Savage (19 page)

The drink was a golden amber fluid. Kyra eyed it suspiciously,
more herbs?
she pondered. When Marcus handed her the glass she said, “It was a good day. I think we made progress.” If the prince hadn’t shared the details with Marcus, then Kyra wouldn’t as well. It wasn’t proper to reveal her suspicions to anyone but the prince. Not until Bazur interviewed Lord Pickett. What is it? Another sleep concoction?”

“Yes, but this one is from my personal stores. Beruvian brandy, aged twenty years in oak barrels.”

Kyra sniffed the drink, it smelled fine. “No herbs?”

“No. I could add a pinch if you like, just enough to help you sleep. The last dose I gave you was very strong so you wouldn’t thrash about in your sleep. Usually, the herbs don’t affect a patient the way they did you. Normally, you would wake up feeling refreshed and not groggy and feeling drugged. Again, a necessary part of your treatment, but not an indicator of how the medicine works under normal circumstances.”

“Perhaps just the smallest pinch then.”

“A wise decision. The brandy is nice, but the herbs help your healing more. I rather like the herbs myself. After a long day, I’ll add a small pinch to my tea… or brandy if it’s been a really long day.” Marcus took out a small pouch and put the tiniest pinch of herbs in both their drinks. He gave Kyra a wink. “I could use a good night’s sleep as well.”

Kyra took a sip of her brandy and herbs. The strong liquor warmed her throat, but didn’t have the strong aftertaste of cheaper drinks that she was accustomed to.
The aging must smooth it out a bit
, mused Kyra as she took another healthy sip. “Tell me Marcus, what do you think of the prince wanting to reform the kingdom?”

“I think that Prince Valentine has a long hard row to hoe. These attacks show that there are those in the kingdom that don’t want change. In fact, I believe there are many that feel that way, especially among the noble class. The merchant class are more on the fence. They would love to see taxes lowered, or even just used in a way that benefits them, but they are leery of things like magic. There are so many stories of the lands to the west that frighten them. Mages so powerful they control flame and ice with a wave of their hand, dragons flying about, evil sorcerers and witches living in dark forests.”

Kyra chuckled. “Old wives’ tales, I’m sure.”

“No,” said Marcus. “All the stories have at least a degree of truth to them. I’ve seen the skull of a dragon myself, and have met mages that could do more than just control the elements, and there are dark places where one simply does not go. And evil can be found everywhere, magic is not inherently evil or dangerous. It is all in the heart of the man or woman wielding those powers that dictates good versus evil. Magic could do much for the kingdom. The infirmary could heal twice as many people, reduce sickness and pain, things beyond the scope of my knowledge and power. I’ve seen farmers’ fields imbued with magic that grew amazing crops in the middle of a drought. I’ve seen records of great wars where mages protected entire cities from invading forces.”

“Fascinating. I never believed in the stories of dragons and other creatures of the dark. I can see removing the restrictions against magic use being a good thing. But what else does the prince intend to change? Why are the nobles so against him?”

“Draisha was built as a slave society. For hundreds of years it thrived that way, it was only three generations ago that there was the great uprising of slaves that forced the then king to grant freedom to all slaves. The result of that is the society we see today in Draisha. A large peasant class that faces starvation and poverty in the worst of time but can find a roof of their own, but also a working class that live in relative wealth compared to their forefathers. So while conditions aren’t great for the poor here, most of them understand that the conditions have improved under the Astar family’s rule. Many the older nobles grew up in the shadow of those years, when nobles had nearly unlimited power over the masses. Many believe that it is their divine right to rule, that their breeding makes them superior to everyone else, and that the last few generations of kings in Draisha went too far in appeasing the peasants. Many of those nobles would like to go back to being slave owners. For them, reform is weakness and to be despised.”

“That explains the nobles not wanting reforms, but it doesn’t explain the merchant class and peasantry not wanting reform. They should be all for it, should they not?”

“There are many that are for reform, they would welcome it with open arms, but there are also many that see reform as change. Draisha is in a delicate balance right now. The nobles and peasantry live in relative harmony. There is peace, but reform could push things out of balance. Many see the actions of General Vargas as being only the beginning. They believe that as the prince pushes for reform, the nobles will push back and push back hard to regain their previous power.”

