Mark of the Finder: Book Four: Hope of the Paladin

By Frank Caccavo

Seth Kish of the Borderlands has achieved a powerful ancient magic of the Elves and now reluctantly wields power he neither desires nor fully understands. Having barely survived numerous attempts on his life, he must risk it again to intercept the wizard Locke before the “demon-man” can obtain the last unclaimed Talisman, “Water.”

Enraged at Seth’s persistence, Locke sets his genocidal scheme into motion. While the sorcerer treks to claim the final mystical device, his army launches its invasion, threatening all the Southlands with destruction and enslavement.

While Seth’s brave comrades race to confront the massive host descending upon them, he must travel alone to challenge Locke before the mad wizard can achieve his ends.

But Locke knows the last Finder is coming...

In this tale of epic fantasy adventure, Seth must overcome doubt and terror, and defy a merciless enemy, while all he holds dear hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Oct 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781663208170

Frank Caccavo

Born in Philadelphia and raised in its suburbs, Frank graduated from The Citadel in Charleston SC and served in Marine Corps Infantry and Artillery units, attaining Captain’s rank. A businessman, traveler, inexpert cook, cigar enthusiast, and amateur historian, he lives in Pennsylvania with his wife, children, and several standoffish cats.

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Copyright © 2018 Frank Caccavo.

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-6632-0818-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-0819-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-0817-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020916799

iUniverse rev. date: 10/06/2020

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     A Solitary Passage Through the Elf-lands

Chapter 2     The Grand Army of the Becks

Chapter 3     A Terrible Lie

Chapter 4     The Dwarves of Silvermane

Chapter 5     A Bitter Reunion and the March of the Elves

Chapter 6     Locke’s Horde

Chapter 7     A Dragon’s Foibles

Chapter 8     Fencing in the Shadows

Chapter 9     From the Skillet to the Flame

Chapter 10   The Three Roads

Chapter 11   The March of Navereund

Chapter 12   Holy Ground

Chapter 13   The Price of Shine

Chapter 14   The Bear’s Scratch

Chapter 15   To Silvermane

Chapter 16   The Heavy Crown

Chapter 17   The Fall of Frostgate

Chapter 18   The Unsteady Throne

Chapter 19   The Great Killing

Chapter 20   Abiss Unleashed

Chapter 21   Silver Linings, Treachery and Tactics

Chapter 22   Long Live the King

Chapter 23   The Coin of Hope

Chapter 24   The Crimson Riders

Chapter 25   A Day of Heroes

Chapter 26   Amaryllis

Chapter 27   Before the Broken Keep

Chapter 28   The Knights of Navereund

Chapter 29   The Shine of Y’Shemaine

Chapter 30   The Ebbing Tide

Chapter 31   Wizard’s Duel

Chapter 32   The Finder’s Vow

Acknowledgments

Kathy,

I will never own enough words…

ONE

A Solitary Passage

Through the Elf-lands

T he ground was unfamiliar. Seth and his comrades had been much further south when they’d crossed the river, but he knew that if he kept his eastward course he would come to it within a few days. He was still in hostile country and rode as swiftly as he dared, pausing occasionally to listen to the woods about him as Dumas had taught him over their weeks together. His keen ears perked for the sounds of birds which could give away the presence of others when agitated, and he steered around open spaces, keeping within the concealment of trees and brush. At times, he could almost hear the Ranger admonishing him to trade speed in favor of cover. When Seth had made his first camp after leaving Dumas, he noticed that the slope of the ground was already descending.

We’re nearing water. He informed Bolt as he tended the mount. We’ll start looking for a ford soon.

The task of crossing the river, even when low in early winter, posed risks. He would have to traverse it safely, and leave as little evidence of his passage as possible.

There’ll be patrols along its length when the invasion comes. Dumas had warned him. You don’t want them to find your tracks.

What if they do? Seth asked. Once across, I’m almost within the Elf borders. They won’t pursue me there. Finding my track only tells them that they missed their chance.

Ah, but your wrong, lad. Dumas cautioned. Your tracks are information. Fresh tracks of a sole rider suggests a spy or messenger, and either invites pursuit. Don’t chance it… Keep hidden. Pass like smoke if you can. Even a Finder is vulnerable to a sword’s stroke or an arrow in the back.

Dumas’ warnings grew more frequent as Seth’s skill with the Elf magic increased, cautioning him constantly against carelessness or complacency.

I’m glad to be free of you, Ranger. Seth said, closing his eyes. You were starting to sound like my mother!

Yet he followed Dumas’ advice, and when the sun was at its zenith two days later he got his first glimpse of the Jillian River. From the safety of trees, he looked out at the expanse of the waterway as it snaked southward.

We’re almost safe. He whispered to Bolt. But we can’t go home yet. We’ve business further east.

Seth made his way to the water’s edge, picking his way through the trees following a narrow, but visible path worn down by deer or elk. The sun was behind him when he spotted the broken branches and churned earth that suggested someone had passed along his path. He halted and bent low in the saddle gazing at the tracks, not daring to dismount for fear he might have to spur Bolt and run.

