Chapter 6
The inn was deathly silent, save for the light patter of rain on the windows and the last few spits and crackles from the fireplace. Jade closed her eyes, listening to the dull sounds. Even the thunder had vanished, and the storm seemed to have lost most of its fury. With each passing minute, fear seemed to envelope her more and more. The darkness of the common room certainly didn’t help. She glanced over to her right, seeing Kendril’s dark shape just a few feet away. The Ghostwalker had not moved since he had sat down. For a terrifying moment, she wondered if he had fallen asleep.
“Jade?” his whispered voice came out of the darkness, dispelling her fears.
She nodded, then realized it was too dark too really see. “Yes?”
Kendril shifted slightly, and Jade could feel his face turning towards her. “Do you know how to reload a pistol?”
The question took her slightly by surprise. “Uh…I don’t—no.”
There was a rustling of fabric, then she felt a cold wooden and metal object being thrust into her hands. “Time to learn. I won’t have time to reload during a fight, so I’ll need you to do it for me. Can you handle that?”
“Yes,” she whispered back, feeling the awkward shape of the gun. “Yes, I think I can. What do I do?”
“The gun’s already loaded, but I’ll walk you through the motions.” Kendril reached out a hand, and Jade felt a small, heavy paper tube pressed into her palm. “This is a pistol cartridge. It’s filled with gunpowder with a bullet at one end. It’s made out of stiff paper, and tied at the top. Pinch the end. You can feel the bullet.”
Jade did, and felt the hard lump. “Yeah, I feel it.”
“Good. When you reload the pistol, you have to bite off the end of the cartridge, pour the gunpowder into the barrel, then the bullet, and then the paper cartridge itself.”
“The paper? Why?”
“It holds the bullet in place, so it doesn’t fall out.” Kendril’s voice was still in a low whisper, so that Jade had to lean forward to catch his words. “Feel under the barrel of the gun. There should be a small ramrod.”
Jade found it. “Okay.”
“You pull that out, then stick it down the barrel a couple of times to jam the bullet and the gunpowder all the way down. Two or three sharp, hard motions. Understand?”
She felt the metal ramrod. “Understand. Then what?”
“Replace the ramrod. If you don’t put it back, you could lose it, or worse, leave it in the barrel when the gun is fired. After that, thumb back the flintlock, and it’s ready to fire.” He was silent a minute, listening to the tapping of the rain on the windows. “All right. Can you repeat it all back to me?”
Jade felt her stomach tighten, but grasped the cartridge tightly in her hand. “I bite off the end of the cartridge, pour the gunpowder in the barrel, then the bullet—” she hesitated.
“And the paper.”
“And the paper. Then I pull out the ramrod, jam it down, replace the ramrod, and click back the lock.” Finished, she lifted the gun in her left hand. It felt remarkably heavy. “It doesn’t sound that difficult,” she said with more confidence than she felt.
“It’s not,” said Kendril quietly. “Problem is, it’s easy to get flustered when a lot is going on. There’ll be other people shooting, shouting, and swinging swords. You have to focus on what you’re doing, and ignore whatever’s happening on the other side of this bar. Here’s two more. Keep them safe.” He dropped the cartridges into her hands.
Jade felt her hands begin to tremble. She closed her hand tightly around the cartridges, trying desperately to steady herself. “I’ll try.”
His hand reached over and gently took back the pistol. Jade heard him cock it with a sharp snick-click. She clasped her hands together. They were shaking pretty badly.
“Kendril?”
“Yes?”
She heard the fireplace give a loud crack. “I’m not sure how much good I’ll be to you. I’m—“ she paused, taking a deep breath. “I’m scared. More scared than I’ve ever been before.” She gave a sudden soft laugh. “That I can remember, anyway.”
Kendril’s voice softened slightly. “You’ll do fine.”
She was quiet for a minute. Jade glanced over through the shadows at the man next to her.
“Are you afraid?”
For a moment there was silence. Finally Kendril’s voice broke through the darkness between them. “Many things frighten me, Jade,” he said in a low voice. “But not death.”
“Now,” said Montrose, snapping his pocket watch shut.
