword up from the ground and out of its sheath into a defensive stance, keeping both of Carlo’s attackers in view to make sure neither was a threat.

  The man that was already down would never threaten anyone again. His chest was caved in a grotesque fashion, and blood seeped through his layers of threadbare garments. His breath came in shallow, ragged rattles, and his open eyes stared at nothing.

  Kevon rushed over to where Carlo was bound, and cut his legs free. The mercenary was breathing evenly, so Kevon took the longest length of rope from the cut bonds and pounced on the bandit he had just clobbered. Maintaining pressure in the upper part of the man’s back, Kevon wrenched his captive’s arms behind him and bound them as best he could.

  Feeling no resistance at all and halfway sure the ties would hold, Kevon returned to finish cutting Carlo free.

  The mercenary was just starting to wake as Kevon started cleaning the gash on the older man’s forehead. “Ah.” Carlo winced and spit dirt and blood. He shut his eyes hard for a moment before opening them to focus on the two fallen bandits. “Boy,” he began, “Sometimes I wonder about you.”

  “Say…” Kevon retorted, “Isn’t this the kind of stuff you’re supposed to be protecting us from?”

  “Mmm. Saw one of the little bastards hiding watching the road the other direction. Thought I’d sneak in close enough to draw down on him with the crossbow.” Carlo poked at his head experimentally. “By the time I heard the other one, he let fly with that prodd over there.” The mercenary tossed his head to indicate the odd crossbow that was still leaning where Kevon had taken the club. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

  “Well, you’ll live.” Kevon declared, handing Carlo the dampened rag. He moved the mercenary’s sheathed sword to where Carlo could reach it. “What’ll we do with them?”

  “Bring me the live one.” Carlo answered.

  Kevon had not even noticed the other man’s shallow, labored breathing had stopped. He shuddered at the thought of it and went over to the other still form. He grabbed a double handful of the back of the bandit’s tunic, lifted his upper body off the ground, and with a moderate amount of effort dragged the limp form over to where Carlo was sitting. Once there, he let the body slump back down.

  “Lift him up a little, pull his head back.” Carlo ordered, drawing his dagger.

  Kevon felt a sudden chill. He had not even noticed when Carlo recovered the knife. “Are you sure about…”

  “Just do it!” Carlo snarled.

  Kevon grabbed his captive by the back of the tunic with one hand, and seized a handful of hair with the other. He lifted until Carlo spoke.

  “That’s good.” Carlo made two swift cuts across the unconscious man’s forehead, and then pressed the bloodied rag against it. “You can put him down now.”

  Relieved that the mercenary had not cut the bandit’s throat, Kevon lowered him back down to the ground, propping him so that his forehead stayed pressed to the rag.

  “Your horse ran off,” Kevon offered, not knowing what to say next.

  “He’ll probably head back down the road to the wagon to be with the others.” Carlo grunted. “Likely out of earshot already.” He stuck two fingers in his mouth and blew a few short, piercing notes.

  “So, what are we going to do with him?” Kevon asked again, gesturing at the limp form still lying bound at his feet.

  “Nothing. He’s marked now. Anyone will be able to see he’s a thief on sight.” Carlo explained. “Decent folk won’t trust him, and no other thief will want to work with a marked man.” Carlo stood stiffly, pickling up his longsword as he did. “Grab that prodd if you want it. Might come in handy sometime.”

  “We’d better get up to the road before Rhulcan catches up to us.” Carlo said, seeming to retake control of the situation.

  Kevon collected the prodd and found a pouch of lead shot tethered to the odd weapon.

  Carlo bared his sword to inspect it quickly before slamming it back into the scabbard. He double-checked the contents of his pockets and nodded.

  The two headed out of the hideout and back to the road.

  Kevon and Carlo had barely reached the road when they saw the wagon coming over the hill, trailing both of their horses. Rhulcan urged the team forward while Marelle sat, watchful, drawn crossbow at the ready.

  “Whoa!” cried Rhulcan, hauling back on the reins as the wagon reached and threatened to pass Kevon and Carlo. “Wouldn’t riding be…?”

  Marelle’s gasp cut Rhulcan’s jibe short as she saw the gash and swelling bruise on Carlo’s forehead.

  “By the gods, man! What happened to you?” asked Rhulcan, jumping down to get a closer look.