“I never realized the history of Draisha was so complicated. It has been relatively peaceful the years I’ve lived here. It is a dangerous city, full of criminals and mercenaries, but I’ve seen far worse. So if you were the prince, how would you go about making your reform so that you don’t cause a revolt?”

“Slowly. And I have a first rate investigator that helps put out the fires as they arrive.”

“Sounds like a dangerous job. A girl would have to be crazy to consider doing that.”

“Maybe not. Maybe she would have to believe she was accomplishing something important, and was part of something special that meant something. Danger is everywhere. Your old life was dangerous, perhaps not as dangerous as this, but I believe in Prince Valentine and his vision of the future for Draisha. I think it would be good for you to help him accomplish that future. He will need to be surrounded with people he can trust. People like you and your Bazur.”

Kyra took another healthy drink of the herb laced brandy. It was starting to kick in. Her body felt relaxed and her mind was finally slowing down and accepting the idea of sleep. “It is something to consider. Thank you for the brandy and the conversation, Marcus. However, I’m afraid I’m going to close my eyes soon.”

“Listening to an old man blather on about politics will put anyone to sleep. Good night, Kyra.” Marcus took the near empty brandy glass from her hand and finished it off. No point letting good liquor go to waste. He then wandered back to his own chambers.

FARMERS’ fields dotted with organized rows of colors littered the landscape. After growing so accustomed to the hues of gold and gray that filled the badlands, it was a pleasant change of pace to be going through such a colorful area. Clumps of dark green trees and beautiful flowering bushes that provided splashes of soft pinks, purples, and reds, squished in between the light green and pale yellow grass-filled pastures and the dark brown, almost black, freshly tilled soil of the gardens along the road all filled Bazur’s eye as he strolled towards the villages to the south. The areas south and east of Draisha were new territory to Bazur. It was mostly forests and plains heading south while the eastern lands turned into mountainous terrain filled with wide valleys and heavily forested lands. Even further west, there were higher mountains that supposedly went right to the sea.

His destination was Southend, one of the far off villages that traded primarily with Draisha. These outer villages were not part of Draisha proper. They didn’t pay taxes or owe loyalty to the throne. They were small and independent, but often offered valuable trade that filled the royal merchants of Draisha’s pockets. The royals could handle the lack of loyalty as long as it was profitable. Southend was located along the edge of the Boradan forest, known for its excellent timber. Southend was also halfway between Draisha and the southern Oclesh port city of Odan. Its location made it a natural stopover for merchant trades traveling between the two cities when the kingdoms were not at war. The long road between Odan and Draisha was filled with thieves and bandits and often traders would hire mercenaries to protect them on the perilous path. It got to the point that Southend became a favored place for out-of-work mercenaries. It was rumored that some of the same mercenaries who protected merchants along the road might be the ones robbing them the next time they went through. Southend was a rough town, similar to Pera in many ways. It was a town Bazur understood without having set foot in it.

Bazur ran down the road. It felt good to really get moving. As a youth, he’d run every day. Orc warriors didn’t ride horses. Orcs’ great and heavy frames, combined with the heavy armor many orcs favored, was too much for the average horse. Only the great war steeds bred for carrying knights were strong enough for an orc to ride. And why ride when an orc could run all day and still be fresh for battle at the end. Bazur knew orc scouts who could outrun a human horseman over the course of a day. Occasionally, Bazur met travelers heading north towards Draisha. They would all move to the side of the road and warily watch Bazur run by. More often than not, a sword or two was drawn, or men stood, handle on hilt, warily watching as he ran on by.

“That’s far enough,” said the man standing in the middle of the road.

Bazur slowed to a walk but continued forward towards the stranger blocking the road. Taking a quick glance to either side of the road, he couldn’t see anyone else, but his nose told a different story. The smell of human sweat heavily laden with garlic was coming from the woods just beyond the road.
So much garlic! What a way to ruin a meal
, thought Bazur.
And
put your stinky men downwind of your intended victims. Bloody amateurs.
Knowing the man had company with him, Bazur examined him. Average height, average build, his olive tunic and brown pants were clean except for where he’d been leaning up against a tree and now had pitch on one shoulder.

“I said that is far enough,” repeated the man. This time his voice carried a sense of urgency.

“Why would I stop?” asked Bazur. “I have business to attend to up ahead.”

