Seven Swords, Michael E. Shea [readict TXT] 📗

Ca’daan was on his way to meet Adrin when he spotted the dark riders. They rode through the merchants quarter on black stallions, northern horses. Each of the two men wore black cloaks, black boots, dark gray chestguards, and the same style three-corner hat that Adrin wore. Perhaps it was this last article that caught Ca’daan’s interest. He followed after the two men, losing them as they turned down the metalworking district.

He saw them again, dismounted and talking to a thin man in tattered clothes. The man pointed and spoke. Ca’daan’ couldn’t see if the black riders said anything in return. Thick leather neckguards covered the mouths of both men and their long cloaks covered most of their bodies. The two men left their horses with the thin man and continued on foot. Ca’daan saw the man bite into a coin of gold. A hot gust of wind blew down the street and whipped at their cloaks. Ca’daan saw a gleam of steel under their cloaks.

Ca’daan followed them, keeping cover as they walked down the streets to the outskirts of the town. The crowds thinned and the tent city rose around them, mostly empty at this time in the morning.

The two men scanned the tents and pointed at a man guiding a desert donkey. A small child rode on the donkey’s back among packed provisions. One of the men shouted but the man with the donkey didn’t hear. The shorter of the two men pointed and the larger one moved off to block the man and the donkey.

Ca’daan moved closer. The donkey man had shoulder-length black hair and wore a green tunic of a merchant. The child wore a cloak of tan canvas, the hood pulled up to protect her face from the sun. When the shorter of the riders shouted, the child turned and Ca’daan saw the face of a young girl with red hair and green eyes.

As the larger of the two men came out in front of them, the merchant stopped the cart. The smaller man said something and the merchant turned. He shook his head and the black garbed man spoke again in a different tongue. The larger of the men closed in from behind them. The merchant looked at them and shook his head once again. The two men looked past him to each other. The smaller man said something else, nodding his head at the man. The big one stepped up behind him and roughly wrapped an arm around the merchant’s throat.

The merchant moved fast and sure. Every move was precise, every shift of his foot hadd purpose. Even after having just seen Adrin’s skill with his rapier, Ca’daan had not seen a man move so sure and so naturally with such devastating results.

The merchant locked his arms over the big man’s own arm and stepped one leg between those of the big man and arched forward. Though considerably larger, the dark rider fell forward over the merchant. The large man’s arm, trapped within the merchant’s interlocked forearms, snapped at the elbow. The sound made Ca’daan wince and when he saw the horrible angle of the twisted arm he felt bile rise in his throat. The large man cried out and the smaller one cursed.

The small man drew a shining dagger from within his cloak but instead of attacking the merchant he went after the girl. Ca’daan saw the man in the merchant’s garb, surely not actually a merchant Ca’daan now understood, reach into the twisted cloak of the groaning man at his feet. He drew a black cylinder encased in darkwood. The merchant cocked back a silver dragonhead resting on the back of the wooden handle and squeezed his index finger.

Ca’daan had heard of the northern weapons, pistols they were called, but he was totally unprepared for the experience of seeing one in action. It boomed so loud that Ca’daan put his hands over his ears. A cloud of white smoke exploded from the back of the gun and swept into the hot wind. The small man’s head exploded into a red mist.

Later, Ca’daan couldn’t say why he did what he did. His first instinct was to flee but he found himself running to the man instead. The man crouched over the broken rider, and drew another of the pistols. He pointed it at Ca’daan and Ca’daan felt his bladder nearly let go.

“I can help you,” said Ca’daan. The man’s steely blue eyes did not blink. “My friend’s shop is near by. You can hide there and take shelter.” The man beheld him a moment longer before turning to the girl. She stood behind the man, her cloak pulled low over her face. She nodded.

“Show us,” said the man. As Ca’daan turned, he saw the man draw a sharp knife from his leg wrappings, cut a pouch and belt from the man at his feet, and quietly ran the blade across the man’s throat under his leather neck guard. Ca’daan couldn’t see the man bleeding across the sand, but he heard him gurgling. This was a mistake, he thought. This man was a killer.

It was too late now, though. Ca’daan hurried while the man and girl ran with him. The man had cut out a pack from the mule, but left the rest. He understood that the mule and the two men would be stripped down and looted by the time they reached A’deem’s shop.

Ca’daan took them through the alleys behind the shops and untied the intricate five-lace knot that held the door closed. He waved to the mercenary who glared at him but recognized him enough to not bother questioning him. A’deem was apparently not paying him enough for that.

Ca’daan closed the door behind them and retied the not. The man scanned the room as the dark rider had scanned the tent city.

“I thank you for your aid,” said the man. “Even the bandits seem unafraid of robbing a merchant in daylight here.”

The story was weak and they all seemed to know it. The man drew his knife from the folds of his pants and went to a plate of polished silver A’deem tied to one side of the wood hut. As Ca’daan and the girl watched, the man pulled his hair tight and cut it off with his knife. His hair fell into ragged tufts as he turned to Ca’daan and the girl.

“We are safe here,” said Ca’daan. The finality of the way the man cut off his hair made Ca’daan uncomfortable. The man looked at the girl. She smiled and nodded to him.

“I am Jon,” said the man, turning back to the polished metal. “This is Susan. Thank you for helping us.” The man’s accent was subtle but clearly northern. He was dark tan from many months, maybe years, in the desert but naturally fair skinned. His scalp, where he had cut away his dark hair, was pale.

“Who were those men?” asked Ca’daan.

“Bounty hunters from the north,” the man, Jon, said.

Ca’daan grew nervous. “Bounty for what?”

“Deserted soldiers,” said Jon. He watched Ca’daan, perhaps gauging his reaction. Ca’daan attempted none.

“Is she your daughter?” said Ca’daan.

“She is