  “Ambush,” Carlo growled. “Saw half of it. Didn’t see the other half.” The scowling mercenary jerked a thumb in Kevon’s direction. “Ask him. I missed all the action.” Carlo untied his horse from the wagon and mounted a bit slower than usual. “But ask him later. We need to get down the road, now.”

  Kevon followed suit and was shortly astride the mare and ready to
go. Rhulcan and Marelle seemed concerned, but understood the need for haste.

  The four made their way swiftly through the broken landscape, stopping only once to dole out strips of salted meat and fresh water skins. By late afternoon, the road wound up the side of another ridge and onto a wide open grassy plain.

  Kevon stopped at the top and looked to both sides. The sharp contrast between the rolling steppe and the broken scrublands zigzagged away for as far as he could see.

  Just before dusk, Rhulcan pulled the wagon off the side of the road near the corner of a wooden fence. It was the first they had encountered since Elburg. The fence followed the road off into the distance. Kevon wasn’t positive, but he thought he saw a house off in the distance.

  The night was clear and warm. Rhulcan and Marelle chose not to put up the tent and instead laid bedrolls across the upper and lower bench boards of the wagon.

  Still troubled, the three men worked out a watch rotation and mulled over the day’s events around the campfire.

  “I couldn’t really say where they were from,” Carlo said, pausing the whetstone for a few moments to test the edge he’d been working on. “Looked like several layers of homespun. No regional markings or color schemes.”

  “Local runaways?” Rhulcan asked.

  Carlo shrugged. “They’d been at it awhile, I think.”

  “They were my age,” Kevon stated flatly, staring into the flames. “What would make them think they needed to do that?”

  “How would you be getting along if you’d not met us that night at the inn?” Carlo turned to ask Kevon.

  “Okay, I guess.” Kevon answered, and tried to think about how he would have handled himself if the others had not shown up.

  Carlo shook his head. “Maybe,” he answered finally. “But sometimes people think that doing the right thing is not always an option.”

  None of them spoke for a while after that. Rhulcan had chosen the last watch, so he and Marelle excused themselves to get some sleep.

  Kevon lingered a while longer, thinking about everything that had happened.

  Carlo picked a comfortable spot for his watch not far from the embers of the fire. “Better get some sleep,” the mercenary suggested to Kevon.

  Kevon rose and walked over to sit by Carlo. “I’ve never had the option, let alone the need, to do evil to protect myself or someone else,” he began.

  Carlo nodded slightly.

  “But,” he continued, “Unless I run and hide for the rest of my life…”

  “You’ll have to make some hard choices.” Carlo offered. “You’ve had a taste of that today. But you could refuse to change, stay an innocent… and live in fear, waiting for death.” The mercenary spat on the ground. “I’ve known some that would call that a victory.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it to me.” Kevon said soberly.

  “Nor me.” Carlo agreed. “The world is always changing,” he continued, “and to refuse to change along with it is to give up. That’s no virtue in my reckoning.”

  “Indeed.” Kevon fidgeted a moment. “But to change enough to deal with men who would have me killed…”

  “Afraid to become a killer yourself?” Carlo asked.

  “Almost as afraid of that as dying.” Kevon admitted.

  “Good answer.” Carlo tossed another branch on the fire. “But I figured as much already. Get some sleep, boy. Your watch is next.”

  Oddly comforted, Kevon returned to his place and within minutes was fast asleep.

  Chapter 13

  The group was on the road before the sun lifted off the eastern horizon. Kevon’s watch, as the rest of the night, was uneventful. Without the tent to tear down and put away, there was much less to do in the morning. Rhulcan had used most of his watch to quietly pack away any loose articles and prepare what he could for breakfast.

  Carlo and Rhulcan had agreed that they wanted to be well into the rangelands before making camp that night. The fenced fields beyond the broken scrub they had passed through were used by the locals to pasture various animals.

  Carlo showed no signs of being bothered by the wounds he’d gained the previous day. Kevon had offered the mercenary his last healing potion to speed recovery, but it had been refused. Carlo had instead mixed and powdered some leaves from a pouch in a saddlebag, adding water until it became a sticky paste. After applying the mixture to his forehead and covering it with a thin strip of cloth, Carlo had cinched a rather ornately sewn strap of leather about his head. Helping to keep his hair out of his eyes, the strap looked practical or fashionable rather than something to bind a wound. Kevon was impressed.

