The Rogue Retrieval (26 page)

He looked down the opening and shook it, as if to make sure. “Have a look at this, Bert!”

Quinn had his mule's reins and led the animal forward. The drunker one grabbed the bottle and shook it hard, trying to get the coin out.

“Stop, you'll break it!” his companion hissed.

Quinn slid the mule past them. “No breaking it, now,” he said.

They were still arguing when he mounted. The boulder was nearly out of view when he heard the tinkle of shattering glass. He chuckled to himself.
Every time
.

E
leven checkpoints later, they were deep into the mountain range. Kiara's purse was getting a bit light. Logan had yet to find a smuggler that he'd met while passing through here two years ago; a friendly face might have gotten them by for cheaper. Every man was new, and none of them were interested in making friends with outsiders.

Mendez rode back from taking a look ahead; his face was grim. “It gets really narrow up there, almost like a canyon. I saw movement on the cliffs above, too. We should expect some kind of a welcoming committee.”

“How much do we have left?” Logan asked Kiara.

She hefted the last of her purses; it clinked with metal and a few synthetic jewels. “It might be enough, so long as this is the last checkpoint.”

“No turning back now,” Logan said. “You pay in both directions, like a toll road.”

“I'm in the wrong business,” Chaudri said.

“It's not usually this exorbitant,” Logan said. “I've come through with entire cartloads of—­”

Kiara gave him a sharp look; he caught himself. “Things,” he finished. “Something's obviously changed.”

They took it slow approaching the canyon. Logan wished there were another way to go. He could feel eyes on them. There should be another checkpoint around here, but they saw no one.

“What do you think?” Kiara asked.

“You know what I think, Lieutenant,” Logan said.

“Let's keep our wits about us,” she said.

Logan led them to the mouth of the canyon.

“Here we go,” he said. He didn't like that it was so narrow; they had to ride single file. Once more he took the lead, Kiara at his back, then the packhorses, the prisoner, and Chaudri. Mendez had the rear. Pebbles clattered down the canyon wall, once on each side. Smugglers on the high ground.

They got about fifty yards into the canyon before the archers appeared. A grating noise came from behind them. Then a deafening crash.

With all of the horses behind them, Logan couldn't see more than a cloud of dust. “What was that?”

“They've dropped a wagon or something behind us,” Chaudri shouted. “Nearly fell on my head!”

Clever. They were boxed in, with only one way to go. It might be a scare tactic, or it might be something worse. The archers were a nice touch. Shooting from an elevated position at a long line of riders, they almost couldn't miss. They could cut down half of Logan's team in seconds. They wouldn't need more than five or six men to pull it off, either. Two to throw the wagon, two with the bows. Another to negotiate.

Right on cue, another man appeared, this one bearded and not wearing a helmet. “Hello down there,” he said.

“Have you lost a wagon?” Kiara called.

The man grinned, revealing a mouth without teeth. “Just wanted to get your attention.”

“Well, you have it. What do you want?”

“The cost of passage.”

“What would that be?”

The man looked them over for a few moments, and conferred with someone they couldn't see. “Thirty silvers,” he said. An outrageous sum, even for this.

“A little steep, don't you think?” Kiara asked.

“Hey, it's the end of the season,” he said. “And you almost brought the Landorians to our door.”

“I'll give you half of that,” Kiara said. The archers nocked arrows; she ignored them. She gave Logan a hand signal.
Take cover.

He eased his mount forward a bit, trying to keep the attention of one of the archers. There had to be a way to get up to that higher position, but he might have to ride a long way to find it. And with at least one bowman trying to shoot him from above.

The negotiator had disappeared; some kind of discussion was taking place. He came back into view. “Show us the money,” he said.

Kiara hesitated, then lifted the purse and let some of it spill out into her hand. They'd already burned through the gold and gems; only silver and copper coins remained. A decent sum, but she'd been right. It would be about half of their ask.

“Satisfied?” she asked. She dumped it back into the purse and tied the string.

“Throw it here, m'lady.”

Logan gave her the tiniest shake of the head. She should push back on that.