The five men moved to the door and out onto the porch.
Sir Reginald retreated into the corner, glancing anxiously out the window.
Montrose got up from his rocking chair, hefting his crossbow easily in one hand. Ignoring the nobleman, he stepped out onto the porch behind his men.
The street was deserted. There was little light at all, and the shape of The Laughing Dragon could be seen like a towering shadow before them. The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle. Somewhere amongst the rag-tag buildings of the Outpost a dog barked.
The men moved into the dark street, fanning out as they crossed the muddy ground. Montrose walked slowly behind them, his crossbow in his hands and his eye watching the buildings around them carefully. His mace dangled by the leather strap that held it to his belt.
The first two men moved quietly up the stone steps, and flattened themselves on either side of the front door to the inn. One of them drew a long, gleaming knife, smiling cruelly. The other already had a long sword in his hand. He looked around cautiously.
A third man vaulted up the steps, and bent down by the door. A pair of lock-picking tools were in his hands.
The last two thugs stayed near the bottom of the steps, their backs turned to the inn and their eyes carefully scanning the empty street.
Montrose remained standing a few feet away, his crossbow now slung across his shoulder.
“Be quick about it,” he hissed.
With a nod, the man by the door began to fiddle with his tools.
Jade was almost drifting to sleep herself when a sudden creak from behind the front door of the tavern jolted her back to reality. She froze, not even daring to breathe. Another creak followed, then what sounded like a shuffling of footsteps outside. She glanced over at Kendril, who hadn’t moved.
“Kendril…” she whispered, her heart leaping up into her throat.
He nodded slightly in the darkness, but said nothing.
There was a sudden click and a rattling from the front door. Jade felt her heart stop.
They were coming.
“It’s a shame, really,” whispered the thug with the sword, looking down curiously at his comrade picking the lock. “Killing people in their beds and all, I mean. Not much of a challenge.”
“Shut up, Queltin.” The man trying to pick the lock shifted, trying to see better what he was doing. “And keep your voice down. If Montrose hears it he’ll belt ya.”
Queltin mumbled something incomprehensible.
The man with the long knife sniffed loudly. “Ain’t ya got that lock open yet, Harold? C’mon, let’s move!”
“Maybe if you’d shut up for a minute, Danforth, I could get this thing open—“ there were a couple more moments of silence, and then a loud click. The thug by the door stood with a smile. “There,” he said triumphantly. “We’re in.”
With a loud creak, the front door swung open.
Jade glanced over at Kendril, her heart racing. He continued to sit silently, his back against the bar.
There was the heavy tromp of a boot, and then another.
Jade’s whole body felt paralyzed with fear. She held her breath, watching Kendril desperately.
“Cover your ears,” he whispered.
In one horribly quick motion he stood and whipped out two pistols, both pointed in the direction of the front door.
Before Jade could even move a muscle one of th
e pistols fired, belching out a combination of flame and smoke in the direction of the front door.
Harold was two steps inside the door and Danforth was right behind him when the gun went off.
Harold’s head jerked back, and Danforth felt something warm and wet strike his own face as the body of his companion slammed back into him, knocking them both out onto the porch.
Queltin leapt away from the door as a second shot tore through the wooden frame, showering splinters in all directions.
With a bellowed curse Montrose brought his crossbow up, crouching for cover by the steps. He struck the nearest thug on the arm. “The back! Move!”
The two henchmen at the bottom of the steps leapt into action, racing through the puddles towards the side of the inn.
Danforth struggled to his feet, spitting and swearing. He searched the porch desperately for his knife.
With a snarl, Queltin moved back to the door, his sword held at the ready. With a yell he kicked the door in, then charged into the inn.
Kendril had no sooner finished firing his second pistol then he dropped both of the smoking firearms next to Jade. He vaulted over the bar. “Reload,” he ordered, then whirled to face the door across the dark, table-strewn room. Reaching within the folds of his cloak, he drew two short swords, holding one in each hand.
Jade, her hands shaking almost uncontrollably, reached for the pistols.
