Son of the Hero (20 page)

“Someone’s using magic to find us,” I told my companions.

“I felt it too,” Annick said.

“We may have escaped detection, but we can’t count on it,” I said. Annick nodded. She seemed almost tranquilized. Perhaps it was just that she was as worn out as the rest of us from fighting the swamp and the trolls, but I still felt that it was the killing that had relaxed her. “I’m going to start looking for a path over to the coast. We should be almost far enough north to find the sea-silver. We may have to hide in the swamp until dark before we cross the beach, though.” I stopped when Annick shook her head.

“If the lore is right, sea-silver can’t be seen in the ocean at night. We have to harvest it during the day.” When it was most dangerous—but it wasn’t something I could argue. Annick might be wrong, but she probably wasn’t.

“Then we’ll have to make do,” I said. “We’ll get lined up near a patch of the silver and wait until the coast is clear.” The phrasing was accidental, but I had never heard the cliché used so literally before.

We started bearing left whenever the swamp offered a choice. It was still slow going, especially since I knew that we might hit a dead end at any time. There was no way to swim our horses across open water in the swamp. Even the most placid-looking ponds were inhabited by the giant crocodilians and other nasty beasts. Once I judged that we were heading just a little north of west, I tried to keep us as close to that heading as possible. The sky cleared about noon, so I could get a better idea of the time and our course. The last of the ground fog evaporated. The temperature climbed. We continued to hear horns now and then, but farther off. And finally we heard the sea.

The sounds of surf hitting the shore drew us on like a magnet. We hit a long stretch of firm clay within the swamp and then picked our way through a final marshy patch. The trees were smaller, pathetic-looking, all bent east, away from the sea breezes. We stopped in a tight copse of the dwarf trees and dismounted. Looking through the grayish greenery, we could see the Mist. Just then, it looked beautiful.

Beyond our trees there was a narrow stretch of grass and hard-packed dirt. The line of a wide trail road was visible, wagon tracks and signs that many horses had used the trail—recently. The beach beyond the road was of dark gray sand that stretched off in an arc in both directions. The beach was wide, maybe an average of five hundred yards. It went south as far as I could see, but ended a mile to the north. A massive outcropping of rock rose two hundred feet above the sand and stuck out into the Mist like a swollen thumb. Sheer bluffs dropped to the sea. The waves weren’t hitting the beach itself, but a sandbar farther out. The water near the beach was relatively placid at the moment, but from the driftwood scattered higher on the shore, I could see that it wasn’t always so serene.

The sun came out from behind a cloud and set shards of crystal in the sand to sparkling in an almost blinding display. Far out over the Mist we could see a weather front coming in, a line of thick, dark clouds that towered from sea to sky. But in the middle, I could see the silver seaweed gleaming in the lagoon, a thick band of bright silver that followed the arc of the beach from almost directly in front of us north toward the cliff.

Annick pointed. “That’s what you came for.”

“That’s what I came for,” I agreed. I looked at the sky and guessed that we had a little more than two hours of good light left. “It would be nice to get a full night’s sleep and collect the silver in the morning, but if that storm front keeps coming, the surf may be too rough in the morning.” Parthet had told me that the sea-silver grew in water between four and twelve feet deep, allowing for rather modest tides. Even staying at the shallow end of the patch, it wouldn’t take much surf to complicate our harvest.

“I don’t think we can chance it now, either,” Annick said. “Look at the headland.” Her eyes were sharper than mine, but I did catch a glint of light on metal and saw tiny figures moving. The movement must have been horses. At more than a mile, I don’t think it was the riders.

“There must be a dozen or more of them,” Annick said, squinting for a better look.

“Let’s get comfortable,” I said, suppressing a sigh. “Maybe they’ll leave.” If not, we would wait till as near sunset as possible, then try to sneak across the beach to get our silver. I slipped my pistol into a saddlebag and took off my sword belt.

“Harkane, help me strip off this tin shirt. I can’t wear twenty pounds of metal in the water.” We got the mail off. It was a relief. I felt almost light enough to float away. Harkane rolled the mail and strapped it behind my saddle. I put my sword belt back on.

