Rides a Dread Legion Free with Bonus Material Read online

  After a moment, a court page appeared, flanked by two soldiers-at-arms. Brandos rose and looked at his friend. Well, I guess were going on another journey.

  Apparently so, said Amirantha.

  CHAPTER 10

  THREAT

  Sandreena swung her mace.

  The massive weapon took the other rider in the stomachhe had been coming in high and she ducked under his blow and struck hardlifting him out of his saddle. She knew her art well enough to know he was done for the time being. If he wasnt passing out because he couldnt catch his breath, he was likely to be lying on the ground stunned from the fall.

  She had happened upon a wagon being attacked by bandits, four raggedly dressed thugs with surprisingly good weapons. The merchant and what appeared to be two sons furiously battled the more experienced brigands with a poor assortment of weapons: one battered shield and an old sword, two clubs, and a lot of determination. Still, they gave good account of themselves and had held the bandits at bay for a few minutes before Sandreena had ridden over the rise and seen the conflict.

  The three remaining riders saw one of their own go down suddenly, and a fully armored knight riding toward them. Without a word they turned their horses and put heels to them, galloping off. Sandreena weighed giving chase, then decided the struggle was over; besides, they were heading straight up into the hills and her heavier mount would soon fall farther behind; also, they knew the terrain and she didnt. While she had no doubt she could easily best the three of them, given what she saw of their light armor and untrained fighting skills, she didnt relish fighting her way out of an ambush.

  She paused a minute to ensure the bandits werent doubling back to recommence the attack, then turned to see the two boys stripping the bandit on the ground. She judged that meant he was dead.

  She rode over to the wagon, where the man sat regarding her suspiciously, holding his very old and battered sword at the ready, in case one brigand had merely driven off others. She raised her visor off her full helm and said, Stay your weapon, sir. I am a Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak.

  His suspicious expression didnt leave. So you say, he said in an oddly accented Keshian dialect. He turned to the boys and shouted something in a language she didnt understand, or think she had heard before, then turned back to her. Well, if you expect thanks or reward, youre mistaken. My boys and I had things well in hand. The boys gathered up everything, including the robbers filthy smallclothesleaving him lying nude in the roadand then ran off after the brigands horse, which was cropping grass a short distance off the road.

  Looks like a good horse, said the man on the wagon, and Sandreena couldnt tell if he was addressing her or talking to himself. Then the driver seemed intent on inspecting the content of his wagon, against the remote possibility that one of the bandits had somehow managed to pilfer an item or two while the conflict was under way.

  Finally content nothing was missing, he shouted something to the boys, who were having a little trouble corralling the horse, which seemed to like the idea of cropping grass better than having another rider on her back. At last, one of the boys reached down, grabbed up a long clump of grass, and held it out for the horse to sniff at while his brother gently reached out and snagged the reins. If the horse objected to such a turn of events, she hid her disappointment well and came along quietly.

  The driver shouted more instructions to the boys in the strange language, seemingly convinced they couldnt tie the horses reins to the back of the wagon without his oversight. When they were at last done, and back in the wagon, the driver turned and sat down, finding the patient Sandreena still looking directly at him.

  What? he demanded. Im not going to pay you.

  Im not asking for payment.

  Good, then get out of my way. I have business.

  Sighing at the mans impossible rudeness, Sandreena said, One question. Do you know the village of Akrakon?

  Yes, he answered, then with a flick of the reins he started his team forward, deftly moving the horses just enough to skirt around where Sandreena waited.

  As he rode past, she shouted, Where is it?

  You said one question, and I answered, was his reply and the boys burst out laughing.

  Suddenly out of patience, Sandreena turned and urged her horse forward, quickly overtaking the wagon. With one swift motion she reached over, grabbed the man by the collar, hauled him off the seat, and deposited him in the dirt.

  Try again, she said, her voice almost hissing with menace. All right, said the man, rolling away from her and to his feet in a deft move. With three strides he was back alongside his wagon and then back on the seat. Akrakon is down the road, maybe five miles. Youll be there by supper.

