CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

 

Apparently the ruler’s camp was nearby. One of the three horsemen removed Lankdorf’s weapons, tied his hands behind him, and pulled him up onto the horse in front of him. Another hoisted Dietz up onto his horse, leaving the wrist manacles but taking the key from Lankdorf and removing the anklets. The third clearly considered treating Alaric the same way, but after seeing his bandages the rider decided it was better to leave Alaric where he was, and so it was three horses and a mule that rode away from the last sight of the pass and plunged back into the Border Princes.

The land was not as heavily forested as it was to the north, although there were trees aplenty. The copses were smaller and further apart, however, creating small plains and valleys in between. Tall grass covered the ground between the trees, but Dietz also saw cultivated fields bordered by sturdy wooden fences.

The horsemen led them along a wide dirt path that was clearly well used, judging by the way every bit of grass had been trampled flat. It took only two hours for them to reach a large camp staked out on a decent-sized plain. The tents were sturdy and well anchored, suggesting this was a long-term encampment. Armed guards barred the path but moved aside when they saw the horsemen coming. Soldiers were everywhere, most of them sitting or pacing, drinking, gambling, honing weapons, cleaning armour, cooking or sleeping. Alaric was glancing around, a strange look on his face, and Dietz remembered that his friend had seen such gatherings before, in his youth, when his father had forced him to accompany his kin into battle.

The horsemen had barely spoken during the ride, although they did offer all three captives water skins and even wizened apples and hunks of dried meat. Now they tethered their horses at a convenient hitching post and helped Dietz and Lankdorf to the ground. Alaric had to be lifted down. The hard ride had opened his wound again, and he was barely able to stand unaided.

The horsemen led them into a large tent near the centre of the encampment, its heavier material and better construction indicating that it belonged to someone important. Stepping through the entrance flap, however, Dietz saw only a low table and seating cushions off to one side, and a sturdy, high-backed chair to the other. The three of them were forced down onto the rug before the chair and left there. The horsemen disappeared but two other men stood by the entrance flap, spears in hand, watching their every move.

After a few minutes a woman entered the tent. She was short, broad-shouldered and busty, with strong features, dusky skin, dark hair and large dark eyes. Dietz might have called her “handsome” and certainly she had a charisma that made him and his two companions pay attention. She was wearing plain, well-made clothes and wore a sword at her side, its handle worn from use. Nothing about her appearance or attire suggested anything other than an unusual woman warrior, possibly a mercenary. Her presence, however, said that she was far more than a mere fighter, and this was confirmed when she sank down into the chair with the ease of long practice and the grace of someone whose reflexes had been honed from years of hard use.

“You are on my lands and have broken my laws,” she told them, her voice deep and rich. “Explain yourselves. Who are you and what do you want here?”

As usual Alaric managed to speak first. “Alaric von Jungfreud, madam, at your service.”

“Ignore him, madam,” Lankdorf said quickly. “He’s my prisoner. They both are. I am a—”

“Yes, a bounty hunter,” she interrupted, her flashing eyes warning him not to test her patience. “I have been told. Yet I gave you no permission for anyone to hunt people on my lands. You have no authority here.” She returned her attention to Alaric. “You were saying?”

“Yes, madam.” Alaric executed a graceful bow, although Dietz saw him sway slightly. “As I said, I am at your service. This is my friend and companion, Dietrich Froebel.” Dietz nodded, “but I do not believe I know your name, fair lady.”

The woman frowned, eyes narrowing, and for a second Dietz thought his young friend’s charms had backfired. “Fatandira is my name,” she answered finally, “and I will ask the questions. Now, Herr von Jungfreud, why are you here?”

Dietz thought his friend would launch into an explanation of their plight, and of the events at the tomb. Instead Alaric chose a different tack. “We are pursuing a man, a spy,” he answered, ignoring the shock on Lankdorf’s face. “He stole something from us, something of great significance, and we must restore it to its rightful place.”

