CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Roddy Bentham, being an excitable young man who Ryland pegged as some farmer’s youngest son off to make his fortune, rushed up to the gang members moving the cart.
“Stop!” He shouted while drawing his short sword and waving it at them. “Take your hands off that! That ain’t yours!”
Ryland knew he had only moments to act.
There was no way to tell Roddy what was going on, or try to convince him that letting the gang members take the cart was the best option. Not that the brash youth would have listened to him anyways, given that he probably also had a few pints in him.
This left two choices - move now, or leave Roddy to his fate.
Ryland thumbed the safety on his crossbow, brought it up, and fired at the nearest of the three men who were supposed to be watching them but were now distracted by Roddy.
THUNK!
Not even waiting to see how the shot turned out, Ryland grabbed the leaver and pulled it back.
There was a loud click, and then Ryland fired again into the next man.
KA-CHAK. THUNK!
Then he did it again in rapid succession.
KA-CHAK! THUNK!
While normal crossbows were powerful, they took a lot of time to load and prepare between shots that left their users vulnerable and made them better weapons of hunting and war parties than small conflicts. However, while rooting through the imperial archives, Ryland had found a design for a light-weight six-shot, fast-cocking repeating crossbow designed by an artisan named Master Joerg that he’d immediately taken a liking to. He’d copied the designs for it and several of Master Joerg’s other inventions for later use, and when they’d been in Northport he’d taken the plans to a master craftsman and had one made.
It had been his plan to use this to get him into an escort group, since his hand to hand fighting ability was limited and such an impressive weapon would naturally be very useful for discouraging conflicts. However, Jaxon Rudge’s sloppy hiring practices meant he hadn’t had a chance to even really take it out.
Until now.
As the last of the three fell in pain, Ryland turned to the shocked Marlowe.
“I can deal with three more, the rest are on you and Roddy.”
“Uhh. Yah.” Marlowe nodded, and then rushed off to help Roddy, who was now slashing at air trying to fend off two other armed gang members while the rest of them were still trying to frantically pull the cart.
Ryland took a moment to kick the weapons away from the three he’d shot, making sure they weren’t going to move, and then went after Marlowe.
Marlowe, for his part, finally showed some initiative and attacked the two holding off Roddy from behind. He struck one of them, and when the other was surprised, Roddy finished his partner off.
These were urban street thugs, not hardened fighters or mercenaries, so one good hit took them out of the fight pretty easily. They weren’t armored, and had gotten used to intimidation and numbers making up for actual fighting ability, so as soon as they were in pain they were done fighting.
The remaining five dropped the cart and rushed at Roddy and Marlowe, but stopped short of actually getting close enough to be hit by the pair’s weapons. It was clear they were scared, and fighting more because the two fighters were between them and the exit than because they intended to attack.
“Time to make a new deal,” Ryland said loudly as he joined his party members, repeating crossbow aimed at the formerly grinning gang leader. “First, you’re going to drop your weapons…Then, you’re going to put that cart back where you found it.”
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The rest of Jaxon’s party returned a short time later to find the remaining three sitting around the fire eating. When they came, Roddy jumped up and rushed to Jaxon, telling him and the others about what had happened.
This brought cries of anger and outrage from the rest of the party, who loudly declared what they would have done if they’d been there. The very feelings why Ryland had sent the gang members away with their wounded as soon as the cart was back in place, since if they’d stayed there might have been more bloodshed.
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Then it brought a round of congratulations from the rest at the feat of driving away twenty bandits - a number Roddy had made up as he told the story. Ryland didn’t correct him because it made his choice to let them initially take the cart much much more acceptable since two against twenty were odds that left few other options.
And finally, it brought fascination as the group heard about Ryland’s repeating crossbow. He wouldn’t let them play with it, but did demonstrate by putting a few bolts into a hay bale to the cheers of the others. The repeating bolts were shorter than normal crossbow bolts and custom made, so he made a point of aiming carefully and retrieving them. Since the weapon sacrificed accuracy for speed of fire, he still lost one to the darkness, but had enough spares not to worry about it.
Once the excitement had faded, two other party members, Jandra and Prum, took the next watch and Jaxon sent the rest of them off to their sleeping blankets inside the main hall. As they staggered into the hall, Koamalu clapped Ryland on the back so hard it made him stumble.
