Seeds of Rebellion (23 page)

“The Blind King really is Galloran?” Aram said, a hint of disillusionment in his tone.

“It appears that way,” Ferrin replied.

Jason had not meant to share this information with Ferrin, of all people! But the displacer already seemed certain. Maldor had long known the truth about the Blind King, but the secret had not been widely shared. Jason supposed that if Ferrin joined him and Aram on their way to Felrook, Galloran himself could decide how to deal with the displacer. “I can’t confirm your guess.”

“No need,” Aram muttered.

Ferrin glanced at the ferryman. The prostrated man continued to hum, hands clamped to the sides of his head. Ferrin raised his voice. “I suppose we should kill the boatman. We can’t leave witnesses behind.”

Jason began to protest, but Ferrin held up his hand and glared. “Let’s see, I’ll just insert my knife right here and open him up.” The man continued to hum without missing a note.

“He had to be certain the ferry operator wasn’t eavesdropping,” Aram explained, but Jason had already caught on. The raft rotated so much that Aram moved to a different side. “This vessel is unwieldy.”

“You’re doing a remarkable job,” Ferrin said. “Start easing us toward the southern bank. I propose we bind and gag the boatman, then set him adrift.”

“Seems like the gentlest option,” Aram agreed. “You have rope and a gag?”

Ferrin pulled a length of cord and a wet strip of material from a pocket. “I like to plan ahead. Could I possibly have my hand back? If we get cornered, we all might want me to have it.”

“Might as well,” Aram said.

Jason dug into his backpack and fished out the hand. He hefted it for a moment, then passed it to Ferrin. The displacer reattached it seamlessly, flexed his fingers, then crouched and bound the ferryman. “It’s good to be whole.”

“You’re still wearing the eye patch,” Jason mentioned. “I thought it was part of a disguise.”

“Sadly, no,” Ferrin said. “I grafted my eye to an alley cat in Weych. The precaution provided an early warning when they came for me, but I couldn’t manage to retrieve my eye in time. It’s still there.”

“Unnatural,” Aram muttered in disgust. “Many soldiers are trailing us from the north.”

Squatting beside the ferryman, Ferrin secured the gag. “We need only concern ourselves with the forces on the southern bank for now. I sabotaged the other ferry, along with the three largest watercrafts in town.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” Aram said.

“There are still enough enemies on the southern bank to waylay us,” Ferrin cautioned. “The cover of darkness will soon be lost. Speed and stealth will be imperative.”

The half giant stopped plying the oar long enough to wipe sweat from his brow. The sculling was finally tiring him. “You and Jason should take the horses and flee,” Aram said. “I can catch up later.”

“Are you serious?” Ferrin asked.

“We only have two mounts, and I’m the heaviest rider.”

“I already prepared a fresh horse for myself, along with weapons.”

“Impossible.”

“I work fast. I beat you here by almost two hours.”

From up the river came an angry cry, followed by dismayed shouts.

“Get us to the shore,” Ferrin said calmly. “They’ve finally recognized that we cut the guideline. They can travel much faster by horseback than we can on the water. My new mount is close by.”

Aram grunted as the oar sloshed noisily. The commotion upriver continued to escalate.

When the raft reached the bank, Ferrin and Jason led the horses ashore. Keeping the oar, Aram shoved the raft back onto the water. The ferryman continued humming as best he could around the gag.

Ferrin crashed through the riverside vegetation and returned astride a black horse. He had wrapped a long strip of black linen around his head several times to cover his face. Aram studied the horizon, where the oncoming dawn had purpled the starry night.

“Come,” Ferrin said. They could hear horses charging along the river in their direction.

Jason and Aram climbed onto their mounts, and the three galloped away from the river into open, brushy country. “Not much cover,” Aram called. “How many had horses?”

“I counted eight. They could commandeer others.”

“We better find a place to make a stand.”

“Three versus eight? Or possibly twelve? Why not run?”

Aram hesitated before answering. “Because they might catch up after sunrise.”