Fatandira leaned forwards in her chair, clearly intrigued. “A spy, you say? This sounds little like a bounty hunter and his prisoners, does it?” She glanced at Lankdorf and Dietz shuddered. He had seen similar looks from cats when they had cornered their prey.

“We were captured by this man while pursuing the spy,” Alaric explained.

“What is his name, this man you seek?”

“Hammlich,” Dietz offered, knowing his friend and employer’s problem with names. Alaric could speak half a dozen languages well, write more of them, and recite chapter and verse from various dry old tomes on archaeology or what have you, but he couldn’t remember most people’s names five minutes after meeting them.

“Yes, Hammlich,” Alaric confirmed. “He—”

He was cut off by the sound of laughter. Fatandira was chuckling, a deep throaty laugh. This was not a delicate woman, but Dietz appreciated her direct nature.

Alaric was less amused. “Did I say something funny?” he demanded.

“Oh yes,” Fatandira replied. She raised her voice so the guards at the tent entrance could hear it. “Has Hammlich recovered yet? If so, bring him to me!” One of the guards saluted and vanished from the tent.

“You know him?” Alaric asked.

“Of course I do,” she replied. “He works for me.”

While Alaric absorbed this information the guard returned, supporting a familiar figure. Hammlich started slightly when he saw the two of them, and then nodded and smiled.

“Well, you survived,” he said by way of greeting. “I didn’t think you would. I almost didn’t make it, myself.” He had a small sack hanging from his belt and Dietz noticed bandages around the scout’s left arm and torso.

“This is the man you wanted to chase down?” Lankdorf asked. He had been looking around before, but had glanced up when Hammlich and the guard entered and had started slightly. Now he was watching both men carefully.

“Yes,” Alaric agreed. “He betrayed his commander, stole something from us, and fled just before you arrived.”

“I did not betray anyone,” Hammlich corrected haughtily. “Gunther was never my true commander, nor is my loyalty to that filth, Levrellian. My allegiance lies here, with Fatandira.”

Fatandira smiled at his statement. “That is true,” she said. “Hammlich has been true to his oaths. I sent him to spy on Levrellian and inform me if that weasel attempted another attack on my lands.” She eyed Hammlich. “Now that your wounds have been tended, report. I had not expected you to come here in person,” she told him, her tone indicating he was on dangerous ground. “You have compromised your cover.”

“I know,” the scout admitted. “I can never go back there. I would not have betrayed my position but we found something, something I knew Levrellian should never see.”

“Oh?” She glanced back over at Dietz, Alaric, and Lankdorf. “And who is this ‘we’?”

Hammlich straightened, eyes focusing straight ahead, clearly a soldier rattling off a report. “Levrellian learned the location of an ancient Nehekharan tomb,” he said. “He sent Gunther to locate it, explore it, and bring back any treasures it contained. I accompanied him, along with a patrol unit. We encountered these two”—he indicated Alaric and Dietz—“at the mouth of the tomb, with several others. Apparently Levrellian had taken their map. We explored the tomb, which belonged to a king named Karitamen.”

Fatandira shuddered at the name, going slightly pale below her normal dusky hue. “The Death Scarab!” she whispered.

“We encountered many horrors,” Hammlich continued without pause, “including the dead king himself, now a hideous creature of bones and foul magic.” That got a shudder from everyone present, including Lankdorf, who had never asked about the tomb or what lay within it. “However, there was indeed treasure, enough to buy an army large enough to rule all the Border Princes. Only a handful of us escaped alive, but I knew if Levrellian got his hands on that gold he would be unstoppable.” He straightened. “So I killed Gunther, took the treasure we had carried out, and brought it here, although I was attacked twice along the way. The rest of Levrellian’s men are dead. No one else knows how to find that tomb.” He looked straight at Alaric and Dietz when he said this, and the meaning was clear: no one else but the three of them.