  Thank you, she said, putting heels to her horse and moving down the road at a lazy canter. She wished to put as much distance as possible between herself and the obnoxious man.

  Then she remembered what the Father-Bishop had said about the villagers being one of the more annoying tribes of the region. She had thought that meant they were fractious and rebellious. Perhaps he simply meant they were rude.

  As the man had predicted, Sandreena rode into the village of Akrakon near supper time. Two boys were running through the center of the village, perhaps coming down the hill from overseeing a flock, or working in a field, intent on reaching home for the days final meal. She pulled up her mount before them and said, Has this place an inn?

  Neither boy answered, but one pointed over his shoulder as he darted around one side of Sandreenas mount, his companion dodging around the other. Shaking her head at the lack of civility demonstrated so far by these people, Sandreena wondered how much information she might extract about the goings-on in the mountains above the village. She might have to club it out of them.

  She had never seen a region like this one. Since leaving Krondor and riding through the Roldem city of Pointers Head, she had passed miles of coastal lands, but none like this.

  Both the Kingdom of the Isles and Roldem held claims to the long strip of coastal land running between the southern shores of the Sea of Kingdoms and mountains called the Peaks of Tranquility.

  She assumed the tranquility was reserved for those who lived south of that massive barrier of mountains and hills, for the region between the Kingdom city of Timons and Pointers Head was anything but tranquil. Two other cities rested between them, Deep Taunton and Mallows Haven, none of which properly acknowledged either Kingdom as sovereign. The local nobles and merchants had done a fair job for decades playing one kingdom off another, building their own alliances, and keeping free of close supervision.

  Only the massive barrier of mountains kept Great Kesh from also claiming the region; they had in the past, but those attempts to annex the area had resulted in Roldem and the Kingdom putting aside their own interests to drive Kesh south.

  Sandreena vaguely recalled from her history that the last battle had been over a century before, when a Kingdom Duke from Bas-Tyra had driven Kesh out of Deep Taunton. But at least that land was rich with forests and farms.

  This side of the Peaks of the Quor left little to covet. Since riding north out of the port city of Ithra, she had seen nothing but rocky bluffs, stone-strewn beaches, a difficult road cut through in a dozen places by swiftly running streams hurling down from the peaks above. The woods above looked dark and uninviting, and those few villages she had encountered were small fishing enclaves, where the inhabitants scraped out a harsh existence.

  Somewhere above her, she knew, had to be some farming communities, else those fishing villages would have vanished ages before. They had no gardens or fields nearby, so one must deduce that they traded their catch for vegetables, fruits, and other necessities. But if there were farming enclaves in the region, she didnt encounter them. Still, there were occasional trails and pathways leading up into the hills, some with recent wagon tracks.

  But what was strangest to Sandreena was that there was no authority in the region. If Kesh claimed this part
of the peninsula, they vested nothing in that ownership; gone were the usual outposts and patrols, governors or minor nobles. It was as if this rocky coastline was all but forgotten by the Empire.

  She rode through the village and judged this the most prosperous place she had seen since leaving Ithar, and it was a poor one at best. There were nothing like shops that were recognizable as such. Only a smithy at the end of the street was obvious, for the huge chimney was belching smoke, and there was another shop she had just passed that appeared to be a woodworker, probably the local barrel-maker, cartwright, wheelwright, and woodcarver all in one. It was a very strange place, from her experience. And it was quiet, as if everyone went about their business without fuss, trying to stay inconspicuous. Even the few children she saw were sullen and stared at her with suspicious eyes.

  Reaching the indicated building, she could scarcely believe this was the inn. A large, ramshackle house, perhaps. Still, there was a hitching rail in front, with two horses tied in place. She rode around the building, leisurely, looking for anything that might resemble a stable, finding only a large corral where a tumble-down, run-in shed stood, with one side completely collapsed. Her mount had endured worse.

