The Merchant and the Menace (56 page)

A small, shadowy figure dashed across the top of a
hill several hundred yards away. It ran in a crouch, darting from grove to
grove.

“Who is that?” exclaimed Kael.

“It seems the riders drive a fox before them,” said
Eidyn.

Ader and Teeg edged closer to the side of the road.
They remained motionless, following the progress of the diminutive figure.
Eidyn and Kael rode toward the back of the procession. The Elven prince turned
to Kael with a look of concern and confusion.

“Should we arm ourselves, Lord Ader?” asked Eidyn.

The Seraph did not reply. Ader’s eyes followed the
figure. Kael turned to Eidyn and shrugged his shoulders. Eidyn frowned and
slipped his bow from his back. His hand slid down to the quiver slung on the
side of his mount. Blindly he drew an arrow from the quiver and lifted it to
the bow. The figure closed to within a hundred yards and the dust cloud
billowed on the horizon.

Eidyn notched his arrow and his eyes bore down on
the figure. Slowly he drew the bowstring backwards.

“It looks like a child, but it runs like the win
..... AYE!” shouted Eidyn.

Kael spun to look at his friend and was stunned.
Another small figure sat on the stallion just behind the Elven prince. The
figure was covered head to toe in a gossamer cloak. The cloak’s colors
shimmered and changed with each movement. A delicate hand reached around the
prince and locked on the drawn bowstring. The other hand pressed a short,
curved dagger against Eidyn’s exposed throat. A small drop of blood slid down
the edge of the blade. The runner closed to within fifty yards of the group.

“Eidyn!” boomed Teeg. “Stay your arrow! Tis an
ally!”

The Elven prince was glaring over his shoulder at
the figure holding him captive. Slowly he released the tension on the bow and
let the point of the arrow dip toward the ground. The figure seated behind him
removed its grip on the bowstring, grabbed the hood of its cloak and drew it
down. Kael stared into the blue-green eyes of the beautiful young woman he met
on the streets of Rindor. Eidyn’s eyes went wide. She smiled, rammed the blade
into a small sheath at her side and jumped into a standing position on the
stallion’s rump. In an instant the young woman laughed and did a flip off the
horse’s back. She executed a perfect landing a foot from a grove of gorse bush,
darted into cover and disappeared from sight.

In that same moment, the “fox” leapt onto the back
of Tarader from a full sprint. This figure wore a similar cloak to the young
woman.  Even though it stood on the back of the stallion, its head barely
cleared that of the Guide. The “fox” drew its hood back and leaned in close to
the Ader’s ear. Kael was astonished to see the smaller of the two boys he
tracked in Rindor. After a moment the Seraph nodded and the boy flipped from
Tarader’s back in the same way as the young woman. He darted into the bushes
and was gone.

“A dozen riders approach, most of them Keltaran,”
stated Ader. “They will be upon us shortly.”

“Who was that woman?” Eidyn asked Teeg.

The Master of Spies bit his lip and muttered an
explanation. Manfir cut him off.

“There’s no time for that now, Eidyn. We are set
upon by the mountain dogs!” shouted Manfir as he glared toward Granu.

The giant was unfazed. A contemplative expression
crossed his face.

 “A Keltaran Hammer unit so far from the Anvil and
deep in Zodrian land,” stated the giant. “This is unusual.”

 The giant moved behind Flair’s mare and threw his
hood over his head. Manfir scoffed and wheeled his warhorse to face the growing
dust cloud.

 “Keep your ranks tight,” barked Manfir. “And
Flair, take care to watch your back.”

The pounding of hooves filled the air. Kael stared
out to see riders and their mounts filling the hilltop. Dust swirled and rose
around the figures as their massive horses whinnied and stamped. Kael never saw
anything like these horses. They were huge, easily as tall as Tarader, yet not
nearly as sleek. Their backs were broad, built for power not speed. The horses’
coats were long and shaggy. Clumps of hair hung over enormous shoulders. They
were outfitted in steel, from a studded plate on their brow down to their
shoes.