“You left something out,” Alaric pointed out softly. “You didn’t tell her about the artefact.”

“What artefact?” Fatandira looked back and forth between the two men, her dark eyes piercing, and Hammlich finally looked away.

“I was going to tell you of it privately,” the scout claimed, although his words sounded false to Dietz. “That one”—he gestured towards Alaric again—“found an item, clearly something of great power. Gunther was going to kill him after we escaped the tomb and claim it for Levrellian. I knew you wouldn’t want that.”

“So he took it from me,” Alaric clarified, “after he’d killed Gunther with his own pistol.”

“I see.” Fatandira stroked her chin absently as she thought. “This item… you have it with you?”

In reply Hammlich opened the sack and pulled out the gauntlet, holding it up so it would catch the torchlight.

Everyone in the tent gasped as they gazed upon the gauntlet. Dietz found himself entranced and he knew where it had come from, knew that it was tainted, but it was still utterly captivating.

It was hideous, actually. It had segmented overlapping plates and wicked claws like insanely long fingernails. It had barbs and spikes all over. Runes covered much of the surface, but in between them were small carvings of some sort. Dietz strained to make out the carvings, but gave up, realising that he might be better off never knowing.

Hammlich lowered his arm, extending the artefact towards Fatandira, who reached towards it… and recoiled as a gleaming blade slid through Hammlich from the back, piercing his heart.

The scout dropped to the ground without a sound, the gauntlet tumbling from his limp fingers.

The guard behind him, the one Lankdorf had been eyeing, wiped his blade off and, raising it again to the ready, reached down and retrieved the gauntlet.

“I’ll be taking this,” he said, wrapping the item in his cloak, “and as for you—” He turned towards Fatandira, his sword raised. She simply watched him approach, apparently calm, her hand not straying to her blade because she knew she would never be able to draw it in time.

Lankdorf burst into action, just as the guard pulled his arm back to strike Fatandira. He took a quick step forwards, scooped up a heavy brazier, and smashed it into the treacherous guard, toppling him like a felled oak. Then the bounty hunter shoved both the brazier and its victim aside and offered Fatandira a hand up.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the gesture and the aid without a hint of reluctance. She looked down at Hammlich’s body and shook her head. “I am sorry, cousin,” she whispered, so softly that Dietz barely heard her. Then she walked over to the fallen guard and kicked him hard in the side. “To think, I trusted you, Rorschach,” she snarled. “Well, good riddance!”

She turned and took a step towards the entrance to give an order to the remaining guard. She froze. For an instant Dietz couldn’t understand why. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a man dragging himself to his feet.

The guard, the one she had called Rorschach, was awake and somehow standing right behind them. He had the gauntlet cradled under one arm still, and his sword tip wavered slightly but not enough to make him less than a severe threat.

“Die, you filthy she-beast,” he growled, “for the glory of—”

For a second time he was interrupted, this time as someone hurled himself forwards, colliding with Rorschach’s legs and knocking him to the ground. Alaric groaned with the impact and Dietz could see blood seeping through his bandages, but he was impressed. No one would ever call his friend a coward.

Unfortunately Rorschach proved resilient, and Dietz saw that the collision had knocked the guard down but not out. More guards were entering the tent, however, and the traitor must have realised that the moment was past, for he leapt to his feet and bolted for the entrance, shoving two other guards aside and escaping before they realised that he was their intended prey. They took off after him while Dietz turned and knelt by his friend’s side. After a moment Fatandira joined him.

“Thank you,” she said, gazing down at Alaric, who seemed dazed. “I owe you my life.” Then she noticed the blood. “You’re hurt!”

“He was stabbed a few days ago,” Dietz explained. “It’s a nasty wound.”

“I will not have him die in my tent, not after he put himself at risk to save me.” Fatandira exclaimed. She turned to her guards. “Fetch Estia at once!” she said. They saluted and hurried out.