We watered the horses, using the last of the water in the two oversized bags that I planned to carry sea-silver in. When I cut the weeds, I would fill the bags with seawater. Parthet had said that salt water would keep the silver usable longer, but that fresh water would do in a pinch. Since replacing the sea-silver would mean another trip like this one, I wanted to keep what I got in top shape.

The riders came down from the headland and rode our way, spread out across the beach in a loose skirmish line. They weren’t riding very fast, so I thought that it might be just a routine patrol, not an attempt to catch us. A long horn call sounded just before they passed our hiding place, but I didn’t hear any reply. There were fifteen riders. The one in the center looked like a giant. He wore a long two-handed sword like a claymore, sheathed across his back. I held my breath, but the riders went by without a second look our way.

“Their leader is an elf, or at least halfelven like me,” Annick said after the riders were well past us. I assumed that she meant the big guy. One of the bits of lore I had picked up in Varay was that real elves weren’t cute little fairy-tale creatures who made shoes at night or any of that nonsense. The elf warriors who rode out of Fairy were neither cute nor little. Parthet had suggested that three hundred pounds spread over seven and a half feet of height was a good average. “None of it fat,” he had added.

“Mount up,” I said. “If they keep going south, we’ll ride for the sea, about halfway to the headland. I’ll go in for my silver and we’ll get out of here as fast as we can.”

“I’ll help in the water,” Annick said. I just nodded.

We watched the riders. They rode at a slow trot, casually scanning the beach ahead of them. We waited until they were just dots, almost invisible in the distance, before I started riding toward the water. The others followed. On the sand, I prodded my horse into a canter, aiming for the section of shore I had chosen. After the tortuous going of the swamp it felt good to let the horses stretch out for a moment. Breeze in my face, the sea ahead. The horses seemed to enjoy the change too.

“Keep a sharp watch,” I told Lesh and Harkane when we dismounted at the water’s edge. “Give us all the warning you can if they come back.” I handed Harkane my sword and its sheath. They would just get in the way in the water. I kept my knife to work with.

The near edge of the seaweed bed was thirty yards out. The top of the sea was brilliantly reflective. The silver gleamed like polished metal. Even when the sun ducked behind another cloud, the sea-silver gleamed. Annick and I each carried a water pouch. She had taken off her sword too.

“Ready?” I asked. Annick nodded. We waded in.

The water was frigid. Cool would have been a blessing, but the Mist felt like ice. We waded and floundered toward the sea-silver, moving slowly in the lash and recoil of the current. The undertow threatened to drag our legs out from under us at every step. By the time we reached the seaweed, my knees felt ready to buckle from the strain.

“Cut as low as you can,” I told Annick. I pulled my knife, took a deep breath, and dropped beneath the surface.

The cold seemed less pressing once I submerged. I could see well enough, though the salt water stung my eyes badly. I needed a few experiments to find the best way to reap the silver. Then the harvest moved quickly. I gathered in an armful of silver and crammed it into the mouth of the sack, then cut the weed as close to the roots as I could—up for a quick breath and a glance at the shore, then down to gather the next sheaf. It didn’t take long. Annick and I finished and were standing there catching our breath when Lesh whistled and pointed south. The patrol was returning.

Annick and I tried to hurry back to shore, but that made it more difficult. We stumbled and fell. Maneuvering the filled pouches of sea-silver and water complicated matters too. We had to keep them submerged so we weren’t carrying all that extra weight, forty pounds or more per bag.

Lesh had the two largest horses, his and mine, ready for the pouches. All of the paraphernalia those animals had been carrying had been transferred to the other horses. We got the bags of sea-silver tied behind the saddles and covered with blankets. Harkane returned my sword. I didn’t bother with the chain mail. There wasn’t time and I didn’t want the weight over my wet clothes anyway.

The fifteen riders in the south were clearly visible against the distant sand, but they were still a few minutes away. We mounted and I stared south for a moment, discouraged at the chances of holding our own against so many … or escaping from them. I was surprised when my extra sense signaled closer danger from the other direction, but I turned quickly. Another half-dozen riders were coming toward us at a gallop, down from the headland, and they were a lot closer.

