Rides a Dread Legion Free with Bonus Material

Gulamendis hid his confusion and nodded. He couldnt bring himself to smile at a dwarf. He turned to the Elf Queen and said, My lady, I am bereft of wits and in need of rest and food. If we could speak tomorrow, I will give a better account of myself.

  That is fine, said Queen Aglaranna. She motioned for Gorandis and said, Take him to rest and eat and we shall meet again tomorrow. To Gulamendis she said, Rest and be well, for we have ample time to discuss so many things.

  The Demon Master nodded, bowed, and allowed himself to be led away by his woodland guide. He wished what the Queen had said was true, for that would mean a clean escape from Andcardia and the way between the worlds closed off for good and all. But in the pit of his stomach he feared it would not be true, and that in quickly diminishing days, a danger of horrific proportion was coming to this idyllic place.

  CHAPTER 12

  SURVIVAL

  All she knew was pain.

  Something vague urged Sandreena to do something, but she couldnt grasp what that might be. She could barely breathe, and muted pain would suddenly rise up to cut through her like a hot blade. In the distance, someone groaned.

  A pain behind her eyes roused her, and she thought she felt hands behind her head, lifting it. They were strong but gentle. Water touched her lips.

  Thirsty. Her throat was parched and her eyes felt as if sand had been packed behind the lids. She tried to open them, but found the effort more than she could manage. A voice softly said, Ah, I think youll live.

  Again a firm but gentle hand lifted her head as water touched her lips. She drank deeply, and then the pain returned.

  A groan escaped her lips as she again tried to open her eyes, and at last managed. Her vision swam and images went in and out of focus as she tried to see what the light and dark shapes before her were.

  Slowly, said a soft, male voice.

  Sandreena sipped as more water was put to her lips. It tasted metallic and she realized it was the flavor of dried blood, and from the sourness of her expression, most likely her own. She tried to move, and then the pain hit her.

  She almost wept from it. There was no part of her that didnt hurt, and worse than anything she could rememberand she had endured her fair share of wounds. She blinked, and felt a wet cloth across her face, gently wiping around her eyes.

  Shapes and images began to resolve themselves and she saw she was in a dimly lit cave. The single flame, a floating wick of some fashion in a bowl of oil, gave yellowish highlights to an otherwise grey and black environment. She still could not make out the features of the figure hovering over her, for he had the single flame behind him.

  Almost whispering, he said, Maybe youll live.

  What happened? she tried to say, but the words were little more than a sigh.

  Ill pretend I understand you, he said, moving to where he had a cloth on the floor of the cave, next to the flame. She could see him, though the vision in her left eye was blurry. Closing it made it easier to see.

  He looked ancient, yet there was an old ironwood quality to his touch that told her despite his age this man was still strong. His features were craggy, a sharp nose and deep-set eyes, under a heavy brow, a jutting jaw covered in a grey beard. There was nothing appealing about this old man, yet she could imagine when he was young he might have had a certain presence. Some women found that more appealing than a handsome face.

  His hands worked quickly as he spoke. Someone wanted you very dead. He paused as he considered what to add to the bowl of water he had on the cloth before him. You were stabbed several times, stripped naked, then thrown off the cliffs. They tossed some clothing after you.

  Sandreena could barely move. Her body was heavily bandaged, with what felt like lumpy cloth rags. She reeked of something alien, and she barely had the strength to speak. Whoare you?

  Me? asked the old man, smiling. I keep to myself. The people around here dont like strangers.

  So Idiscovered, she said, letting her head fall back and her eyes close. I

  You need to rest, he said. I fished you out three days ago. Didnt know if youd make it. With a chuckle, he said, You are a mess, girl.

  As she felt herself drift off, she whispered, Youre not the first to say that.

