Tales of Travellers, Peter Edgell [important of reading books TXT] 📗

answering.
“North.”
It felt like the end of the conversation but Harry considered his options and pressed on.
“Do you mind if I travel with you? In these parts two can ride more safely than a lone traveller.”
Fleck turned his head slightly. His eyes were as pale as washed chalk. Harry had the most uncomfortable feeling that they were dissecting him, that the archer was listening to some inner voice for guidance. The man shrugged as if to say that it was alright by him. Harry shivered.

The road slowly rose as they rode North but they kept their horses to a steady pace. There was rain in the air but thankfully it held off. Twice he tried to strike up a conversation with the archer but all he got for his pains was the man’s name. Fleck. Harry soon took the hint and stayed quiet but, perhaps for the first time in his life, he found that it seemed quite a natural thing to do.


II.

The attack came just as they were making camp for the night. The only signal came from Fleck’s horse. It lifted its head and neighed slightly as its ears anxiously sought the direction of the faint sound it had caught. Fleck was on his feet in an instant. It seemed that there was an arrow nocked before his bow was fully raised.
Hesitation is one of those nasty little things that can easily get you killed. Harry liked living. His short sword made no sound as he slid it from belt. At the same moment a dagger appeared in his left hand. It seemed to shift as he held it, first one side, then the other. He crouched, his eyes scanning the shadows between the trees.
“What the....?” he whispered.
There was a blur by the side of his head and out of the darkness came a crash and a strangled cry, as if someone was trying to shout but only blood was coming out of his mouth. Fleck notched another arrow. Harry felt the faint tremor of feet meeting grass coming from behind. With the smoothest of motions he turned, thrust and let the burly man run onto his sword. Fleck fired into the darkness again. Another cry. Another arrow caught a ferrety-faced man full in the chest. His body stumbled on a few paces but he was dead before he reached the ground. Harry moved behind Fleck, protecting his back. Two daggers in swift succession sighed through the air. One killed, the other left a man clutching his stomach, writhing in agony.
“We’d better go,” muttered Fleck, through gritted teeth. He fired again as another man broke cover, screaming as he charged. The scream was cut off in mid-flow.
“Naw,” answered Harry, “They’re just a bunch of amateurs. We can take them.”
“There’s more coming. A lot more. Can’t you hear the horses?”
Harry heard them then. He wondered how Fleck could have, over the din.
“Okay, let’s go!” he said swiftly, then paused, “Er... Which way?”
Again the archer seemed to be listening to some inner voice. He turned and pointed to his right. “There!”

The two men ran, breath steaming out before them. Finally they made it to the edge of the road and crouched down, taking stock of the situation. They were on a slight bend of the road so that they could not see, or be seen, from the far side of the woods. Both of their horses had fled from the fight. Fleck whistled, a long thin sound that rose and fell twice. His horse knew the sound and came straight away. Harry’s, somewhat bewildered, followed out of instinct. Behind the two men their attackers’ curses and shouts came rapidly closer. Fleck peered down the road to the bend then muttered,
“That’s a mistake, luckily for us. Let’s go!”
The reinforcements had all dismounted and were stumbling and thrashing through the woods, swearing vengeance every time they found a body. None of them had thought to ride ahead and cut the two men off.
Fleck and Harry mounted at speed and urged their horses into a frenzied gallop. No saddles and only tether ropes but who cared. It was a simple case of ride or die.


III.

Two miles into the chase the rain began to fall. It was making up for the day’s weak attempts. A brief snap of lightning was followed by thunder.
“A long way off,” shouted Harry.
As usual, Fleck didn’t respond. Which was just as well, because the next thunder followed quickly on the heels of the lightning. The third seemed to crack at the same time, as if the storm was raging directly above them.
In the brief light Harry saw Fleck’s arm pointing off to his left. He quickly realized what the archer meant and followed him off the main road, down into a slight gulley. From there they followed a random trail of gullies, criss-crossing small streams, all the time slowing as they rode because of the danger to the horses’ legs. Eventually they dismounted but carried on through the maze of dips and rises. The heavy rain wiped out their tracks. By dawn, if their attackers had not taken the side track, they would have disappeared.