The Keltaran paused then began a slow trot toward
the road. Kael noted several hooded and cloaked riders near the back of the
formation. A leader separated from the crowd. His warhorse trotted a few yards
ahead of the group. Eidyn slid the arrow back onto his bowstring.

“I’ll wager they slipped through the Chimgan Pass,”
stated Manfir.

Granu’s grunt from behind Flair was all the
acknowledgment the group needed. Manfir, Ader and Teeg rimmed the edge of the
road flanked by Kael and Eidyn to their left. Flair sat in the rear and Granu
stood next to the boy’s mare.

The Keltaran leader came within Eidyn’s range and
drew a large battle-ax from behind his back. Kael felt his heart begin to pound
rapidly. The Keltaran lifted the ax high in the air, then grabbed the head and
pointed the handle toward the road.

“He seeks parlay,” stated Teeg.

“What does that mean?” Kael whispered to Eidyn.

“He wishes to talk,” replied Eidyn in hushed tones.
“He agrees to no violence and wishes to approach.”

“Does he think we’re crazy?” said Kael. “Look at
those men!”

“He neither thinks you are crazy nor quite
formidable,” came a rumble from behind Flair. “He wishes to talk rather than
fight. In his mind, a Keltaran Hammer unit against our ragged group is no
match. If his first option were force, he would have used it. Accept his parlay
and see what he says.”

Manfir hesitated but after a nod from Ader the
Zodrian prince drew his sword and extended the handle toward the Keltaran.

“Manfir accepts the parlay,” Eidyn whispered to
Kael.

The giants moved forward and halted twenty yards
from the road. Many of the riders matched their horses, huge men with shaggy
red and brown manes trailing over muscled shoulders. They wore helms of tight
fitted steel with studded nose guards. Leather and steel were bound over
forearms and legs. Their front line was armed with either battle-ax or cruelly
barbed pike.

Tarader threw back his head and whinnied loudly.
The Keltaran mounts startled and shifted under their riders. The mountain men
struggled to gain control. In the confusion, Granu softly called to Ader.

“They wear the uniform of the imperial guard, my
brother Fenrel’s troops.”

The Keltaran mounts regained their composure and
the rank reformed. Kael noticed the ghostly image of a ram’s skull emblazoned
on each man’s chest. Their leader removed his helm and rested it upon his
saddle.

“Quite an odd company traveling the Northern Trade
Route,” he stated.

“No more unusual than a Keltaran Hammer this far
from home in Zodrian territory,” returned Manfir.

The leader smiled dismissively. The head of his
giant ax rested in his lap, and the handle still pointed past his horse’s head
toward the road. His elbows rested on the flat of the ax blade as he lazed in
his saddle.

“Ah, yes,” smiled the leader. “We are a bit out of
the way. We’re on an errand for his majesty.”

“Grannak has sent you this far into Zodrian
territory?” questioned Ader. “Does he invite Zodrian retribution? What trifle
tempts him to start another upheaval?”

“Ah ... 'twas not Grannak’s order. I’m on direct
orders from Fenrel,” smirked the Keltaran.

“The last time I checked,” began Teeg. “Grannak
ruled in the mountain city.”

“Oh he does, he does,” exclaimed the leader through
pouting lips. “But he grows so tired and old. Circumstances compelled Fenrel to
relieve the king of certain responsibilities. Besides, I don’t intend to alert
Zodrian authorities of my presence. I come to retrieve something. Once I take
what I want, I will go in peace. No one will be the wiser and we all gain from
this meeting.”

“What trinket does this motley crew possess, that
interests the royal House of Hrafnu?” asked Ader holding a hand out toward his
group. “And what do you possibly posses that we might want in exchange?”

A smug expression crossed the Keltaran’s face.

“Did you not know, old man? You possess the House
of Hrafnu itself, you fool. Fenrel wants it back!”

The leader shot a finger toward the cowled Granu.

“There stands Granu son of Grannak, heir to the
throne of Keltar. All that is and will be Keltaran stands in his grasp. Fenrel
wants it!”

Manfir glanced over his shoulder at the figure of
Granu then spun back to the Keltaran war party.