The first gun report made Maklavir instantly crane his neck to the open door behind him. He was just in time to see the flash and hear the roar of the second gun, then remembered what Kendril had told him about the back door. With a muttered expletive, he turned back, lifting the heavy blunderbuss. It felt awkward in his hands. He didn’t think he had ever shot a firearm in his whole life.
Gritting his teeth, he brought the weapon up to his shoulder.
One thing was for sure. He had to make the first shot count.
Queltin kicked a chair out of his way, then pushed over a table as he moved across the crowded common room.
A shadowy figure, dressed in some kind of dark cloak and holding two short swords, stood between him and the bar.
Queltin spat onto the ground, then launched into the attack, his sword sweeping in a tight arc towards his foe.
To his surprise, the man deflected the blow, and Queltin himself had to dodge out of the way from the counter attack.
With sheer animal ferocity the black-cloaked man attacked and forced Queltin back under a hail of blows.
The henchman tripped on a chair, crashing into the mantle of the fireplace and barely ducking out of the way before one of the short swords cut a swathe where his head had been moments before.
From the shadows Danforth suddenly appeared, his long knife aimed at the man’s back.
Queltin allowed himself a smile, waiting for the unexpected thrust to end the fight permanently.
At the last moment, the man twisted out of the way and Danforth’s blow met empty space instead of his opponent’s ribcage.
With supernatural quickness, the black-cloaked man slashed one of his blades across the length of Danforth’s outstretched arm.
The thug screamed, grabbing his torn arm. He lurched forward into a table.
Queltin dodged back and kicked a stool out of his way.
Montrose had been wrong. There was no way this was some mere trapper or hunter. Trappers and hunters didn’t fight like this.
For the first time in a long while, Queltin felt a sudden stab of fear.
Jade struggled to find the cartridge, then realized it was on the floor next to her, right where she had placed it before.
She fumbled with it in her hand, and brought it to her mouth amidst the ringing sounds of blade upon blade and tables being overturned from the other side of the bar. Gripping the cartridge between her teeth, she tore open what she thought was the top, but quickly realized that she had pulled too hard.
The paper came away easily and gunpowder flew out, filling her mouth with its acrid taste and scattering all over the floor.
Jade spat in disgust, more gunpowder spilling from the open cartridge. A scream sounded from the other side of the bar.
Panicked, she poured what was left of the gunpowder into the barrel of the pistol, but then somehow lost hold of the paper, which fluttered down somewhere to the dark floorboards. Kneeling, she swept the ground with her free hand in a vain attempt to locate it.
She couldn’t find it anywhere.
Montrose glanced hurriedly up and down the street. No one had emerged yet, but they would. The commotion in the inn would get someone’s attention eventually.
Not that it really mattered anymore.
Holding the crossbow steady in his left hand, he reached for his mace with his right, then raced up the stone steps of the inn. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Derik, who he had posted at the western gate, as he came running over.
With a snarl, Montrose waved him away. “Back to the gate!” he shouted. “Don’t let anyone leave!”
Leaping over the mangled body of Harold, Montrose barged through the door.
The back door to the kitchen cracked from the first kick, then burst wide open from the second. Two men staggered in, their weapons prepared to strike.
Maklavir took a deep breath, then thrust the heavy blunderbuss forward.
“Gentlemen,” he called out in a merry tone, “you are outnumbered and outgunned. I suggest you beat a hasty retreat, or I may have to inflict unnecessary injury upon you.” He lifted the blunderbuss towards a collection of pots and pans hanging near the startled henchman, and fired.
The blast filled the small room with a deafening roar. Pots and pans clattered wildly in all directions.
“Company!” Maklavir cried as he dropped the firearm and drew his sword. “Prepare to fire!”
With a terrified motion the two henchmen scrambled back through the door, flying as if a pack of wolves were at their heels.
Maklavir smiled as he tried to re-scabbard his sword in the darkness. “Sergeant,” he said jovially, “have the men stand down.”
Jade rose to her feet, struggling to cock back the flintlock on the pistol. She tried to keep the barrel of the pistol elevated, so the ball wouldn’t roll out. She was about to yell out to Kendril when she realized she had forgotten to use the ramrod. Was there even any point without the paper?
