Fool’s Quest

My behavior was frustrating him. “Hogen!” He actually screamed the man’s name. “An intruder raids our camp! Will you do nothing?” With an angry glance at me, he suddenly veered and began to stump off toward Hogen. Not what I wanted.

Axe down, knife sheathed. I stripped off my gloves, then took out my sling and the carefully selected stones that went with it. Nice round stones. A sling makes a sound, but not a loud one. The old man was shouting as he went. I hoped it would cover the whirling of my sling. I hoped I could still hit with it. I threaded the loop over my finger, set the stone in the pouch, and gripped the other knotted end of the cord. I swung it and then gave the snap that sent my missile flying. It missed. “You missed!” the old man shouted and tried to hurry. I chose another stone. Launched it. It went winging through the trees.

Hogen was trudging back to the camp, awkwardly, using my wall-sword as a crutch and gripping the ends of several branches under his arm as he dragged them back to the fire. My third stone struck a tree trunk with a loud thwack! Hogen turned toward the sound and stared. The old man followed his gaze and then turned to look at me. And my fourth stone glanced off the side of his head.

He went down, half-stunned. Hogen had resumed his trek toward the camp, dragging his firewood. He passed an arm’s length from his fallen leader and never once looked aside at him. Using the tent for cover, I slipped toward the forest and circled the camp. My prey had fallen onto his back in the deep snow. He was thrashing feebly, disoriented but not unconscious. Hogen had his back to us. He had dropped his branches near the fire and was examining the slashed tent and scattered supplies in consternation. I raced toward the downed man.

He was struggling to sit up when I dived on him. He gave a wordless cry and groped for the sword. Wrong tactic. I was inside the range of it and I let all my frustration power my fists. I hit him hard in the jaw, and his eyes went unfocused. Before he could recover I rolled him facedown in the snow. I caught one of his flailing hands and took a tight wrap around his wrist with the sling cord. I had to set my knee between his shoulder blades and struggle before I could catch and control his other arm. He was old and half-stunned, but also tough and fighting for his life. When I finally controlled his other arm, I took two tight loops of the sling cord around it at the elbow and then bound it as tightly as I could to his other wrist. Elegant it was not, but I hoped it was as uncomfortable as it looked. I checked my knots, and then rolled him onto his back on top of his bound arms. I picked up Verity’s sword, seized him by the back of his collar, and dragged him kicking through the snow. He came to himself enough to shout obscenities at me and call me, with absolute truth, several different varieties of bastard. I welcomed his shouting. While Hogen was unable to respond to it, it might mask whatever small sounds I made as I panted and heaved to haul him well away from the camp.

I stopped when I could no longer see the tent or the campfire. I let go of him and stood, my hands on my knees, catching my breath. I tried to judge how much time I had alone with him. The other mercenaries might be returning. Or might not, if they’d encountered the Ringhill Guard. Riddle, Lant, and Perseverance might be coming. Or they might not. It was entirely possible that they’d chosen to follow the direct road to Salter’s Deep. I evicted these thoughts from my mind and crouched in the snow next to my captive. I pushed my Wit-awareness down. I did so reluctantly, knowing it would leave me more vulnerable to stealth attack. Yet it was essential that I quench shared sensations to be able to do what I needed to do.

“Now. We are going to have a conversation. It can be friendly, or it can be very painful. I want you to tell me everything you know about the pale folk. I want to know all about the day you invaded my home. Most of all, I want to know about the woman and the girl that you took from my home.”

He cursed me again, but not in a very inventive way. When I wearied of it, I scooped a great handful of snow and pushed it into his face. He sputtered and shouted, and I added more until he grew silent. I sat back on my heels. He shook his head and dislodged some of it. Some had melted and was running down his wet red cheeks. “That doesn’t look comfortable. Would you like to talk to me now?” He lifted his head and shoulders as if he would sit up. I pushed him back down and shook my head at him. “No. Stay as you are. Tell me what you know.”

“When my men return, they will cut you to ribbons. Slowly.”