  She quickly dismounted and untacked the animal. She put her saddle and bridle on a rail obviously used for suchit still was slightly sheltered by what remained of the roof and the three still standing walls. She quickly brushed down her horse, and picked out the hooves. A well close by provided clean water, and she drew out grain from the sack she carried behind her saddle.

  Ensuring everything was as secure as it was likely to be, she turned her attention to her own needs. She expected a bath would be out of the questionand vowed to bathe at the first stream, lake, or river she foundbut hoped at least the bed was something more than a bag full of straw.

  She didnt worry about her horses tack, as her mount was a well-trained warhorse. Anyone foolish enough to come up without her standing there would be in for a very rude shock.

  Sandreena made her way around the modest building to the entrance and entered. The interior of the inn was no more promising than the exterior. A low ceiling would cause a tall man to duck, and Sandreena felt cramped. The long bar and one table provided all the accommodation for eating and drinking, and Sandreena assumed large gatherings were not customary.

  A single door to the back seemed the only other passage, and when no one appeared after a minute, she shouted, Hello, the inn! Is anyone here?

  Quickly, a womans voice answered: Whos there?

  Someone in need of a meal and a room, and muttering more to herself than the disembodied voice, she added, and a hot bath if thats possible in this hovel.

  A pinched-faced woman of middle years appeared from the lone door at the rear of the building. She wore plain grey homespun, a stained apron faded to yellow, and a blue scarf over her grey-shot black hair. What do you need? she asked in curt tones.

  Sandreena felt a sudden urge to turn around, ride back to Krondor, and strangle the Father-Bishop. Biting back a frustrated and angry retort, she simply said, Something to drink. Ale?

  No ale, said the woman. Beer.

  Sandreena nodded. Not a fan of the lighter brew, she still felt the need to wet her throat before anything else. The mug appeared before her, and she took a drink. It was weak and sour, but it was wet. Food? she asked after she drained a third of the mug.

  I have some homush cooking. Should be ready in a few minutes. Sandreena had no idea what homush was, but she had eaten a wide variety of things in her travels and discovered that if the locals were eating it, it wouldnt kill you. I sometimes have mutton, but there was no one here to slaughter a sheep this week. Im waiting for my husband and sons. They are due back from trading in Dunam.

  Sandreena nodded. She had ridden through Dunam on her way from the port city of Ithra. It was a small trading town halfway between here and Ithra, with a small harbor. She assumed it was where the locals had their goods shipped, which seemed likely if thats where the innkeeper and his sons went for supplies. She had seen other towns like it, ancient communities left over from the days of coastal sailing, before the big deep-water ships started plying their trade, leaving the smaller stops along the once prosperous trade routes to wither away.

  She looked at the older woman and said, Two-horse rig, with a bay and a dapple grey pulling it?

  Thats my Enos, said the woman. Did you see them?

  They should be rolling in any time now, said Sandreena. I chanced across them on the road a little while back. They were fighting off some bandits.

  Bandits! Black Caps?

  Sandreena said, I dont know about any black caps, but they were a scruffy lot. One of them died, and the others rode off. Your man and the boys are fine.

  The woman didnt lose her strained expression, but a hint of relief showed in her eyes. All she said was, Food is almost ready. It is four coppers for the beer. The meal is two.

  Sandreena reached into her belt purse and pulled out a silver real. Kingdoms silver spent as well as Keshs in this part of the world. I need a room.

  The woman nodded as she scooped up the silver coin. I have one through there.

  Bath?

  The woman shook her head. You can bathe down in the creek. No one will bother you.

  Sandreena rolled her eyes, but said nothing. The bed was probably filled with straw and bugs. Well, it was still better than sleeping on the ground next to her horse in the run-in. You have any fresh hay or grain for my horse?