  Time passed as an alternating series of dreamless sleep and short periods of consciousness. Sandreena knew she had spoken to the man at least once, perhaps more often, but couldnt remember anything said. She finally awoke with a clear head, though it still throbbed as she tried to sit up. She was under a pile of skins, seal or otter, or some other creatures pelts, on a pile of what could best be called filthy rags. For a pillow, her blood-stained tabard had been rolled up and put under her head. She realized she was nude, save for a mass of rags that served as bandages. She was hardly worried about modesty; besides, most of her was covered by the bandages. She ached terribly and did a quick inventory. She had at least a dozen cuts, several of them deep. She lifted one bandage on her leg, tied around and knotted, and saw a puckered purplish wound roughly sewn together. From the pain in her back she knew she had a deep cut there, and when she coughed, the pain almost caused her to pass out again.

  She took a deep breath and it hurt. But rather than the raw, stabbing pain of a fresh wound, the pains she endured were the dull, constant ache of wounds healing. Not for the first time she wished she had had the gift for the majestic healing spells some of her and other orders could offer from truly blessed priests and monks. She could hurry healing along, if the wounds werent too bad, but she needed focus and strength, two commodities she lacked at the moment.

  She was alone. She struggled to sit up even more, and putting a fur behind her back, to cushion her against the cave wall, was an exhausting task, but she managed. She was tired of lying on her back. And she wanted questions answered.

  She dozed off, and when she opened her eyes again, the old man was sitting beside the fire, boiling water. He glanced over and grinned. Crab! he said with enthusiasm. I thought you might be ready for something beside broth.

  She saw he had fashioned an interesting cook pot, using hard, tanned hides stretched over a wooden frame, making a large, shallow bowl. She had seen its like before, and had been surprised it didnt go up in flames when put over the fire, but she had seen that as long as there was enough water in the container, and if the fire didnt reach the wood itself, the water would steam and eventually boil, but the hides would only scorch, not burn.

  Weakly, she asked, Where did you get crab?

  He pointed out the cave mouth. Theres a pool, at the base of the rocks, and when the tide is high, they swim in. Some good fish, too, when the tide is out, but I have to catch them by handits harder. With the crabshe made a dipping motion with his handyou just scoop them up from behind, and they cant pinch. He reached into a sack and plucked out a large one, dropping it in the steaming water. With a shrug, he said, No butter, then he started laughing as if this were a very funny joke. As thankful as Sandreena was to this man for her life, it was obvious he was a little mad.

  How did you find me? she asked, her voice raspy.

  Hearing her tone, he stopped overseeing the boiling water and scuttled to her side, and took up a water skin. I left this here for you, but you didnt find it. He held up the water skin and she drank eagerly. The water was bitter with minerals and badly tanned leather flavors, but it quenched her thirst eventually.

  He sat back, looking at the makeshift boiling pot for a moment, then said, I was looking for crabs and found you on the rocks. Almost dead. I carried you back here.

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. He didnt look strong enough to carry her, but she had learned early in life that appearances could be misleading. The last thing I remember was killing an assassin, maybe two, and then someone coming up behind me. She fell silent a moment, then said, I got overconfident.

  The old man laughed, a harsh, barking sound. Thats why I have no confidence at all! Im a mouse! I hide in cracks and crevices, behind the walls, under the floor!

  Youve survived, obs
erved Sandreena as the old man used two sticks to pull the crabs out of the boiling water. He put one on another poorly tanned skin, perhaps a rabbit or hare, and picked up a rock. He smashed the crabs shell repeatedly, until she could easily get at the steaming meat inside. He carried the makeshift platter to her, and put it on her lap.

  Yes, Ive survived, he said, with a note of bitterness in his voice. Ive survived, he repeated.

  Who are you? she asked.

  Who am I? he responded. He sat back as if considering a difficult question. Those in the village call me the hermit, when they even admit Im around. He looked around, as if somehow he could see through the caves walls and was considering the larger surroundings outside. I came from over the mountains, a long time ago.

  How long?

  A long time, he said as if that were ample explanation.

  Do you have a name?

  Again he looked as if he had to think about this. Finally he said, I did, Im certain, but its been so long since anyones used it, I cant rightly remember what it might be.