As the night wore on, the rain settled into a weak drizzle and finally ceased at the dawn, clouds still smudging the sun. Harry asked,
“Do you know who they were? What they wanted with us?”
“Judging by their dress and voices, I’d say they were a mix of mercenaries and Ikoni.”
His face took on that strange look again.
“And they weren’t looking for us. They were looking for me.”
“But why the hell...?"
“Sshh,” interrupted Fleck. Then, at high speed, he loosened his bow and nocked an arrow. “We have company.”
As they rounded the next corner they came face to face with two men, weapons ready. One, an immense man with a greatsword, the other well-built but mainly round the waist. His quarterstaff was still, however, battle-ready between both hands. He obviously knew how to use it. Both sides weighed up the situation, the odds. Then Harry said,
“Fatso, you old beggar, long time no see!”
“Well, I’ll be damned! Harry! Found anything cheerful to talk about yet?”
The tension went out of the situation immediately although Fleck and Jupp still watched each other carefully. Then, slowly, Jupp lowered his sword. Fleck followed suit, un-nocking the arrow and replacing it in its quiver. Jupp sheathed his sword.
After the introductions, Harry’s high pitched voice took on its whinging edge. He said,
“So, what brings you here, to the middle of this gods-forsaken nowhere?”
Fatso chuckled as he glanced quickly at Jupp.
“Oh, just some people trying to kill us. How about you?”
“Funny you should say that. We’re here for exactly the same reason.”
That broke the ice completely.

The four men decided to settle for breakfast with a small fire to take the edge off their soaking clothes. As Fatso and Harry set to work, Fleck and Jupp scouted the edge of their camp. That’s when they saw the man. He lay asleep, downhill from them by the bank of a steadily rising stream. And further upstream, the fallen tree that had formed a dam against the heavy rain of the night before, was beginning to shift. The man would be swallowed by the sudden flood as the stream turned into a river. The two men looked at each other and came to the same decision. They both began to shout.


IV.

Tomas came to with a start but experience kept any sense of panic away. Throwing off his cloak, he grabbed his sword and rolled to one side. Straight into the rapidly rising water. The utter cold took his breath away and the suddenness of the current lifted his body, swinging his legs away from the bank. Coughing and cursing, he found some kind of balance and managed to pull himself up the muddy bank. Looking back across the water he saw the two men running down the hill towards him. Wet, muddy and disorientated, he nevertheless went into a crouch and raised his sword.
The men were still shouting and pointing upstream. It took a few seconds before he realized exactly what they were trying to tell him.
“Flash flood! Flash flood! Get over here! Now!”
He did not think any further. The stream had risen so fast; the men did not have their weapons out and, in truth, they could have just left him. So he grabbed his saddle and headed towards them. Part way across, the horse stumbled and the current tried to drag it over. It reared up, panicking as it tried to back away. The men were beside him then. One grabbed his saddle, leaving both hands free to drag at the horse’s halter. The other man, the larger of the two, grabbed its mane and then half-whacked, half-pushed at its flank. Everything was happening in slow motion. The bank kept moving away as the river, for that’s what it now was, rose, first to their knees and then to their waists. And then, suddenly, they were out.
“Run!” roared the big man, “Run for your life!”
They ran.
Behind them, the fallen log finally gave way and the water came crashing through the gully, carrying the log and all the other detritus it had gathered like so much corn being flayed by a hurricane. The noise was incredible. At times it almost seemed as if it were screaming with temper at its lost prey.
Back at the camp, they questioned how he could have slept so soundly. Tomas shook his head and muttered ruefully,
“Two months, that’s all it took. Two months of easy living and I almost get myself killed.”

Later, when the water had receded, Fatso shook his head in wonder and questioned how they had managed to get up such a steep incline, in so little time.
Fleck just murmured,
“We did. That’s all”
And that was that.

Imprint

Publication Date: 07-19-2011

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
With thanks to octoberstormxx, whoever she may be, for giving me the final shove.