  When my husband gets here, was the reply. He went to buy supplies. We were running low on many things. There was a hint of concern in the womans otherwise stern tone, and Sandreena wondered why she sounded that way discussing something as unremarkable as an innkeeper traveling to get a wagonload of supplies for his inn, especially now having been told he was close to arriving safely. Sandreena had been in dozens of villages like this one over the years, and had a good sense of when things were normal and when they were not. Something was very out of place here, and she wondered if it was related to her mission.

  Well, she said, Im for a quick rinse. Will you ask one of your boys to see to my horse when they get here?

  That will cost extra, said the woman without hesitation.

  Why am I not surprised, muttered Sandreena. She took another silver coin out of her purse and put it on the counter. I may be here for two or three days. If there are more costs, let me know.

  She walked out of the building and past the shed. She retrieved a bundle from her saddle kit, and moved through the small meadow south of the shed. No one had to tell her where the creek was, as she had been north of stream for most of the last five miles along the road into town, and the lands sloped downward in, past the run-in shed. Logic made it unlikely the stream was in the other direction.

  She quickly found it and noticed with some satisfaction it was isolated and free from casual observation. Not modest by any stretch of imagination, she still enjoyed her moments of privacy.

  She removed her cloak, and the Orders tabard, letting them both fall to the ground. She removed her heavy leather gauntlets and tossed them onto the cloak. Doffing her helm, she set it down on the ground next to the cloak. The coif and mail shirt were annoying to remove without help, as always, and she knew she must look a sight bending at the waist and shaking them off once she had lifted them as high as she could. There was one advantage to being a temple knight rather than a Knight-Adamant, and that was having a squire at hand to help. Some errant knights had squires, just as some mendicant friars of her order had begging acolytes, but she preferred her solitude.

  Stripping off her head covering, tunic, trousers, and smallclothes, she waded into the stream. Snowmelt from the high mountains, the water lingered in a lake above, where it basked in the hot sun before spilling down toward the ocean. Shed bathed in far colder.

  As she did each time she found herself bathing outside, she revisited the conflicts and contradictions her body raised within her. In the clois
tered baths at the temple, or in the privacy of a tub in an inn, she felt confined but protected, and in the temple the meditative aspect of bathing and steaming also helped her distance her thoughts from her body. Outside, it was the opposite; she felt somehow more exposed yet somehow more fundamental, almost primitive in nature.

  She enjoyed being a woman, yet she always felt it a burden. She despised the men who had used her when she was young, but occasionally she longed for a gentle mans hand on her body. She knew men found her beautiful, so she hid it under armor and arms, rejecting the allures of her former trade. Gone were the unguents and colors, the soft silks and jewelry. Her face was hidden behind a helms faceplate as often as not, and her body under armor and tabard.

  She sighed in perplexity as she scrubbed at her hair with the very costly Keshian soap she had purchased the year before. The bar was almost gone, and she used it only on her hair and body, letting a pummeling on hard rocks serve for her clothing. She paused and luxuriated as much as possible outside in the cool breeze, in the faint scent of lilacs that the soap-maker had instilled in his product. She knew that on her way back to Krondor she must secure another bar of soap; it was her only indulgence in an otherwise austere existence.

  Feeling an unexpected twinge of sadness, she wondered if her life would end in bloodshed and pain, or if she might find another life after this one, perhaps with a good man, being a mother. She shook her head, as much in frustration as to shed water, and pushed aside that often visiting feeling of futility. The Goddess often tested her faithful and doubt was not unexpected, and the priests and priestesses had prepared her for these moments, yet it was difficult.

  She put aside her doubts and set about vigorously pounding out her trail-dirty clothing on a flat rock, using the method Brother Mathias had taught her: thoroughly soak the article, twist it as much as she could into a rope, and slam that twisted cloth as hard as she could against the rock; keep soaking, twisting, and pounding until clean. She had no idea why her clothes ended up cleaner, but they did. Then she conceded she had no idea how soap worked in cleaning anything, but was content to just accept that it did. She spent a few minutes pounding clean her tunic, pants, cloak, and smallclothes, then hung them to drip on a nearby tree branch.