“You did good today, uso. I’m glad you’re okay.”
Ryland wearily shook his head. “I could have done better.”
This made Koamalu laugh. “Maybe, but you got their respect now. That’s good too.”
Ryland, who hadn’t thought of it that way, let a smile creep onto his tired face. “Yah. Maybe it is.”
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The next morning the convoy set out for Falsefort, the oxen carts winding their way up the packed earth of the trade roads with the escorts riding the back lips of the wagons as they weaved through the undulating rocky landscape. The land outside of Siltcarden was mostly cleared, but it didn’t take long before they were passing through long stretches of forest punctuated by occasional grasslands.
As they were going through a deep stretch of forest, Ryland signed and leaned over Koamalu, who was next to him on the lip of the middle wagon.
“Jaxon has no idea what he’s doing.”
“Why?”
“Even though this land is supposed to be safer, this is still an escort job. But he didn’t even try to organize us or set a routine. He didn’t put anyone scouting ahead for trouble, and at least half of us should be walking at all times next to the wagon in rotation.”
“Huh,” Koamalu considered. “Maybe he’ll be more serious when we get closer?”
“Possibly. We should also have bows and quivers at the back of each cart ready to use, and the men shouldn’t be carrying anything heavy like polearms or spears when walking. Keep the heavier weapons on the carts, but close at hand to keep the men from getting tired.”
Then he gestured to the dark skinned man they could see walking next to the cart behind them. “Look at Hein, he’s not carrying anything but his hunting knife. He’s put his weapons on the back lip of the cart, and has his gambeson open and unbuttoned but didn’t take it off, even in this heat like the others did. That’s an experienced escort who can be ready to fight at any time.”
Hein who noticed the two looking at him, gave them a friendly nod, which they returned.
“I think he’s the one with the most experience.” Koamalu confirmed. Then continued to tell Ryland what he’d found out about the others.
As Ryland expected, the other seven escorts were a mixed group. They ranged from Roddy, and Pat who’d probably done little more than wrestle pigs before they joined up, to Marlowe, Boarsmouth, Prum, and Jandra, who had done some escorting but were still new to it and hadn’t more than a year's experience between them. Hein, who was a bit older than the rest, was the only one who showed real experience in general.
“See if you can find out what groups he worked with in the past,” Ryland told his friend. “We may have to rely on him in the future and I’d like to know more about him. He seems solid enough to get a job with a real agency, but he’s coming up north with us, so there’s got to be a reason.”
“He doesn’t talk or drink much,” Koamalu said. "I think he's trying to stay out of the boss's way. He could have the top seat, but doesn't want it."
“That might be smart,” Ryland said. “In fact, we should be smart too.”
“We should stay low?”
Ryland jumped off the lip of the cart and turned to place his repeating crossbow on the lip. “No, we should copy his way of doing things, though.” Then he arranged his gambeson so it was open and moved to walk next to the back of the cart. Koamalu copied him, doing the same but on the other side.
“With luck,” Ryland gestured in a circular motion to indicate around them. “The others will copy us, and we’ll start to bring things together.”
Koamalu nodded in agreement, and then Ryland turned to look towards the front of the convoy. As he did, his eye caught the small figure of Jaxon’s servant sitting atop one of the highest barrels on the second cart. She was perched there, looking this way and that, and every now and then she’d raise her head up as if to look at the sky.
Or is she smelling the air?
He couldn’t be sure because she was still wrapped up in her cloak and other dark clothes that covered her whole body.
Got to be hot in all that under the sun. Doesn’t she feel it?
Then as he watched, the little figure suddenly jumped down from the barrel and in among the boxes of the cart she was riding on. When she re-emerged and returned to the top of the barrel she was carrying a little paper fan with decorations on it he couldn't quite make out. Then she began to fan herself and drink something.
I guess she does feel it after all.
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The five days to reach Falsefort were days of watching the trees get smaller and the hills bigger. There were still forests, but the land here was dryer and the trees had to work harder to pull themselves up into the sky.
As Ryland expected, Jaxon made no efforts to organize the group for better defense or to keep the fighters ready for battle. Even when Ryland casually suggested a few things when he and Jaxon had a rare moment alone, the other man just shrugged and said, "It'll be fine."
Luckily, there were no troubles on their journey, and soon after they'd climbed up into the foothills of their destination finally came into view.