“If you value your life, you’ll do as you are told.” The man raised his left hand. On his signal two more men appeared behind the man. A rustling sound indicated movement behind Bazur as well.

Bazur glanced over his shoulder, two men had stepped out onto the road. The one with the garlic issue and a tall rangy warrior with an axe. Looking around, he spotted two more men, one on either side of the road directly beside him. Seven men and they had him completely surrounded. Bazur slowed but didn’t stop walking forward. He was now ten feet from the bandit in the middle of the road. “Is there trouble ahead? Is that why you’ve blocked the road off. Anything in a particular I should be watching for?” asked Bazur innocently.

“The trouble is here half-blood. We’ve been waiting for you. This looks like the right fellow, doesn’t it, Ned?”

Ned, one of the men behind the first bandit stepped closer. He was portly with a scruffy carrot colored beard that swirled around his neck but only patchily covered his face. “Big half-orc, carrying a scythe and a sword. Really intimidating and scary looking fellow. I believe that was the description we were given, Charles.”

“Blue eyes,” said the third bandit as he stepped up beside Ned and Charles. “You forgot about the blue eyes.”

“That’s right,” said Charles. “A blue-eyed half orc. I’ve met my share of orcs in my day, but never a blue-eyed one. I suppose that’s what happens when your daddy ain’t an orc. But mister, you sure do have blue eyes. You are the one we are looking for.”

Charles was a talker. Bazur could see it. He would talk and talk some more before finally attacking. He felt secure in his numbers. Seven against one was hard odds. Bazur would to use his wits before he could use his blade if he was to survive this. Perhaps he now had a chance to honor his father. “Well, you found me. Are you here to rob me? I’m afraid I have little coin on me. Whoever told you I was a rich merchant was mistaken.”

“We know who you are. I’ve been to Pera several times. Everyone there knows the Badlands Savage,” said one of the men behind Bazur.

“See,” said Bazur. “I’m just a simple man from the badlands. I have little money.”

“We’re not here to rob you, fool!” said Charles with a wide cocky grin. “You’ve been sticking your nose in other people’s business. Now we are going to end that. But we are going to do it nice and slow. I always wanted to hear an orc scream and beg for mercy. A half-blood will do just fine.”

As if Bazur would give him such a pleasure. He could see the coward was getting ready to make his move. One more grandiose comment for the benefit of his friends and he would attack. It was time to make his move. “Beg for mercy. I like that.” Bazur turned and ran straight at the man on his flank. The man was caught off-guard and had been absent-mindedly slapping his club against his thigh as Charles rambled on. Before the man could lift his club up, Bazur was on the surprised bandit. Bazur didn’t even bother drawing his weapons yet. Instead, he delivered a hard elbow to the face, knocking the bandit to the ground. Bazur ran off the road and into the forest.

“Catch him you fools!” shouted an angry Charles.

Sprinting as fast as he could, Bazur worked his way through the forest, dodging branches, slipping between trees. He ran away from the road in a nearly straight line taking the path that allowed him to move as fast as possible. The bandits had been slow to Bazur’s sudden dash into the woods and he was gaining ground on them, if his ears were to be trusted. The ambush had been a good plan, but poorly executed. The fool Charles with his long-winded prattling had given Bazur time to think and plan. If they had just closed the circle right away and attacked, the fight would’ve been on their terms and their chosen ground, with the numbers favoring them. Now, Bazur was leading them on chase through the woods.

Turning to his right, Bazur started to head back north towards Draisha. There was a particular part of the forest ahead that had trees so thickly clumped together you couldn’t see five feet ahead. Bazur glanced back. He couldn’t see any of the bandits, but he could still hear them coming as they thrashed through the woods. Clearly, a good percentage of the warriors were not woodsmen. The way they moved was noisy and inefficient. As Bazur reached the beginning of the section of the forest filled with paroni poplars, the tall thickly clumped together trees with the white and pink bark and few branches, he slowed to a walk. The trees forced him to, but they would force those following him to as well.

Now that he was in the thick part of the woods, Bazur stopped and listened. Charles was still barking. He could hear the highwayman yelling to his men. “Spread out and find him. Yell out when you spot him.”

Fool
, thought Bazur. How such a loud mouth leader was still alive was beyond Bazur. The man might be good with a weapon, but he was no woodsman or leader for that matter. The one who reeked of garlic was no woodsman either, nor the one he elbowed in the face on the road. That was three of the seven. Only four of the highwaymen had a chance of being decent woodsman. He suspected that the true number was half that. It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Now it was his turn to ambush his enemies, and there would be no talking.