“You talk in riddles, Keltaran. That is but the
slow-witted nephew of the old man here,” nodded Manfir toward Ader. “However,
you still didn’t answer the second question. What do you offer us?”

“A Southland farmer with the brains to barter,”
laughed the leader to his troops. “I offer you that which is most precious to
you. I offer you your lives! You may ride from here unmolested. Go. Travel
north and join the Guard. You will fall to a Keltaran ax or an Ulrog cleaver on
some other day. Just ride away and say nothing of this event. The House of
Macin will never be the wiser.”

Manfir frowned and looked back at Granu. The giant
stood immobile. Manfir furrowed his brow.

“You make a few mistakes in your logic, mountain
dog,” began the prince as his eyes narrowed. “First, your offer of our lives is
invalid. They are not yours to give, only yours to take if you dare. Since you
asked for parlay first, I think you don’t dare. Second, the House of Macin
already knows of your trespass on their lands and determined an appropriate
response. You will take nothing from Zodrian lands without the Royal House’s
approval, and they do not give it.”

“Under whose authority?” barked the leader as he
sat upright.

Manfir slid the chain holding the ring from inside
his cloak.

“Manfir, son of Macin,” snapped the prince.

A murmur spread through the ranks of the Keltaran.
The leader looked perplexed and hesitated.

“Kill two birds with one stone, Sherta!” called a
familiar voice from the back ranks of the Keltaran.

The leader glared back over his shoulder.

“Silence! I’m in charge here!” bellowed Sherta.

The Keltaran leader swung back to face the road and
encountered Granu as the giant stepped past his companions and threw back his
hood. He stood leaning heavily on his staff surveying the mounted troop before
him.

“Sherta? How do I know that name?” Granu questioned
himself as he stroked his badly scarred head and inched forward. “Sherta?”

Finally, the giant snapped his fingers in
recognition and stared hard into Sherta’s eyes.

“Are you the same worthless Sherta who called for
the retreat at Kel Moor and allowed the Ulrog to overrun the outpost?” began
Granu. “You couldn’t possibly be that Sherta! I hope
that
Sherta rests
in chains somewhere for abandoning his post.”

Sherta grimaced and ground his teeth.

“That situation was untenable,” grumbled the
Keltaran leader. “We were surrounded and our...”

Granu ignored Sherta’s protest and focused on
another member of the Keltaran group.

“Catra,” called Granu. “Well met.”

 Sherta reddened in anger. A Keltaran soldier
nodded and smiled to Granu.

“Well met, Prince Granu. Your barber was a little
harsh with your last cut,” returned Catra smiling. “I assumed it might have
grown back by now?”

Granu gave a weak smile and rubbed his huge hand
over the scars on his bald head.

“'Twas a punishment meant to shame me, but I grow
accustomed to it. The scars will fade,” murmured Granu. He frowned toward
Catra. “You wear the skull of my brother’s unit?”

“Fenrel disbanded the brotherhood. All of the
faithful were assigned to military units. Are you fully recovered from your
last encounter with your brother?” Catra nodded toward Granu’s lame leg.

“It comes and goes,” replied Granu rubbing his
knee.

The display of weakness emboldened Sherta.

“Silence Catra! You are under my command now,”
shouted Sherta maneuvering to face Granu. “Under the authority of Prince
Fenrel, I order you to...”

“I hold no quarrel with you, Sherta,” barked Granu
once again cutting off the Keltaran leader. “I’m no threat to my brother. Leave
me in peace.”

Sherta hesitated and looked uncertain of his next
move. His eyes darted between his troops and Granu.

“Leave him, Sherta,” called Catra. “He’s a
wanderer, an outcast. Grannak forbade anyone to harm him. He begs an existence
off our enemies by using his name. He owns nothing more to give them and that
will soon grow stale. Do not start another war over a lame beggar.”

Sherta’s eyes shifted between his troop and Granu.

“You requested parlay and it was granted,” stated
Granu. “Your request for my custody is denied. Honor your parlay and retreat
for a measure of time. If you still wish to take me, only then may you use force.”