“So?”

“I’m no use after dawn.”

“What do you mean?”

Aram didn’t answer.

“What happens at dawn?” Ferrin pressed.

“This is not something I share lightly,” Aram said. “I don’t have much choice right now. I’d kill to keep this secret.”

“I keep secrets for a living. I won’t tell.”

“I turn into a weakling during the day,” Aram confessed. “I’m half giant.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“You’ll feel differently after sunrise. Remember Goya?”

There came a pause in the shouted discussion. Jason felt sorry for Aram. He knew the big man would never have wanted Ferrin to learn his history. But under the circumstances, there was no way to avoid blowing his secret.

“Very well,” Ferrin finally said. “Where?”

“How about between those hills?” Aram pointed. “The way narrows right where that boulder offers some cover. Jason can lob stones from a flanking position.”

In answer, Ferrin swerved toward the gap between the steep hills.

“What do you mean I’ll lob rocks?” Jason called.

“This is no occasion for a first lesson in swordplay,” Aram said.

“He’s right,” Ferrin said. “You’ll do much more harm harassing them from the hillside. When we get there, gather a pile of rocks in a sheltered position. We’ll place the horses by you. If the giant and I go down, try to ride away.”

“Don’t call me a giant,” Aram growled.

The pair of hills drew closer. Looking back, Jason saw a cluster of riders racing a mile or two behind.

When they reached the gap between the hills, Aram and Ferrin dismounted. “Any objection to fighting dirty?” Ferrin asked.

“Only way to fight when your back is to the wall,” Aram replied. “Come on, Jason.” Jason dismounted. Looping around somewhat, Aram led two of the horses up the steep side of the hill. Jason led the third, crouching to grab a rock or two. Aram tethered the horses by a thick tree, then walked sideways down the steep slope.

The enemy horsemen cantered nearer. Jason secured his horse and then collected more rocks, trying to pick ones that were small
enough to throw hard, but large enough to do damage. A couple hundred yards from the hills, the horsemen reined in to confer with one another.

“I count eleven,” Aram said, joining Ferrin in the gap between the hills behind a boulder the size of a minivan.

“So do I.”

Aram drew his enormous sword. “Eleven may be too many. How well do you fight?”

“I’m not bad. You?”

“I’m expensive for a reason. Can you commit to taking down two?”

Ferrin was prepping his bow. “Three, maybe four.”

“If you’re serious, and if they rush into this, we may have a chance.”

Nine of the horsemen charged. Several had crossbows. Two horsemen held back, evidently content to watch. The horizon behind them continued to lighten.

Aram fastened his leather cloak shut.

“Thick cloak,” Ferrin said.

“Better than some armor.” Aram glanced up at the slope and cupped a hand beside his mouth. “Wait until they’re close!”

Jason saluted.

“Here they come,” Ferrin announced, setting an arrow to his bowstring.

Jason could barely hear the conversation between Ferrin and Aram. He hoped he could surprise them and drop a soldier or two with rocks. He held one in each hand, both stones squarish and a little larger than baseballs. He wished he still had an orantium sphere. This would be the perfect occasion for an explosion!

In the middle of the gap, Aram and Ferrin crouched behind the boulder. There was ample room for the horses to pass between
the slope and the boulder at either side. Aram hefted a rough stone bigger than a bowling ball.

Crossbow quarrels zipped past Ferrin as he leaned into view, bow drawn. He ducked back twice, arrows sparking against the boulder, then leaned out farther and released an arrow. It flew true, unhorsing one of the soldiers. Then the thundering horses were upon them.

Jason began throwing stones. The first one missed. The second bounced off a soldier’s helm, nearly knocking him from the saddle. Leaning precariously, the soldier clung to the neck of his horse until Aram’s huge stone hit him like a cannonball. One rider among the nine slowed to hang back. He wore the armor of a conscriptor. The remaining six swarmed Aram and Ferrin.