Bazur doubled back towards the original ambush location. He spotted two of the highwaymen working their way towards the stand of paroni poplars. These two moved silently, giving each other hand signals and moving in tandem.
These two have hunted together before
, thought Bazur. He turned and started working his way behind the two men. Staying behind trees so that he was never in their view but always moving closer and closer. Of the two men, the leader was a good twenty paces ahead and to the right of the second. The first man was following Bazur’s tracks while the second covered the first man’s back while he focused on the ground and following the trail.

Occasionally, the second man would look back, checking his own back trail but for most part he was focused on watching the back of his fellow highwayman. Bazur kept closing the distance, getting closer and closer. The tracker had entered the stand of poplars and was now out of view. Bazur swiftly closed the distance between himself and the second highwayman. Bazur reached around the man’s face and placed a hand over his mouth and pulled his head back. When the man’s hands went to his face trying to remove the offending hand, Bazur slid his knife into the man’s side. The man groaned into Bazur’s hand, the muffled noise of his death was barely audible. Bazur carefully dropped the man’s body to the ground and took his place.

As the tracker worked his way through the white and pink poplars, Bazur closed in, but he made sure to make just enough noise for the tracker to think that his partner was the one following him and just closing the distance. When a small opening in the woods gave Bazur a clean line of sight, he threw his dagger into the tracker’s exposed back.

Two down
, thought Bazur as he retrieved his blade. Again, he turned back towards the original ambush site, this time working his way back to where he’d last heard the loud Charles. Before long, Bazur could hear the snapping of branches as one of men made his way closer. Glancing about, Bazur noticed the small deer trail. It sounded like the man was following it through the woods. Bazur climbed a large oak that was directly over the deer trail and waited. Before long the man showed himself. He was indeed following the deer trail, nervously looking side to side. His entire upper body swinging around as he kept his sword tip pointed wherever his eyes went. Soon the man was standing right underneath the tree. Bazur dropped down from his hidden perch and landed on the man’s back, his knife blade found the man’s heart and Bazur corrected his mental count,
three down.

The next two, Bazur found talking.

“I don’t care what Charles says. This is insane. It was bad enough trying to ambush him with only seven men. We should’ve had a dozen archers sitting in the woods waiting for him, and as soon as we saw him boom, filled his body with arrows and checked his eyes later. How many half-orcs are there in this part of the world? Not enough to take a chance, I say. But no, Charles has to look him in the eyes, tell him he is going to die. Did you see what the beast did to Kurtis’s head? Nearly knocked it right off with an elbow, while he was running no less. That is a dangerous man. He didn’t even hesitate for one second. He didn’t run because he was scared of us. He ran because he wanted to get us out here in the trees where he could pick us off one by one. When’s the last time you saw Brian or Matthew? Or even Wade for that matter? I swear that man is the stupidest man alive. He thought that deer trail was Bazur’s trail? What a meathead. Where did Charles find him?” said Garlic Breath.

“He was cheap,” said Ned. “Charles figured to gain a few extra coins hiring cheap. That is why we only have seven.”

“Well, mark my words, there will be less of us when we return to Southend. Tracking an orc into the woods? I’ve been to Irri. That is all orcs do, chase each other around the woods, killing each other. Damn this goat dung of a plan! I’m calling out. I’ll tell Charles to his face this is stupid.”

Bazur smiled. The man was right. It had been stupid. Bazur put his dagger away and pulled his war scythe out of its sheath on his back. He stepped from behind the tree and threw it like a spear. The deadly weapon struck Ned so hard the blade penetrated all the way through his body.

Garlic Breath screamed out. “Charles, Kurtis, help! He’s here.” He then backed away from his dead companion, creating space between himself and Bazur.

Bazur ignored Garlic Breath and calmly walked up and pulled his scythe from Ned’s body.

Charles and Kurtis ran up. Charles yelled at Garlic Breath, “Harry! Quit backing up, you coward. You were paid to fight!”

“I was paid just like Ned. How’s that working out for him?” asked Harry.

Charles and Kurtis both cursed Harry for being a coward. Harry reluctantly joined them as they moved towards Bazur.