  Several times in the morning the group came across herds of sheep, goats, and cows behind the sturdy stone and wood fences. All were accompanied by at least half a dozen armed keepers. Most of the groups knew Rhulcan’s wagon by sight, but whenever they actually spoke to the herders, Carlo handled everything. The mercenary knew at least half the herders’ names and bantered briefly with all who approached.

  When the group stopped for lunch, Carlo reported that he’d heard no news of recent attacks in the west. The only news of note was that a local farm owner had died recently, and several herders had been released from service by his heirs. They had tired of the family business and had decided to turn their overly small tract of land into a sale yard with an inn and various shops.

  Marelle’s face brightened at the mention of an inn. The others were not against the idea, either.

  The turnoff to their destination was not too distant. The road was newly worked, not as packed as the main path. Dust swirled around and got into everything. The beginnings of rock fencepost piles lined both sides of the road. This road, Carlo explained, was through what used to be the main pasture of this farm less than three weeks ago.

  After an hour of travel down the dusty path, they reached the inn. The remodeled farmhouse had almost the same homelike feel as the inn in Elburg. The owners, four brothers and their wives, were thrilled to have customers this quickly. They stopped the work they had been doing on various projects around the compound and took turns conversing with, entertaining, and preparing dinner and rooms for Kevon and his companions.

  By the time dinner was finished, Rhulcan was deep in conversation with the two elder brothers about the specifics of their new business, giving advice on which types of shops and recommending specific Merchants that might be interested in such a venture.

  Kevon pushed his chair back from the table and handed his plate to one of the smiling wives that swept toward him.

  “Wait.” Carlo told him as he started to rise from his chair.

  “Hmm?” asked Kevon.

  “Give me a minute to finish eating,” the mercenary told him, “and then we’ll go outside and… talk.”

  Just thinking about the last ‘talk’ Carlo had given him made Kevon hurt, but he nodded and waited patiently.

  Carlo finished eating, complimented the hosts on all aspects of their hospitality, and then he and Kevon excused themselves to go outside. The two of them walked across the compound to the outbuilding where the wagon was parked. Carlo rummaged through a corner of the wagon and retrieved the two wooden practice swords. He handed one to Kevon and gestured toward a large flat open spot nearby.

  “Defense.” Carlo said, swinging the wooden sword to get a feel for it. “One on one, defense is usually what wins a fight. Defend well enough and there will be an opportunity to win.”

  “All right,” Kevon said, stretching his arms and imitating Carlo’s warm-up swings.

  “Offense.” Carlo continued. “Especially when you’re facing more opponents than you feel comfortable with, take a few out quickly; it will give you a chance to size the rest of them up.

  “Um… okay…” Kevon said, not sure what to say to that.

  “Observation.” Carlo said, staring icily at Kevon. “Always. You can get clues about how someone will act in a fight from how they walk. How they eat. How they treat their women. You just need to know what to
look for, and how to use what you see.”

  “Wow.” Kevon stared blankly at Carlo for a moment. “I thought all there was to fighting was knowing where and how to stab people.”

  “Most people think that,” Carlo agreed, “including some of the best fighters you’ll ever hear about. But knowing all the fighting techniques in the world won’t help you if you don’t know when to use them.”

  Kevon nodded. Holten had told him much the same thing about magic when he began his apprenticeship.

  “Balance.” Carlo resumed his lecture. “Learn to keep it whenever possible, and when it’s better to give it up.”

  “Why would you want to lose your balance?” Kevon asked.

  “You wouldn’t want to.” Carlo replied sternly. “But if you had three swords coming at you at once and thought you could fall backwards and get in under the defenses of the guy behind you… it’s worth a try.”

  Kevon sensed a story behind that particular lesson, but kept silent.

  “And conditioning.” Carlo concluded. “Being strong helps, surely enough. But there are different types of strength you really need to handle a blade. I’ve seen miners with arms as thick as my legs drop a sword the first time they’re parried. Ankles and wrists need more work than most see fit to put into them.”

  “Sounds like balance and conditioning could be applied to a lot more than swordplay.” Kevon observed.

  Carlo grinned. “That’s the reason I’m even considering training someone again. It’s been ten years since I met someone who sees things that way, and he wouldn’t let me teach him. Didn’t want to get good at killing. Must be something in the water up there.”

  Before Kevon could ask what the mercenary meant, Carlo began taking rocks from a nearby fencepost pile and tossing them to the ground. Carlo continued this until the rocks made a roughly circular pattern around the remains of the pile.