Саймон Хоук - The Broken Blade

“But… that cannot be!” said Cricket. “I know Edric! We worked together at the Damsel! You were there! Surely, you must have seen him!”

“How long did he work at the Desert Damsel before the caravan came to South Ledopolus?” Ryana asked.

“Why… a week or so.”

“And before?”

Cricket shook her head. “I do not know.”

“He arrived in town and established his identity as a wandering bard,” Ryana said. “That provided a good cover for him when he joined the caravan. You were part of it. He used you.”

Cricket did not want to believe it. She shook her head. “No, you must be mistaken. What proof do you have?”

“There is no mistake,” Ryana said. “Sorak and Kieran both saw him meet in secret with one of the raiders at Grak’s Pool shortly before dawn this morning. He was doubtless informing him of the strength and disposition of our guard and what type of cargo we carry. He and the other three who joined us this morning were to strike at us from within when the attack occurred. They would have killed the cargo guards and handlers and driven off the beasts, then probably taken hostages among the passengers.”

Cricket shook her head with dismay. “Then it was all a lie,” she said in a dull voice. “His friendship, everything he told me… Just when I had finally met a man I thought I could trust…”

“I’m sorry, Cricket,” said Ryana, putting a hand on her shoulder in sympathy.

Cricket shook it off. “Leave me alone.”

Accompanied by a squad of the caravan guard, Kieran and Sorak led the captives away from the others, going off a distance and down a slope toward the bank of the estuary. The four prisoners were bound securely, their hands behind their backs. When they reached the shore of the estuary, Kieran signaled the guards to push the captives to a sitting position on the ground. Edric looked perfectly calm and composed, but the other three were clearly frightened. They were painfully aware that they were completely at the mercy of their captors.

“Now, I do not wish to waste time,” said Kieran, turning to face them. He glanced over his shoulder at the sluggish brown silt. “I will ask one question. If I do not get an answer, or one that satisfies me, I will have one of you thrown into the silt, and we’ll watch him drown. I will leave your legs free, so I imagine you will be able to stay up for at least a few moments, but a few moments is all you’ll have before you get sucked down. Drowning in silt is not a pleasant experience. When the first of you is gone, I’ll ask a question of the second. And so forth, until I have the answers I want.”

Two of the mercenaries immediately began protesting that they didn’t know anything beyond what they were told to do. The third simply started sobbing and wet himself. Edric alone remained calm and silent. Kieran fixed him with a steady gaze. “I’ll save you for last.”

“I have no wish to die or suffer pain,” said Edric, meeting his gaze steadily. “These three hirelings are telling you the truth. They know nothing beyond their assigned tasks when the attack takes place. I have the information you want, but how do I know you will not kill me anyway as soon as I divulge it?”

“You do not,” said Kieran. “But you know I will kill you if you say nothing.”

Edric smiled wryly. “I readily concede the point,” he said. “Very well then, I’ll do my best to bargain from a poor position. What do you wish to know?”

The watchfires created small, bright spots of illumination around the camp as midnight approached. The cookfires by the tents had burned down to embers, and all was still. The outriders had been pulled in earlier, even before the caravan had camped. As the shadows lengthened in the afternoon, they were brought closer, to ride along the left flank of the column until the caravan stopped. They ranged close to the camp until the guards had been posted and the fires were lit, and then they were brought in.

The handlers had staked the beasts down, and the roustabouts had stacked the cargo in the center of the camp. The passengers and most of the caravan crew had all retired for the night. From outward appearances, everything looked perfectly normal; the caravan had stopped to camp within less than a day’s ride from its destination, taking token precautions on the last night of their journey. However, Kieran had made sure appearances would be deceptive.

He had positioned the camp within the shelter of some large, natural rock outcroppings near the banks of the estuary. The tents had been pitched near the base of the rocks, as if for protection from the wind. To the watching raiders—and Kieran was sure they would be watching—it must have looked absolutely perfect. An attack from the southeast would leave them trapped in a pocket formed by the estuary in their rear and the big rocks on their flank—caught like a fly between a hammer and an anvil. Which was precisely what Kieran wanted the raiders to think.

The handlers had staked the beasts at the rear of the camp, as usual, by the slope leading to the estuary. It was the logical place to put them, but at the same time, it served another purpose. As the passengers and crew retired for the night, gradually, in ones and twos, they entered their tents and were taken out through slits cut in the backs, then led by roustabouts between the rock outcroppings and the backs of the tents, so that they were concealed from view. They were then taken down the slope behind the beasts, where they huddled together, wrapped in blankets against the chill. In this manner, masked from any observation, all the passengers were removed from the camp and secreted by the estuary, where they were protected by Ryana and a group of armed roustabouts. All the tents stood empty.

At the advance guard outpost to the southeast, the direction from which Kieran invited attack, the three captive mercenaries sat in a circle by a watchfire. They were bent over slightly, as if gaming with dice. Only on close observation could it be seen that they were gagged and bound, with hands in front of them, staked down to the ground. Kieran nodded with satisfaction as he checked their bonds and grinned.

“Well, does this match your vision?” he asked.

Sorak nodded. “It seems to.”

“Good. Let’s take our places and see if it all unfolds the way you saw it.”

They moved off about a dozen yards and lay down to wait behind some scrub brush. The movements of the mercenaries as they struggled to pull themselves free and their panicked shouts into their gags merely made it look as if they were going about their game. Kieran chuckled softly. “They don’t seem very happy, do they?” he said in a low voice.

“No, this wasn’t quite what they bargained for when they signed on for this journey,” Sorak replied. “Still, I suppose it’s better than being thrown into the silt.”

“True,” said Kieran. “You never know, one or two of them might still survive.” He shrugged.

They did not have long to wait. Shortly after midnight, the attack came with devastating swiftness, just as Edric said it would. A black arrow came whistling out of the darkness and struck one of the captive mercenaries with a soft thump. It was immediately followed by several more arrows, in rapid succession. The second mercenary was struck down. The third managed, with a desperate effort born of panic, to pull his stake free of the ground. He jumped up and started running back toward the camp, but didn’t get more than several yards before an arrow in his back brought him down.

“Here they come,” Sorak murmured.

They heard them first, but it wasn’t until the raiders were almost upon them that they became visible. A squadron of soot-blackened crodlu came galloping out of the darkness in tight formation, bearing black-clad riders armed with bows, wooden spears, and obsidian swords. Sorak and Kieran stayed low, hidden behind the brush as the Shadows rode by, storming into the camp, confident they had the element of surprise.