Paul Thompson - The Middle of Nowhere

“I can’t do that. A contract is a contract. I’ve never failed to bring in my quarry.”

A fast flurry of slashes and thrusts drove Amergin to the foot of one of the oaks. The hunter caught up his foe’s blade and with a flick of his wrist sent Amergin’s sword flying into the night.

“ Malo takhi ,” said the hunter. The benediction meant, “Enter darkness.”

He extended his arm for the final lunge but never completed it. With a resounding thud, Raika broke a plank over the bounty hunter’s head, and he collapsed.

Moments later, Howland, Hume, and Carver raced in, ready for a fight. They’d heard the clatter of swordplay and come running.

Raika tossed the broken board aside and rolled the unconscious elf over with her toe. She took the knife from her teeth and put it to his throat.

“Wait!” said Howland. He picked up a brand from the fire and held it up to light the bounty hunter’s face. “By my Oath! Do you know who this is?”

“A tricky little wretch about to meet his ancestors!” Raika snarled.

“It’s Robien! Robien the Tireless!”

Hume said, “Really? The very one?”

“I’m sure of it!” said Howland. “Twenty years ago we tracked down the murderer Valneer together. Chased him to the Icewall, we did. He’s a fine fellow!”

Carver hunted through the bounty hunter’s bag and found a weighty purse. “Here’s the blood money!” he said as he slipped the sack into his shirt.

Amergin stood over Raika and his enemy. “So, the one and only Robien. I should not be surprised. Solito was the chief’s son.”

Still with her knife at his throat, Raika said, “Who’s this Robien, anyway?”

“The most famous tracker and bounty hunter in six nations,” said Howland. “They say he’s never failed in a mission and brought a hundred malefactors to justice.”

“He’s certainly failed tonight!” Raika declared with a laugh. She drew back her hand. Amergin caught it.

“No,” he said.

“Why? He would have killed you!”

“He is an honorable brother of the forest. He does not deserve to have his throat cut like a wayward bandit.”

Raika rocked back on her haunches. “What a bunch of noble fools you all are! What are we going to do when we fight Rakell and his gang? Spare them because they’re honorable brigands?”

“If we let him go, he’ll simply come after Amergin again,” Hume said.

Howland tossed the burning branch back in the fire. Putting his sword away, he pondered. Finally he turned to Amergin.

“It’s your life. What do you say?”

The Kagonesti’s long face was a mask. “Let’s bring him along.”

“Bring him?” Raika, Hume, and Carver said in unison.

The Saifhumi woman said, “That’s crazy!”

“He’s wields a fine sword. Why not invite him to join us against the raiders?”

“He’s been paid to find or kill you! Why would a hunter of his reputation go back on his word?”

Howland went to Carver and held out his hand. “The bounty. Give it to me.”

“I’m the one who found it,” said the kender, sulking. Reluctantly he gave the purse to the Knight.

“Amergin is right. We might use him,” said Howland. “Leave the how and why to me. Until then, tie him up. Khorr can easily carry him awhile.”

They obliterated all traces of Robien’s camp and carried off every scrap from the site. The farmers were more than a little worried by this new way of gaining a recruit, but by now they trusted Sir Howland’s judgment. Every sword was crucial. So was every passing moment.

The journey resumed before dawn.

There it is-Nowhere.”

Malek stood with Howland uth Ungen on the highest prominence for miles around, a round-topped hill the farmers called Caper Mountain. Mountain it was not. It rose only forty feet or so above the surrounding plain, but that made it mountain enough for these parts.

Spread out below them were a patchwork of fields and gardens, diligently tended throughout the growing season. Barley covered the most ground, and the green stalks were browning as much from lack of rain as from the coming harvest. Here and there swatches of dark green stood out among the brown lakes of grain. Garden plots were watered daily. Tender vegetables needed more sustenance than hardy grain.

Sir Howland noticed none of this. All he could see was the rude horseshoe of houses in the midst of a flat plain. Tiny figures moved around the gray dot Malek indicated was the village’s sole well.

How could anyone defend such a defenseless spot? Was it even possible?

The Knight palmed the sweat from the stubble growing out of his scalp. Hot and tired though he was, he felt good and strong. The journey on foot had purged the toxins from his body, cleansing him of much bad wine and self-pity. The farmers’ cause had paid him more that a full belly-it had revived Howland’s honor. For him, duty was an appetite no less sharp than hunger or thirst. Now, though, when he first beheld the ground he was asked to defend, his spirits sank into his dusty boots.

On the rearward slope, the rest of the hired swords lolled, watching kites and crows wheeling through the cloudless sky. Nils, Wilf, and Caeta chafed at the delay. They were near enough home to smell the barley growing, but Howland had insisted on this stop. He would not rush his troops into an unknown situation, he said firmly.

Ezu amused Khorr and Carver with tales of distant lands. When the story called for it, he pulled out some artifact from his satchel. Most were inconsequential-a string of beads, a thick disk of glass, a cup with a needle floating inside-but backed by Ezu’s strange charm they became wondrous relics.

“And this,” he said, brandishing the glass disk, “was made by the glassmasters of Oe. A fantastic place, Oe. Every house, grand or mean, is made of glass.”

“Let me see!” said Carver. Ezu placed the disk on his small palm. It didn’t seem so special as he examined it. It was just a round lump of clear glass, not even a pretty color.

“Hold it by the edge and look through it,” said Ezu.

The kender did, and exclaimed, “Khorr! Your eyes are huge!”

The minotaur felt along his massive brow. “They’re no bigger than usual.”

Carver lowered the glass. “Heh! So they are.” He peered through Ezu’s toy again, and once more Khorr’s face swelled to monstrous proportions.

The kender laughed.

Khorr said, “Let me see.” He looked through the glass, first at Carver, then Ezu. “It makes things look bigger,” the minotaur said.

“Right-right!” Ezu replied. “That is what it does. In Oe, they call this a ‘lens.’ ”

Carver snatched the disk from Khorr’s thick fingers. He looked at everything through the glass-grass, pebbles, Ezu, and a frowning Raika, sitting ten feet away with her sword bare, guarding the quiescent bounty hunter.

“Ho, she’s even bigger,” he said. A new target occurred to him. “My foot!” He bent down, resting his chin on one knee, and gazed at his bare brown toes through Ezu’s lens.

The sun was behind him. Rays gathered by the glass came to a point in the center of Carver’s big toenail.

“ Yow !”

The kender leaped into the air, arms and legs flailing. Ezu’s disk went flying, but the smiling traveler caught it with surprising deftness before it was lost in the grass.

“I’m burned!” Carver yelled, clutching his foot.

“What’s all the row?” muttered Howland, glancing down the hill. “The kender. Should’ve known.”

“Well, can it be done?” asked Malek urgently.

“On my word as a Knight, I don’t think so. No.” Howland swept a hand across the distant vista. “The terrain has no more relief than a plate. There’s nothing here to impede horsemen. Even if we could ambush part of Rakell’s force, there’s aren’t enough of us to stop him from overrunning the village.”