Aram hurled another large rock at a charging conscriptor who was bringing his crossbow to bear. The stone struck the horseman in the chest, blasting him from his saddle.

Ferrin had discarded his bow in favor of his sword. Deflecting the blade of a soldier on horseback, Ferrin slashed his thigh. Jason kept flinging stones. He struck the soldier attacking Ferrin in the small of the back. Aram leaped from the cover of the boulder to almost decapitate a charging horse, sending the hapless rider plunging to the hard ground. With a ferocious backhand stroke, Aram cut down another soldier. Losing momentum, the remaining horsemen milled around the boulder ineffectively, and Aram, taking advantage of his great height and long reach, began slaughtering horse and man alike, his weighty sword hacking and bludgeoning without prejudice. Ferrin scrambled up the boulder and sprang from the top to tackle a conscriptor out of his saddle.

Jason doggedly pitched stones into the fray, connecting with several. The conscriptor who had hung back spurred his horse up the hillside toward Jason.

After meeting the gaze of his attacker, Jason desperately hurled rocks at the oncoming threat, missing once and striking the steed in the chest with the other. The horse kept coming. Jason dodged to the far side of the tree, drawing his sword as the conscriptor dismounted.

Jason wore no armor. He had zero experience at swordplay. The tree blocked his view, so Jason backed away as the conscriptor raced around the trunk, brandishing a longsword.

Jason found himself backing down the hillside toward the skirmish. He stopped retreating as the aggressive conscriptor hurtled forward from higher ground, swinging his weapon. Jason swung his sword to block the stroke. The blades connected with a clang that vibrated through Jason’s hands to his elbows. With too much momentum behind his lunge, the conscriptor plowed into Jason, and the pair tumbled wildly down the slope, coming to a rest at the fringe of the skirmish. Head swimming, Jason tasted brush and dirt. Blood trickled from his nostrils.

Disoriented from the fall, Jason rose to his knees, eyes darting to locate the sword he had dropped. The conscriptor had also lost his sword, but before he could retrieve it, a blade erupted through his chest, piercing the iron-banded leather of his armor. The sword had been hurled, like a throwing knife, by Aram.

As the conscriptor slumped forward, pawing numbly at the protruding blade, Ferrin sprang atop a horse to pursue the two riders who had held back. All of the other soldiers had fallen. One of the remaining riders retreated at a full gallop. The other cantered forward to engage Ferrin.

The horses converged, and swords clashed harmlessly as they passed. The enemy rider, now headed toward Aram and Jason, veered away, but almost immediately a large stone thrown by Aram thumped against his shoulder, toppling him to the dirt.
The man staggered to his feet, clutching his injured arm.

Ferrin drew up near him, face still obscured behind black linen.

The soldier raised one hand in surrender. The other arm hung useless at his side.

Aram led Jason to retrieve the horses. By the time they rode over to Ferrin, the conscriptor knelt on the ground, his helmet off, unarmed but glaring defiantly.

“The displacer who led them, Rogold, got away,” Ferrin explained as Aram and Jason drew near. “This is Corge, a captain among the conscriptors.”

“So the rumors are true,” the wounded man growled at Ferrin. “You defected.”

Ferrin uncovered his face. “The disguise isn’t working? I should have kept the hat. You know too much. We’ll have to duel.”

“Your oaf broke my arm.”

“Yes, Corge, he did. You were attacking us. You are now my enemy. Are you going to die fighting or whining?”

“You’d murder an injured prisoner?”

“Whining. Very well. Perhaps we should skip the pretense of a duel, since you’re conceding the outcome.” Ferrin brandished his sword menacingly. Then he paused. “I’ll spare you for good information.”

“You’ll get none. Go on, coward, strike me down unarmed.”

“Fine, take your sword.” Ferrin planted it in the ground in front of him.

Corge gritted his teeth. “I would, but my arm—”

“If you had twelve good arms, the result would be the same, and we both know it. I’m in a hurry. Retrieve the sword. Best me, and you’re free to go.”