  She shifted her weight and felt the pain in her side. Ribs?

  I think they kicked you for a while, he said. Ruthiahe invoked the name of the Goddess of Luckmust have been watching over you.

  She laughed and instantly regretted it. It hurt everywhere.

  No, you should be dead, insisted the old man, nodding vigorously. Six deep wounds, any of which should have killed you, and none did. Lots of other cuts, but none so bad, but together they could have bled you to death. I think they knocked you out, stripped you naked, then cut you up a bitI guess they were upset with you.

  Well, I killed one of them, probably another as well.

  Yes, he said, nodding as if in agreement. That would make them upset. After they took your armor and your weapons, they threw you over the cliffthey must have thought you already dead.

  You should have died on the rocks, but the tide was in and you landed in the only deep pool near the village. Again he nodded vigorously. Ruthia!

  Ill make an offering in her shrine, first opportunity. She wasnt jesting, as she took devotion very seriously, though her order and Ruthias saw the world in very different lights; hers always trying to balance things, theirs accepting chaos and imbalance as inevitable.

  That would be good, agreed the hermit. The water was very cold, and that seemed to staunch the bleeding, and you were only there a short while, else you would have drowned before you washed up on the rocks. I found you and carried you here. He reached over and held up what appeared to be another bunch of skins and furs. Look, I made you this.

  Not entirely sure what it was he was offering, she said, Thank you.

  You can wear this when you feel better.

  This struck her: she was more than two weeks travel by horse from the nearest Temple and even if there was a Keshian authority nearby, which there wasnt, they would have no interest in a girl wrapped in skins claiming to be a Knight-Adamant of the Order of the Shield of the Weak. On foot she was a month away from help, if she got strong enough to walk, and without weapons or coin, her chances of reaching the Temple down in Ithra were close to none.

  She lay back and sighed, then started to nibble at the crab. It was surprisingly good, if a little salty.

  What? he asked, hearing her sigh.

  I guess Im going to have to find those who did this to me.

  He looked at her as if she were the mad one. Why?

  They have my weapons, and armor, and a very good horse. I want them back.

  He laughed, a short, barking sound, then stopped, then laughed again, full-throated and deep. After a minute of laughter, she heard him say, Ah, dont say I never warned you: youre asking a lot of Ruthia after all shes already done for you.

  Perhaps, answered Sandreena. But when Im done with that bunch, theyll be the ones praying for mercy. She ate more crab and the hermit fell silent.

  Days passed, and finally Sandreena returned to an awareness of time. She had no idea how long she had lingered in the cave, but knew it was at least three weeks, perhaps a month. She would sport a nasty assortment of scars, for the hermit had sewn her up with some sort of fiber, perhaps stripped from seaweed or a plant close by. Shed been tended by all manner of healers, from the finest magic-using priests in the temples to village medicine women with their poultices and teas. She found it oddly amusing that she was recovering from the worst collection of injuries in her life, perhaps more than all her previous fights and mishaps combined, with the help of the most primitive ministrations ever. The only thing worse would have been to crawl off into a cave and lick her wounds like a dog.

  As she began picking out her stitches with a fish bonethe ones she could reachshe reminded herself she needed to thank this hermit, as well as her Goddessand perhaps the hermit was correct, she needed to include Ruthia as wellfor her life. That she was still alive was proof that some benevolent force was looking out for her.

  By the time the hermit returned, she had removed all the stitches she could reach and, without words, she held out the fish bone and motioned to her naked back. He nodded and sat down and quickly had those stitches out. She could feel a little blood and tenderness, but at last she could move without the constant tugging.

  She pulled on the rough hide dress he had made for her and said, There, thats better.

  I was going to wait a little longer; some of those wounds were deep, said the hermit.

  One thing I know is wounds, and another is my own body, Sandreena said. Ive healed enough so those stitches would only start being a problem if we waited much longer to cut them out. She indicated the cave with her hand. You dont have a lot of chirurgeons tools here.