I pointed at the six and said, “Head for them,” and we did, spurring our horses to a gallop. I drew my sword. I had no intention of wasting arrows trying for an impossible shot from horseback. Annick did try one shot, and her arrow pierced the shoulder of the nearest rider. Luck, blind luck. No archer can guarantee that result once in ten tries when archer and target are both galloping hard at each other. Annick must have realized it too. She didn’t try a second arrow. Lesh and Harkane had their spears tucked firmly under their arms. They weren’t the fancy lances of medieval movies but they would be effective weapons—sharp metal points on the end of ten-foot long hardwood shafts.

We had no choice but to fight the closer riders, and unless we disposed of those six—five after Annick’s lucky arrow—damn fast, the fight would give the larger band time to catch us on the beach. There were simply too many in that group. I wouldn’t have been happy with four of us facing just the elf warrior who led the group. His claymore could slice through spears and shatter our smaller swords. The only realistic chance I could see was to get to the swamp and hope that we could lose the elf and his cohort.

Only one of the first five riders looked less than human. His grotesque face looked akin to the swamp trolls, but this one was wearing clothes and armor. Annick skewered him as our groups collided. He wasn’t nearly as fast as she was … or maybe he just didn’t have the motivation. That evened the immediate odds, but none of the others were so cooperative.

It was something more than paranoia that made me think that these riders, like the swamp trolls and the weird flying creature we met on our way north, were all aiming specifically at me. You’re paranoid if you think “they” are out to get you and “they” aren’t. Well, you may still be paranoid if “they”
are
out to get you, but it’s not a delusion then. It’s real. I wasn’t wearing a sandwich board that said “I’m the Hero of Varay” on one side and “Come and get me” on the other, but I didn’t have to make any great mental leap to decide that these creatures of Fairy must somehow be able to sense that I was the one to focus on.

The four riders who were left after Annick got rid of two of their comrades certainly seemed determined to reach me. My companions were just a distraction—though a deadly distraction. But we were evenly matched, thanks to Annick, so I only had to face one enemy right off.

I had never attempted fencing on horseback. A gap in my education as a swashbuckler. And all of those years of learning what to do with my feet and body while I parried and feinted and lunged, all the wild language of formal fencing, were wasted when I crossed swords on that beach.

Maybe that’s going a bit too far. The situation was novel, but I did manage to get my sword up to block the blade that was swung right toward my nose. The other guy might not have known from
quarte
or
sixte
, so we started out fairly even. He was more a hacker than a fencer, and I don’t mean that he played with computers. All I had to do was keep getting my sword in the way of his until our horses danced around enough to let me get past his guard. I didn’t worry about style either. And I didn’t wait to see him fall. As soon as I pulled my blade free, I kneed my horse and pushed past to reach Harkane. He was in trouble.

Harkane backed away as I caught his opponent from the side. There was no trouble with elegant form this time either. My first swing bit about halfway into my foe’s upper arm. He turned toward me but couldn’t do much to defend himself. He managed to block my next blow, but not the lunge that caught his throat after that.

I didn’t waste time looking south for the other group of riders. I didn’t need to look. I could feel the elf warrior and his band getting closer, and, near the end of my second duel, I could feel something more deadly than a host of elf warriors.

Harkane and Lesh combined to dispatch the last member of the small patrol. I looked south and then up finally … and saw death overtaking the elf’s band. An immense shadow drew my eyes upward. A dragon was swooping down toward the galloping riders.

“To the swamp!”. I shouted at my companions. We raced northeast, but we kept looking back over our shoulders toward the group pursuing us and the dragon pursuing them. The elf drew his six-foot sword, looked back, and kicked at his horse’s flanks, looking for more speed from the already-overtaxed steed. The elf’s head turned left, then right. Maybe he was shouting at his men. He was still too far away for me to be certain. His men spurred their mounts on, hardly needing encouragement, trying to outrun the flying death behind them.

It was an impossible flight.