“Do not worry,” she assured Dietz, glancing down at Alaric again. This time she wasn’t frowning. “He will survive. I will see to that.”

Dietz believed her. If necessary he thought this woman could challenge Morr himself and come out ahead.

 

Estia proved to be a short, slight woman with dark skin, close-cropped black hair, and pale blue eyes. She wore the emblem of Shallya around her neck and bustled in, carrying a basket filled with strange smells that made Dietz’s eyes water. Her sharp eyes took in the scene at once and she directed the guards to move Alaric to a nearby pile of thick rugs. She then knelt at his side, checking his forehead with the back of her hand before unwrapping the wound. Alaric had apparently passed out, although he did groan as she pulled the blood-soaked bandage from his flesh.

The healer lifted the bandages clear, and then paused and sniffed at them. “Alfunas, Sigmafoil and Spiderleaf?” she murmured. Her voice was deep and throaty, far too rich for such a tiny woman. “Who dressed this wound?”

Lankdorf stepped forwards. “I did.”

Estia eyed him for a second, her hands still busy wadding up the old bandages and lifting new ones from her basket. “You know your herbs,” she said approvingly. “That’s rare.”

Dietz thought he saw the bounty hunter flush, although it was hard to be sure in the torchlight. “My parents,” he said shortly. “They were herbalists.”

“They trained you well,” she said. “That compress may be all that’s kept him alive. When was he wounded?”

“Three days ago,” Dietz told her. She nodded without looking at him, intent upon cleaning the wound with a cloth she wet from a small water pitcher.

“He’d have bled out for sure if it wasn’t for that compress,” the healer confirmed as she studied the wound. “Thank your friend there for saving his life.”

Dietz glanced at Lankdorf, who shrugged and actually looked uncomfortable. Neither of them bothered to point out that they weren’t friends.

While the healer worked, one of Fatandira’s guards approached. “Rorschach is gone,” he told her. “He didn’t go by horse but he must have had a back way out of the camp. None of the sentries saw him leave.”

“Ilyria’s teats!” Fatandira cursed, earning a shocked smile from the healer. “How long has he been planning this? Who is he working for? Where did he go? Find out, now!” The guard scurried away quickly, clearly happy to escape his leader’s wrath so easily. Then she turned her attention to Dietz and Lankdorf.

“Remove their bonds,” she ordered, and another guard hurried forwards.

“These two are my prisoners,” Lankdorf protested, but Fatandira turned on him, fire in her dark eyes.

“You are all my prisoners,” she snapped. Then she softened slightly. “What existed between you before this is not important.” She faced the bounty hunter down, “unless you wish to remain a prisoner, while they go free?” Lankdorf backed away, shaking his head. “I thought not.” She gestured for the guards to continue. The three horsemen must have handed over Lankdorf’s keys because they unlatched Dietz’s manacles without pause, and removed Lankdorf’s ropes as well. Estia had already cut away Alaric’s so she could treat him more easily.

“You will be our guests,” Fatandira explained. “For our security we will hold your weapons for you, but you may have the run of the camp.” Dietz understood what that meant: they were free to roam within the encampment but not allowed to leave it. Still, it was better than being a prisoner, or a casualty.

“Find them a tent,” was the ruler’s next command. “Clear one out if necessary.” She glanced at Estia, who shook her head.

“I will keep watch over this one,” the healer replied to the unspoken question. “We will move him to my tent for now.” She had replaced the bandages, first applying another compress of some sort, and began chanting something over the fallen nobleman. Dietz could not make out the words, but the melody was soothing.

“Very well.” Fatandira turned back to Dietz and Lankdorf. “He will receive the finest care, I assure you. Estia has a true gift for healing. The moment he awakens you will know of it, and once he is recovered more he will be moved into your tent.” She glanced at Alaric again. “He will be fine,” she murmured.

Then the guards helped Dietz to his feet and led both him and Lankdorf from the command tent.