“It'll be yours the moment we're out of this canyon,” Kiara said.

“It's already ours. Toss it up.”

“No.” Kiara nudged her mare forward.

The negotiator made a sign to his archers. They bent their bows.

“Keep moving,” Logan whispered. “Spread out a little.”

His mare shook her head; she wanted to move faster. Logan held fast to keep her at a walk; bolting now wouldn't help. Gravel slid down the sides of the canyon. The archers hadn't fully drawn, but they were shadowing him. He came to a hard turn, a natural choke point. The perfect spot to pin them down. The negotiator kept watching them, clearly uneasy. Kiara's refusal to pay had disrupted some plan.

“All right, that's far enough!” he shouted.

They ignored him and kept riding. Then he made a fist and pulled it down, a signal that Logan recognized. Every branch of military Earth-­side used that one. The meaning was clear.

Execute.

“Down!” he shouted.

Bows thrummed from above. One arrow shattered on the rocks above Kiara. Another one clipped Logan's shoulder, but glanced off the alusteel.

“Go, go!” Mendez shouted. He and Chaudri were bottled up at the back.

Five seconds until the archers could fire again.

Logan dug his heels into the Arabian mare.

Four. . .

Three. . .

Two. . .

One!

He dropped to the side of his mount. An arrow shot past his ear. Hooves thundered behind him; the others were riding hard. How long was this damn canyon? He should have seen this coming. Should have known from the way they set up over the canyon with archers. He leaned into the next turn. His shoulder scraped against stone. It was getting narrower.

“Getting tight up here,” he said. Much more and his horse wouldn't be able to squeeze through. Then they were all dead for certain.

“Don't stop now!” Chaudri shouted.

Open sky ahead. They were nearly out of the canyon. Just a little bit farther.

He'd forgotten to count. An arrow slammed into his back. It threw him forward against the mare's neck. Hurt like hell, but without the armor he'd have been dead. Someone grunted behind him, another hit for the archers. Logan hoped it wasn't Thorisson. A corpse wouldn't tell them anything.

I won't be torn up if it is, though.

There was no time to look back. Logan charged forward. The negotiator poked his head over the rim. His eyes widened when he saw Logan still mounted. And raising his crossbow. He ducked away; Logan's shot went wide. One of the bowmen returned fire; the arrow whistled past Logan's face.

Jesus!

“Shoot the horses!” a smuggler shouted.

Damn. The horses weren't armored, and they couldn't afford to lose a mount now.

Four. . .

Three. . .

Two. . .

Flame spouted over the top of the canyon. One of the archers fell screaming, his arms aflame. His body slammed into the canyon's floor. Logan's mare jumped over the body. The air smelled of charred flesh. A hooded figure leaped across overhead. The tail of his cloak was on fire.

“Did you see that?” Logan shouted.

“It was a little hard to miss,” Chaudri shouted back.

Q
uinn was out of coins. Even with all the charm and street magic he could muster, this smuggler's pass had emptied his purse with some efficiency. He'd taken to avoiding the checkpoints that he could. The Tioni mule handled uneven terrain well; a few times they managed to climb a rocky slope or slip quietly up a dry creek to get around a few of the less ambitious gatekeepers.

He'd been coming back from one such workaround when he finally caught up to his companions. They were a few hundred feet below, in the bottom of a canyon. Five smugglers stood along the rim in between him and them. They were about a hundred yards below him, down a nasty slope of loose rock and gravel. Two of them had bows. He heard one of them demanding money. Thirty silvers.
God, I hope they have it.

If the negotiations went sour, Logan and Kiara and the others would be like fish in a barrel.

He stashed his mule in a secluded spot and hurried down the incline. Tried not to dislodge any more gravel than necessary. He picked up snippets of the conversation over the comm unit. The demand for money. Kiara's refusal. Logan and another man shouting. Then they started shooting.

Damn it.

He was fifty yards away now, close enough that they'd hear him if he was careless. He checked to be sure his sword was loose in the scabbard. He crouched low as he moved. The moss-­covered stone gave a good, quiet grip. In another minute he was level with the smugglers and running hard.