Swallowing a curse, she uncocked the gun, then reached for the ramrod underneath. At that exact moment, she looked up at the scene before her.
Even in the dim light of the inn, she could see the overturned tables and chairs. Several figures were moving through the darkness, jerking to some strange dance as the sharp sounds of steel on steel bounced off the walls. Entranced, she stared at the fight, the ramrod and pistol momentarily forgotten.
A shadowy shape she recognized as Kendril was fighting with a sword in each hand, viciously fighting with another man armed with a sword. A second man had picked up some weapon from off the floor, a dagger of some kind, and was cradling his arm as if he had been badly hurt.
Jade watched in fascination as Kendril parried a sword thrust from the first man, then an instant later dodged a slash from the knife by the second man.
The Ghostwalker kicked the man with the knife in the mid-section, hurling him back into the coat racks against the wall, then spun and blocked two quick blows from the swordsman.
Jade had just remembered the ramrod again when another figure came through the front door, holding some kind of weapon in one hand and what looked like a crossbow in the other. Jade gasped as he lifted the crossbow, preparing to fire.
“Kendril!” she screamed, her voice almost drowned out by the metallic blows of the sword fight.
With a sharp thrump the crossbow fired.
Kendril instinctively whirled to one side. The crossbow bolt thumped into the wall and missed him by inches.
The crossbow man’s head jerked in Jade’s direction, and he took a step forwar
d. For one brief, terrifying moment, Jade could make out a shadowy face under the broad-brimmed hat. The man was wearing an eye patch. She wilted back against the liquor cabinets, dropping the pistol with a clatter to the floor.
She knew his face.
Maklavir had just managed to get his sword back in his scabbard when he heard Jade cry out from the front room. Without thinking he pulled the blade loose once more, then turned towards the door behind him. For a second he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the back door that still hung ajar at the far end of the kitchen.
Those two weren’t coming back any time soon. And Jade was obviously in trouble.
Swallowing his fear and better sense, Maklavir made for the common room.
Kendril was starting to suspect he might be in a bad spot.
The man with the sword was fairly decent, and the other one with the knife was making things doubly difficult. And now there was a third one with a crossbow. If it hadn’t been for Jade he would probably be wearing the bolt as a chest ornament right now.
Either way, this fight had been going on for far too long.
With a lightning quick move, Kendril feinted to the swordsman’s right, then spun and slashed for the right side of his face. A ragged scream and the sound of a sword clattering to the ground told him his blow had been on target.
Without looking to see the extent of the injury, Kendril whirled once more, dancing back as the knife-man stabbed forward and cleaved empty air.
In one deft move, Kendril caught the man’s outstretched arm under his own right arm and yanked him forward. At the same moment he reversed the sword in his left hand and stabbed it between his right arm and side, and underneath the thug’s outstretched arm.
With a certain degree of satisfaction Kendril felt the blade bite deep into the man’s side. He withdrew the sword, flipping it back aright in his hand before the stricken man could even give a strangled cry. The man collapsed to the ground, his knife skidding towards the fireplace.
It had all taken less than a second and a half.
It was the girl, and there was no doubt she recognized him. She was dressed in a man’s clothes. The green dress gone.
Clever, he thought, if only she had kept her mouth closed.
Montrose stepped forward, his eyes riveted on the young woman behind the bar. He was just raising his mace when someone burst through the door behind the bar, a sword in his hand.
For a split second the bounty hunter smiled, thinking the men he had sent around the back of the inn had finally arrived. Just as quickly, however, he realized that the man who had just entered the room wasn’t one of his henchmen.
Whoever he was, he would die right now. Montrose yanked the crossbow up, the second arrow of his double-layered crossbow still unfired.
The man with the sword stopped cold, staring at the crossbow aiming straight at him.
“Oh dear,” he said.
Montrose tensed his finger on the trigger of his weapon.
Just before he could fire, a chair flew out of the darkness and smashed into his side. His crossbow jerked off target. The weapon fired and the bolt hurtled forwards.
The man with the sword gave a cry and tumbled back into the kitchen.