 

The tent they’d been given had clearly been vacated recently by some of the local guards, and contained only bedrolls, a camp table, and several stools. It was enough, however, and Dietz gratefully collapsed once the guard left. He was about to drift off to sleep when he realised that Lankdorf was staring at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” the bounty hunter replied, turning away and laying down.

“If you’re worried I’ll get away, don’t be,” Dietz said, fatigue making him irritable. “I wouldn’t leave Alaric here and it’s not as if we can leave anyway.”

“I know,” Lankdorf said, setting his hat over his face. “I just don’t like it, that’s all.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Dietz didn’t bother. In a minute he was asleep anyway.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up the sun was low on the horizon and the bounty hunter was nowhere to be found. Getting up, Dietz stepped to the tent’s entrance flap and glanced outside. Men and women milled around, handling the normal business of a camp, and he could see the edge of the command tent. A familiar figure crouched next to it.

“Find something?” Dietz asked once he’d walked over. He crouched beside Lankdorf, who didn’t bother to turn around or look up.

“Here,” the bounty hunter said finally. He traced something on the ground. Peering at it, Dietz made out a half-moon indentation. Just ahead of that was a second depression, shaped more like a blunted arrowhead but far larger.

“A footprint?” He glanced at it again. “So what? This is a camp. There are a lot of people here, all of them walking about.”

“None of the others have boots like these,” Lankdorf replied. He glanced up and met Dietz’s eyes. “Most of these people have riding boots, high and stiff, with no heel but a groove from the stirrup. These are softer boots with sturdier soles, made more for walking.” He grinned. “I’ve been watching people’s feet the past hour or more. I haven’t seen any like this. I’ve only seen one set here like this, not counting ours.”

“That guard’s?” Dietz guessed. He knew he was right even before the bounty hunter nodded. “So you’re saying you can track him?”

Lankdorf nodded again. “If we’re not stuck here too long,” he added, “but if I can figure out his direction now, while they’re still mostly fresh, I can guess his direction and his destination.”

“Have you told the guards?”

The bounty hunter shifted his weight, settling back on his haunches. “No,” he replied finally. “Not sure if I will, either.”

“Why not?” Dietz stared at him. “He killed Hammlich, and he’s got the gauntlet.”

“I know. That’s why I want to track him down.”

Dietz frowned. “I thought you said the gauntlet wasn’t your problem.”

“It isn’t.” Lankdorf looked down and idly traced the boot print with one finger. “But maybe it’s worth something. A thing like that, it’s got to be. It might be worth my while to retrieve it.” Dietz was sure there was more to it than that, but he wasn’t about to press it.

“So once Alaric’s better, if they let us go, you plan to track that guard?” Lankdorf nodded. “Good. We’ll go with you.”

“Oh, count on it,” Lankdorf replied, straightening up. “You’re still my prisoners. I’m still taking you to Akendorf.”

Dietz snorted and stood. “I don’t think so.” The bounty hunter rose to his feet and they stared at each other for a moment. Dietz was a full head taller. “You had a crossbow last time, and we were tired and Alaric was wounded,” he pointed out. “None of those things are true now.”

“I can still take you,” Lankdorf claimed, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

“Look, you were only taking us back for the money, right?” The bounty hunter nodded. “Well, you’ve got the rest of the things we found in the tomb and they’re probably worth as much as the price on our heads.” He wasn’t exactly sure, but they were certainly worth a good deal. “Why not just take that and be done?”

Lankdorf scowled. “I’ve never failed a job and I don’t aim to start now.”

“It’s not a failure,” Dietz argued. “It was taken beyond your control.” He thought the bounty hunter was starting to weaken. “And we can help you with the gauntlet,” he added.

“How? I can track it fine on my own.”

“True,” Dietz agreed, “but Alaric is an expert on artefacts like that. If anyone could tell you what it is and what it’s for—and what it’s worth—it’d be him.”

