Fool's Errand (42 page)

Thatcher patted Melizar on the shoulder as they returned to pack their bedrolls.

“Told ya so. Mel.”

“That you did.”

“You know, if what you said back there was true, the D’zarik must be a very suspicious people. But you have really great toys!”

“My young friend, you have not even begun to scratch the surface of the truth on either count.”

Thatcher went off in the direction of his blankets and hidden treasure. Before he got into his new D’zarik-made toys, however, he took the coins he had and brought them to Captain Tropham.

“Captain, I know this is not much compared to the sacrifice your troopers or Captain Donovan’s berserkers made on this journey, but please accept these coins. Would you see that they are given to the families of the fallen troopers and berserkers to help in whatever way they can. It is small compensation among so many, but it is all I have, and I want them to have it.”

Captain Tropham was visibly moved.

“I will do as you ask. I saw you yesterday scouring the bodies before we burned them, but I figured it was your right to scavenge what you could. You certainly more than carried your own in the battle, so I did not begrudge you picking a few enemy pockets.”

Thatcher blushed.

“You saw that, huh?”

“Yes, but for you now to give all you scavenged to the families of the victims is a great gesture. I will see your wishes are accomplished. From my troopers and I, let me say thank you for remembering the families of these men. If it is all right with you, we will add it to the collection we have already taken up amongst my surviving men and give it from the whole company. That way, it may stretch a bit farther, although I would say by the weight of this sack the lion’s share will still be from you.”

“My name doesn’t matter. No need to tell anyone where it came from. Just say it’s from your men. The families of the fallen getting whatever help those coins will buy is the most important thing. It is one of the many things I have learned from Captain Gideon in my time with him.”

“Captain Gideon is a good man,” Tropham continued. “There is a great deal we all might learn from him. Be safe on your journey, young master, and One Lord willing, we will meet again in Stonehold in a week or so.”

Thatcher returned to his bedroll and opened the large, embossed leather bag. It was beautifully crafted, and the black leather seemed softer and more supple than any hide he had ever felt. He wondered what type of wondrous creature living beneath the surface of the world had given its skin for such a bag. He would have to remember to ask Melizar.

Inside the bag, as Melizar said, was a complicated looking leather belt rigging of the same black color as the outer bag only much more stiff and sturdy. After a few moments of puzzling over the complex series of straps, belts, and buckles, Thatcher figured it out. It looped around the waist with a covered quiver of twenty mini-bolts for the handbow resting on the left hip and a rigging for the handbow itself on the right. The bottom of the handbow rigging tied to the thigh just above the right knee. Once outfitted in the rigging, Thatcher gingerly took the handbow from its ornate box, loaded five of the D’zarium bolts into the reloading chamber, and slipped it into its holster. It went into its casing as smoothly as a hot dagger through warm butter.

The weight was good, but as Melizar said, the bolts were much heavier than expected. They were solid black, from nock to fletching, shaft to head. He knew time was of the essence now. They were already later than planned in setting out, but he could hardly wait to try out his new toy.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thatcher saw Goldain struggling to wake a reluctant Jeslyn from her too-short sleep. Once Thatcher learned to master this handbow, he would show her who could shoot from horseback!

Horseback
…

The thought terrified him. He had only been on a horse twice in his life. Once was when his friend Ebon had thrown him up behind and galloped through the city with Thatcher clinging on for dear life. The other was when the rogues of the guild thought it would be funny to put the novices on the back of an unbroken stallion as a form of initiation. That had probably been the shortest ride in history as Thatcher thought he remembered being bucked off before he was even fully on. He hit the ground like a bag of potatoes dropped off the back of a wagon, and remembered wondering if he would ever be able to breathe again.

That fall resulted in two cracked ribs. It had taken him weeks before he was able to move around and breathe without pain. The Rogues Guild was not a gentle place to grow up, but it looked now like all that was behind him.

His time as a rogue of Aton-Ri was over. Guildmaster Magar had made it clear that if Thatcher disagreed with that decision, he would have a whole guild full of his former fellow rogues who would be ordered to kill him to make the point. Given how well Goldain and Gideon had taken Melizar’s secret, he knew he would have to share this with them at some point as well.

It was more than an hour after dawn when the camp was finally broken. Tropham and his men, as well as the wounded Kylor, Rarib, and a collection of battered and bruised troopers were off to Stonehold. The Durgak wounded insisted on traveling with their captain into the hills. The fortitude of the Durgak was amazing to behold, but with Duncan along, Thatcher knew they all would be well patched up before too long.

The wagons and extra horses would return with Tropham while Xyer Garan’s body was slung across the back of his barding-laden warhorse. Five other mounts would carry Goldain, Gideon, Thatcher, Melizar, and the stubborn young archer Jeslyn toward Varynia, the capital city of Cyria.

Gideon hoped that the day’s journey to the western end of Dragon Pass would go without incident. They would now be traveling without either of their skilled scouts, but with the ambush behind them and no reason to expect trouble ahead, there should be no need for advanced eyes. Gideon hoped they would be able to make the border of Parynland today, but it did not look promising. Thatcher did not seem entirely sure which end of the horse was which.