The nearest bowman had nocked an arrow; he went to draw. Quinn raised an arm when he ran and made a throwing motion. A fireball streaked from his palm. It expanded as it flew, enveloped the archer as he drew again.
God, the gel-­fuel is really something.
The man was on fire instantly. He screamed something terrible, took a step, and fell into the canyon.

Two swordsmen were running for the far end of the canyon. Out of reach. The other bowman was the real threat. He was closer, but on the far side of the canyon. Quinn tried to lob another fireball, but the elemental projector was out of juice. It sputtered just enough to catch his own cloak on fire.

Perfect.
He kept running.

How far across is that gap?
It couldn't be more than five yards. He probably shouldn't think about it too long, so he ran and jumped. His boots caught the rim. He tumbled over, hit the ground hard. The bowman started to turn.
Why didn't I draw my sword first? Damn.
He tried pulling it loose. The man had an arrow nocked. He turned and drew in a single movement. Quinn fumbled the projector controls but shot a jet of air . . . which is what he wanted. He aimed low. Dirt and pebbles flew up into the archer's face, blinding him. His arrow flew over Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn's sword rasped out of the scabbard. The bowman clearly heard it, as he tried to bring up his longbow to block a downward slash. But Quinn used the sword like a crossbar instead, and shoved the man as hard as he could. He tumbled over the edge.

The other two were nearly to the mouth of the canyon. Quinn ran after them. He closed on one of them, the man who'd been doing the negotiations. They must have taken a lot out of him, because he'd slowed to a walk and was huffing like an asthmatic.

Quinn forced himself to slow. He stilled his breathing and slipped forward, stalking quietly up behind him. Thought he could do it, which is why he wasn't ready when the man suddenly turned and lashed out with his sword. Quinn backpedaled and scrambled back. He barely kept hold of his own blade.

“Going to hit a man in the back?” the smuggler snarled. He had no front teeth, and spoke with a kind of hiss. “Only a fool attacks downwind.”

Quinn scrabbled away across the rocks and regained his feet. The man came at him. Logan's warning kept flashing through his mind:
a twelve-­year-­old with a sword could gut him like a pig in a fair fight.

This was definitely not a twelve-­year-­old.

The man jumped forward and slashed at him. Quinn knocked the blow aside, racking his brain for a way to tip the odds in his favor. No magic, no prep, and no plan.

I'm in trouble.

At least this one wasn't as strong as Logan. During all their practice sessions, the man had pounded on him relentlessly. It wasn't just how good he was, but how devastating the blows felt even when Quinn was able to block them. The smuggler seemed less threatening by comparison.

Still, Quinn danced back from his next cut; dodging was easier than parrying—­another bit of Logan's wisdom. Then he attacked, though not as fast as he could. No need to give away the sword's advantage just yet. The man parried easily. His counterattack nearly took Quinn's arm off at the shoulder, were it not for the hidden armor.

His arms were starting to feel leaden. And no matter what, he was definitely outmatched. He had to finish this.

He made another slow attack. The smuggler blocked it with contempt, and attacked again. He got a piece of Quinn's side, this time. Hurt like hell, but didn't cut him.

Thank God for alusteel.

Quinn made another attack, the same overhand slash he'd done two times before. The smuggler snickered as he went to block. But Quinn spun it and made a low side-­hand slash instead. Both hands, swinging as hard and fast as he could at the knees. The sword shuddered as his blade cut through sinew and bone. The man cried out and went down, his leg fountaining blood.

Quinn didn't linger to see if he died.

L
ogan didn't know what had happened to the archers . . . and he didn't really care. All that mattered at the moment was escaping this death trap of a canyon. The lieutenant was nearly caught up to him; behind her came Thorisson—­still alive, it seemed—­Chaudri, and then Mendez. Thirty yards to the mouth of the canyon. Twenty yards. He pulled gently back on the reins, slowing the mare to a trot. He wouldn't put it past the smugglers to have a few men out here, to mop up anyone who made it through.