Montrose thudded against the wall, and was still trying to get a fix on what was happening when a short sword came swinging out of the darkness at him. Only years of experience enabled him to dodge the blow that should have taken his head off. He crashed back against a table, cursed loudly and blocked another blow with his mace. His enemy’s blade rang loudly from the parry.
Pausing for a half-second, Montrose glimpsed the man who was attacking him. He was wearing a long black cloak, black leather gauntlets, with a short sword in each hand and a face like a demon.
It was the man’s face that made Montrose hesitate. It was a face that held no fear and no restraint of any kind. There was no sanity in it.
In one startlingly clear instant he realized that he had underestimated the situation badly. He would get the girl, but not like this. He had to regroup his men, rethink his plan, and try to salvage what he could of this mess.
Montrose made his way back to the front door, blocking blow after the blow from the battle-crazed man in front of him. He stumbled backwards out the inn door, then tripped down the stone steps of the tavern and fell onto his back in the muddy street. For a brief, terrifying moment he thought his attacker might follow him, but he saw a dark whirl of the man’s cloak just inside the door as his opponent turned back into the inn.
Scrambling to his feet, Montrose spat angrily onto the ground.
Queltin knelt nearby, cursing softly as he pressed a dirty rag, dark with blood, against the right side of his face. His cheek was cut from top to bottom.
The two men he had sent around to the back of the inn were standing awkwardly by, looking rather sheepish.
One of them stared dumbly at the tavern. “We was outnumbered, boss. They had…they was organized. We couldn’t do nothing, there was too many—”
“No,” cut in Montrose savagely. “Not outnumbered. Outsmarted. And outfought.” He glanced up the street. People were beginning to peer from out of windows, and some were slamming shutters closed. He already knew they wouldn’t interfere. The trappers and hunters in this town had learned long ago to mind their own business.
Montrose turned to the inn, staring bitterly at its black shape. “You in the tavern, listen up! You’re surrounded, and there’s no way out of this place. Give us the girl, or we’ll kill all of you.” With that he wiped the mud off his face and glanced over at his men.
Uther was dutifully watching the street with his crossbow held at the ready. Queltin was trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his face.
“Get back to the porch and keep an eye on the street and the tavern,” Montrose said to Uther as he passed him. “Shoot anyone who tries to escape.”
With that he and the other henchman turned back to the store, with one or two nervous glances over their shoulder.
“Maklavir!”
Jade rushed to the open kitchen door, seeing the diplomat sprawled on the floor just inside the doorway. His sword lay on the ground by the bar.
She quickly knelt by him. “Are you all right?”
The finely dressed man swore loudly. “Don’t touch me!” he shouted in a frantic tone. “Stay back!”
Jade felt her stomach flip. “Are you hit?”
“Hit?” Maklavir cursed again, moving carefully and awkwardly across the floor. “I’ll say I’ve been hit.” He stretched out his hand gingerly towards the kitchen door, reaching for a crossbow bolt that was pinning the edge of his purple cape to the wood. Biting his lip until it turned white, he yanked the projectile loose. His cape fluttered to the ground.
“Blast!” he cried, tossing the arrow aside. “Blast and double blast!”
Jade put a hand to her heart. “Thank Eru it was just your cape.”
Maklavir pivoted his head in her direction. “Just the cape? Just the cape? Do you have any idea how much this cape is worth? Better if he had shot me in the leg or arm. At least that would heal.” He pulled himself to his feet, stretching out his cape to survey the damage. “I paid top coin for this in Archangel. Look at that tear. Ruined. Utterly ruined.” He gave a small moan and tossed the cape aside.
Hiding a smile, Jade stood as well. “I’m sorry, Maklavir.”
Kendril walked up on the other side of the bar, sliding his last sword into its scabbard. “I thought I told you to watch the back door,” he said.
Maklavir leaned over, and retrieved his own sword. “Jade was in danger. Besides, I chased the blaggarts off. I doubt they’ll be back for a while.”
“Oh, they’ll be back,” said Kendril, turning his head to look at the open front door. “You can count on it.”
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