Part 7
The brigand shifted beneath the leaves where he lay, shivering at the deep chill that had begun to numb his frozen legs. Across the way, he felt Malachi's hard stare as a small avalanche of leaves tumbled down the slope towards the trail. Scowling, Derc scratched himself, careful however not to disturb any more leaves. He was angry at being here, fuming despite the cold and soggy ground on which they lay. Malachi had marked some rich fop handing out pouches of coin in a local tavern, apparently looking for information. He'd followed one of the paid-off informants out of the tavern and waylaid him in the alley, demanding to know what knowledge was worth a bag of gold. Although Malachi didn't elaborate, Derc was certain he'd thanked the man with a dagger in the back; but not until after he'd slit the man's purse strings and hefted it before his eyes. Malachi was hard that way. That was why he lead their band.
The soft echo of hoof beats through the mist brought him back to the present, a place he really didn't want to be; legs stiff, and probably blue by now, he thought. Nonetheless, at the soft whistle from across the way, he began to close and unclose his fingers upon the hilt of the short sword beneath him, trying to bring the feeling back into his icy hands. He realized what a mistake that was as the pins and needles stabbed at him furiously, a fire within that did nothing to warm the fingers without. He concentrated on the gold their mark had been passing about so casually, and the thought of spending some of it back in the city warmed him quickly enough.
The road was nearly hidden in mist, and the echo of hoof beats seemed to come from all directions at once, raising the hairs on their forearms. If they hadn't known what path he was traveling down, they'd not have known where to look... not that they could see anything much through the mist anyway. Again, Derc shifted, feeling the sudden need to urinate. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind, and just as he opened them he saw the mists swirl on hidden currents, opening to let horse and rider pass through. The cloaked rider came on, mist swirling in smoky tendrils about his beast's hooves as if trying to devour that which passed through it. Steam flared from its nostrils to dance with the mist, and Derc couldn't shake the feeling that it was the beast's very breath that brought the mist which rose all around them.
Of the rider, he couldn't say much. A heavy black cloak hung about his shoulders, draped halfway down the horse's flank; and his eyes were lost in shadow beneath the lip of a large brimmed hat pulled low. Immediately, Derc had to pee again. There was something about this one... something dangerous... and something familiar. But it was too late. No sooner had Malachi's whistle signaled the start of the ambush than it died in a frothy gurgle as a quarrel punctured his lung. With blinding speed, the rider had swiveled in his saddle, mist scattering as his cloak flapped open around the twin crossbows he fired into the wood. Malachi and Gorm tumbled down the slope to sprawl lifelessly at the edge of the road, in a death as sudden as they'd hoped to inflict upon the traveler. Slowly, casually, the rider turned in the saddle and drew a scimitar which flashed white in the mist as the refracted moonlight shone off its blade. With a nudge, he turned his horse and marched up the small rise atop which Derc lay, his crotch suddenly warm and wet. As the mists cleared around the rider, Derc realized why he seemed so familiar... it was Iblis!
"Iblis! Iblis my old friend, it's me, Derc! We... we didn't know it was you! By Bel, I thought I was dead!" Derc jumped up, brushing off the dirt and leaves which had plastered themselves to his clothes. He was thankful now that the mud had soaked him through, as the stain spreading around his crotch was nearly invisible. Happy to be alive, he almost laughed at the irony that their mark was one of his old gambling buddies. "Sorry about the mix-up my friend, no hard feelings I hope?" Derc looked back up just in time to see the scimitar fall.
"You ARE dead, Derc..."
The soft echo of hoof beats through the mist brought him back to the present, a place he really didn't want to be; legs stiff, and probably blue by now, he thought. Nonetheless, at the soft whistle from across the way, he began to close and unclose his fingers upon the hilt of the short sword beneath him, trying to bring the feeling back into his icy hands. He realized what a mistake that was as the pins and needles stabbed at him furiously, a fire within that did nothing to warm the fingers without. He concentrated on the gold their mark had been passing about so casually, and the thought of spending some of it back in the city warmed him quickly enough.
The road was nearly hidden in mist, and the echo of hoof beats seemed to come from all directions at once, raising the hairs on their forearms. If they hadn't known what path he was traveling down, they'd not have known where to look... not that they could see anything much through the mist anyway. Again, Derc shifted, feeling the sudden need to urinate. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his mind, and just as he opened them he saw the mists swirl on hidden currents, opening to let horse and rider pass through. The cloaked rider came on, mist swirling in smoky tendrils about his beast's hooves as if trying to devour that which passed through it. Steam flared from its nostrils to dance with the mist, and Derc couldn't shake the feeling that it was the beast's very breath that brought the mist which rose all around them.
Of the rider, he couldn't say much. A heavy black cloak hung about his shoulders, draped halfway down the horse's flank; and his eyes were lost in shadow beneath the lip of a large brimmed hat pulled low. Immediately, Derc had to pee again. There was something about this one... something dangerous... and something familiar. But it was too late. No sooner had Malachi's whistle signaled the start of the ambush than it died in a frothy gurgle as a quarrel punctured his lung. With blinding speed, the rider had swiveled in his saddle, mist scattering as his cloak flapped open around the twin crossbows he fired into the wood. Malachi and Gorm tumbled down the slope to sprawl lifelessly at the edge of the road, in a death as sudden as they'd hoped to inflict upon the traveler. Slowly, casually, the rider turned in the saddle and drew a scimitar which flashed white in the mist as the refracted moonlight shone off its blade. With a nudge, he turned his horse and marched up the small rise atop which Derc lay, his crotch suddenly warm and wet. As the mists cleared around the rider, Derc realized why he seemed so familiar... it was Iblis!
"Iblis! Iblis my old friend, it's me, Derc! We... we didn't know it was you! By Bel, I thought I was dead!" Derc jumped up, brushing off the dirt and leaves which had plastered themselves to his clothes. He was thankful now that the mud had soaked him through, as the stain spreading around his crotch was nearly invisible. Happy to be alive, he almost laughed at the irony that their mark was one of his old gambling buddies. "Sorry about the mix-up my friend, no hard feelings I hope?" Derc looked back up just in time to see the scimitar fall.
"You ARE dead, Derc..."
posted by Shadowsong | 11:33 AM
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