That caught Lankdorf’s attention, and his eyes looked through and past Dietz as he mulled that over.

“I keep whatever we get for it,” he said finally, “part of the price for letting you go.”

“Done,” Dietz agreed.

“Done.” They shook hands and then relaxed. Dietz was relieved it wouldn’t come to a fight—although he’d still keep an eye on Lankdorf if and when they got their weapons back—and thought the bounty hunter probably felt the same. Why risk life and limb when you could get as much or more with less danger?

“So what do we do now?” he asked.

“We track these prints as far as we can,” Lankdorf replied, “and then we wait.”

 

The wait ended up being four days. Alaric woke up that night but was feverish again and too weak to do more than whisper and sip at the broth Estia had prepared. The next day his fever had broken and he could sit up and talk more normally. The third day he was finally allowed out of bed. On the fourth he insisted on leaving the tent.

“It’s an amazing recovery,” the healer said, shaking her head as she watched Alaric moving around carefully. “That alfunas must be the cause. He shouldn’t even be able to sit up yet, and here he is, walking around.”

“I heal quickly,” Alaric replied lightly, but Dietz could tell that he was only putting on a brave face. He was a little alarmed at his young friend’s pallor, and at the way his arm shook when he held the water skin to his lips, but it was good to see Alaric up and about, at least.

“The fresh air will do you good,” Estia agreed as she helped him step out of her tent. She had placed a stool right by the entrance and sat him down with the water skin and a bowl of broth.

“What, no meat?” Alaric joked, but he drank the broth meekly enough.

While the healer ducked back into her tent to air out the bedding and remove the old bandages she had just replaced, Dietz filled Alaric in on recent events.

“Glad to hear we’re no longer captives,” Alaric said afterwards, grinning at Lankdorf, who only grunted in reply, “and it’s excellent news about pursuing the gauntlet, even though it may not be as valuable as you think, at least not in terms of money.” Dietz winced, wishing for the hundredth time that his friend and employer was not so honest.

Fortunately the statement didn’t seem to faze the bounty hunter. “I’ll take that risk,” was all he said. His tone suggested he thought Alaric was holding out on him, and Dietz silently cheered the man’s inherent greed and suspicion.

“Has anyone spoken to our hostess?” Alaric asked next. Both Dietz and Lankdorf shook their heads, but Alaric stopped whatever he’d been about to say and looked past them. “Well, her timing is certainly excellent,” he commented. The statement didn’t make much sense until Dietz glanced behind him and saw Fatandira striding towards them.

She was wearing mail today, as she had the past two days when he’d seen her from a distance. The gear looked solid and well worn, and clearly she was accustomed to its weight. A longsword and a dagger hung at her side, and she carried a spear in one hand, its edge glinting slightly in the late morning light.

“You have recovered,” she said without preamble, marching past Dietz and stopping just beyond arm’s reach from Alaric.

“I am on the mend, yes,” he replied, doing an abbreviated bow so as not to aggravate the wound further, “thanks to the kind attentions of your healer. I am in your debt, madam.”

“No, I am in your debt,” she replied with a faint smile. “You saved my life. All I did was help to save yours.” Estia emerged from the tent, and nodded when the ruler glanced her way.

“He is recovering well,” the healer said, “surprisingly well. A few more days and he will be healed completely, I think.” She shook her head. “I have never seen such an apt patient,” she admitted quietly. “Surely Shallya has blessed you with her touch.”

“Then I am in her debt as well,” Alaric said with a smile. “I will offer up my thanks to her as soon as I am able.”

“Rest today,” Fatandira told him. “Recover your strength. Tonight you dine with me.” Then she turned and stalked away.

The three men watched her go, Alaric with a familiar look of confusion on his face. Lankdorf, however, was chuckling.

“Looks like you’ll get a chance to show your gratitude after all,” the bounty hunter said.