Fortunately, one of the horses was a bit older and broken-spirited. They chose that mount for Thatcher. Jeslyn tried to offer pointers, but Thatcher seemed determined to do the exact opposite of whatever the young Rajiki told him.

“No, hold the reins loosely unless you are giving the horse a command,” Jeslyn snapped as Thatcher’s tightening grip on the reins caused the young rogue’s horse to begin backing up in a circle.

Thatcher’s scowl showed his reluctance to take instruction from Jeslyn. He then further confused the animal by goading it with his boots to go forward.

“No, no, no,” she corrected. “You are confusing her. Your feet are telling her to go ahead, but your hands are telling her to back up. You are going to make her crazy.”

“You are making me crazy!” shouted Thatcher. “Why don’t you mind your own business and let me ride my horse my way, and you ride your horse your way. It’s no wonder she is confused. She doesn’t know who to listen to, me or you!”

It was clear Thatcher’s resistance to taking instruction from Jeslyn was going to slow them down worse than his inexperience. Gideon interjected.

“Jeslyn, why don’t we let Goldain have a try. Maybe our rogue will better understand simpler instructions.”

“Are you calling me simple, or are you calling Thatcher simple?” answered Goldain, beaming his normal winning smile.

Gideon, in a rare display of wit of his own replied.

“I would tell you, but I am not sure you would understand the answer, my large friend. Just see what you can do to get the lad moving roughly in the right direction. I doubt we can convince the entire city of Varynia to come to us.”

With patient and clear instructions from Goldain, the young thief caught on quickly. Once underway, progress went as well as could be expected. Jeslyn still seemed a bit disgruntled at Thatcher’s stubbornness. Gideon noted that despite his initial difficulties, the lad picked up riding quicker than most.

The horses were strong and fast. Even with the delays, they closed in on the western end of Dragon Pass just as the sun set. As they made a simple camp for the night, discussions around the campfire revolved around their direction. Gideon, the only one familiar with the country that lay ahead, lent his counsel to the company.

“We have a choice to make in the morning. Our slower progress worked out well as we can sleep on the decision. If we head south along the edge of the mountains, we will come, in a few hours, to the only bridge across the Westbrook River. It forms the northern border of Cyria.”

“Won’t the bridge be guarded, captian?” Thatcher asked.

“It will indeed be fortified and heavily guarded. Given the caravan ambushes and the fact that I am a Parynlander in possession of the body of a dead Cyrian knight, this choice might earn us an arrest and a stay in Cyrian prison before we are ever given a chance to explain.”

“That is a vacation I would just as soon avoid,” remarked Goldain. “What is the other option?”

“If we travel westward toward the ocean, keeping roughly parallel to the river, then when we get to the coast there is a broad and fairly shallow delta near the mouth of the river. This delta is the only other place shallow enough for the horses to cross.”

“Is the crossing safe?” Thatcher asked, with a nervous trill in his voice.

“The summer rains have not started yet, so the river should be low and the crossing reasonably safe. I am most concerned that Garan’s warhorse, burdened as it is already with the weight of his body and armor as well as its own barding, might sink into the softer sands of the delta an become mired. We would be unable to free it in the midst of the river. Of course when we reach the delta, we could redistribute the weight somewhat, strip Garan of his armor and the warhorse of its barding and spread the pieces among the other mounts, but then we all might be in danger of getting mired in the soft sands of the delta.”

“So if the choice then,” Thatcher began, “is between running the risk of getting tossed in jail or drowning on the back of a beast in the middle of a river, I vote for jail. I’ve been in jail before and lived to tell about it. I can’t swim any better than I can ride, and I have never drowned before, so if it is all the same I’d just as soon stick with familiar experiences.”

“I would say my abilities,” added Melizar, “are much more attuned to dissuading would-be arrestors from taking me into custody than they are to keeping a horse and myself afloat. If we get an unfavorable reaction from the local Cyrian constabulary, we can always leave Garan to their gentle attendances and make our own rapid departure.”

“You are doing it again, egghead,” quipped Goldain. “How many time I gotta tell you to dumb it down a bit for us, simple warriors. But what I think you said,” he continued knowingly, “was that if they don’t like what we got to say, we dump Garan on them and beat feet outta there before we get tossed in the hole. That about right?”

Gideon was growing impatient with Goldain’s feigned simplemindedness. He did not wait for the quip to play itself out.

“I agree the bridge is probably the safer route. Given the danger then, I am going to urge you, Jeslyn, to head back to Stonehold and let the others know our plan.”

“No way, Captain shiny-pants,” the youth snapped. “I ain’t one of your soldiers, and I’m no messenger girl. Tropham knows the lay of this land same as you. If there ain’t but two choices, he will know we took one of them. If we ain’t back in a week or so, they’ll come looking.”

“Now, princess,” Goldain tried to reason with the girl.

“Don’t princess me, Goldain. I already told you I am here to find out what happened to my father, and with this big, dead-guy working with the ambushers, someone in Cyria knows something. That’s where the answers are, and that’s where I am going. You want a messenger, send Thatcher. That is if he can keep his horse pointed in the right direction long enough to make it back to Stonehold.”

Thatcher scowled at the snide remark.

“What is your problem with me anyway, Jeslyn? One minute you can be a sweet, simple kid and the next you are as ornery as a bag of wet cats.”