  He found that very funny and laughed deeply. I did once. Then he stopped. He tilted his head as if listening for something. Did I?

  Whatever had happened to this man, long enough ago, it was lost in even his own memory. A tragedy, illness, or a vengeful god, whatever the cause, most of his memory and mind were gone. Still, he had visited kindness on a stranger with no hope of recompense; she was without even the most fundamental possessions. He had found her as naked as the day she was born, and as helpless.

  Still, she felt a debt. Once I settle matters with those killers, is there anything I can do for you?

  He was silent a long time, then he said, I would like a real pot. Then his eyes widened and he sat up. No, a kettle! He nodded vigorously. Yes, a fine iron kettle! His eyes grew even wider. And a knife! A knife so I can clean my catch! Yes, that would be wonderful.

  Sandreena felt her heart break. His desires were so modest and his gratitude for even the possibly empty promise of those minor treasures moved her. That and more, she whispered.

  There was silence in the cave while he built up the little fire he kept banked during the day; the sun was setting and soon it would be very dark. She lay back and closed her eyes. She needed rest. In a day, two at the most, she had to leave this cave, and then some men wearing black caps had to die.

  Sandreena hefted the small tree branch. The makeshift club was her only weapon, and she felt even more underdressed in the otter skins she wore than she had when she was naked. Her bloody, shredded clothing and tabard were unwearable. Being undressed under a pile of rags was one thing, wearing them in place of armor was another.

  She was as steady on her feet as she was going to be on her current diet of crabmeat, shellfish, and the occasional wild tuber the hermit cooked up. She could use a good meal, but knew she wouldnt have one until she put paid to these injuries and got whatever of her armor and clothing back. She hoped her horse was all right; it was one of the best mounts she had ever ridden. The mare was dependable, even-tempered, and meaner than a tavern rat when needed.

  Sandreena approached the back of the tavern, the last place she had any memory of, and the logical starting point for finding her attackers. She hoped Enos and his family were all right, despite their being particularly unpleasant people.

  There were no lights on and there should b
e. It was twilight and even if there were no guests, Ivet should be in the kitchen preparing a meal for her husband and sons. By the time she reached the window, she knew in her bones they were not all right.

  She quickly made her way to the one door in the rear of the building, where she had seen the boys unloading the wagon. The door was open, and in the kitchen she found the first body. Ivet lay sprawled across the floor, her head at an awkward angle. Sandreena quickly judged someone had merely grabbed the woman from behind and broken her neck. Her clothing was intact, so she was spared being raped before she was killed. Sandreena knew that dead was dead, but at least it had been quick and relatively painless.

  The Knight-Adamant had no idea why Ivet was killed, whether for offering a room and food to a traveler, or to ensure no one knew who had killed the wandering knight, or just for the pleasure of killing. She knew without looking that the father and boys would be dead in another part of the inn. She did wonder if some of those pathetic weapons she had seen them use might still be around.

  She found the three swords and a badly scarred buckler shield stored in a food locker. The weapons were so inferior the murderers left them behind, even though they pillaged about every piece of food in the inn. She found a bag of millet. For one desperate moment the thought of even that simple grain caused her mouth to water in anticipation. She inspected the bag in the gloom and found the millet unroasted. Shed have to find a pan, start a fire, then boil waterShe threw the bag aside and kept searching.

  In another corner of the kitchen she found a platter with an apple on it. It was hardly fresh, but still edible and Sandreena devoured it in moments. She sighed. She would probably end up dead in the next few hours, but if she survived, she vowed shed never get this hungry again.

  She returned outside with the buckler and the best of the three swordsstill duller than any sword not used on a practice pell should beand went to the window where she found the men she killed. Given where she was standing in the run-in shed when she was struck from behind, she assumed that whoever saw her kill his companions must have been standingThere! She fixed the point in her mind and hurried over. Given the time between her short fight and being attacked herself, this was the most logical place for her assailants to be watching. She studied the landscape in the fading light. Soon the moons would be up and shed be able to travel, but now she had to deduce where to go next.