I’m not the tracker that Dumas and Two Trees are. He murmured. But I think that these are about a day old. Gnomes. And about a dozen, maybe less.

The discovery brought a slim smile for the small bit of good fortune. Gnome ponies were of near identical stock as his mount and sunset was coming. Seth urged Bolt on, following the tracks until the forest about him darkened. It was a trick of the wily ranger to lose his tracks among those of others. After a time, he came across a small outcropping of rocks where the Gnomes had made a camp and was heartened by the sound of moving water. The river was near.

Determined to see the sunrise on the Elf side of the Jillian River, finding a safe ford was his next concern. But Seth was fortunate once more. With winter approaching, the river’s course was both shallower and narrower at several points. Seth led Bolt by the reins and found an adequate spot. Locating a hiding place, he waited, silent and watchful, before embarking, remembering his friend’s warning that the most vulnerable moment in a river crossing occurred when the traveler was between the two banks.

When he was ready, he mounted and urged Bolt from concealment, and into the cold waters of the current. The mustang grunted at the chill and Seth responded with a gentle pat on the horse’s neck, and another heel-tap, pressing his four-legged comrade onward.

We’re committed, boy. He whispered. Let’s get across quickly.

The torrent cascading southward would drown out any sound of his passage, but at mid-stream Seth could be easily seen by anyone looking. Despite the urgency, he dared not rush. In the darkness, even a surefooted horse could misstep, and he was many leagues from his destination. At its deepest, the chilly waters of the Jillian soaked his thighs and he checked behind him, satisfied that he had raised his saddlebags high enough to keep their contents dry. He ventured a look at the shore behind him. He was more than half way across.

I know it’s cold. He murmured to the mustang. We’ll be warmer soon.

In the dim light, his sharp eyes spied a small gravelly beach that rose quickly into the woods and he aimed for that point as the water grew shallower and Bolt’s strides lengthened. Minutes later he was trotting on the soft, pebbly sand, and without pause he urged his mount into the safety and concealment of the forest beyond, leaving no more than a few tracks that the next rain would erase.

Hidden, Seth dismounted and checked Bolt’s hooves, patting his mount’s nose and speaking gently to him, commending his fine performance. He watched the opposing bank a few minutes, looking and listening for anything that might suggest discovery. Then he set off, knowing that he’d find the Southern Road shortly and the border of his homeland beyond. He suspected that the Gnomes that had blocked his passage weeks ago might still be in the region, but he was far from the intersection of the Southern and Western roads where they’d camped.

We’ll stick to the woods. Seth whispered to Bolt, riding for the dark expanse of trees ahead.

As if in dispute, Bolt snorted lightly at Seth’s voice.

Don’t worry, we won’t get lost. He answered. We’ll keep east to elude any patrols, the enemy as well as our countrymen. The Gnomes might kill us outright, but the Elves will delay and question us, and time is not our ally. When the ground begins to rise, we’ll turn north and keep the mountains to our left until we reach the Dwarf borders."

Seth came across The Southern Road in a short while and moved quickly into the forest on the opposite side. He pressed Bolt now, knowing that each mile traveled reduced his risk. When the gloom of the forest made continued travel unsafe, he located a secure place to tether Bolt and camp. Night was falling and he would sleep before venturing onward. Seth rested against a tree with his saber at his side, watching the cold mist of his breathing float before his vision in the dim starlight.

A few months ago the thought of camping alone in unfamiliar woods would have been terrifying. He mused, watching his breath float away in little puffs. But it’s not so bad, is it?

Before he slept Seth wondered about his family and his friends, missing the company of southlanders that had ridden from Bardefaus with him. He smiled as he recalled their jesting and fellowship around many campfires. Then, as his mind was wont to do, his thoughts turned to Isaboe and he felt an ache in his chest that had no balm.

Do you think of me too? He asked the maid, seeing her face in the stars. I hope so.

But though he missed companionship during his waking hours, Seth did not want for company at night. Whenever he slept, The Mark, or rather the spirit-voice of Amaryllis contained within it, spoke in his dreams. Seth no longer questioned her existence as he had when he first heard her voice, regarding her as some manifestation of his overwrought mind. Since acquiring Fire, one of the four powerful Earth Talismans, she had been guiding him in the use of its magic, and her training had been no less useful than the martial instruction he had received from the men of Navereund. While he wished daily that he could avoid what had been thrust upon him, he was certain that if he had any chance of success, it would be because of what Amaryllis had taught him.

There isn’t anyone else. Seth murmured as he closed his eyes. Wearily he surrendered consciousness and soon he was breathing evenly, wrapped in his cloak against the night’s chill. But in the unfathomable passage of time in slumber, he was just coming awake. Eyes that were not his eyes opened and he rose to a still forest, brilliantly lit, as if the moon was at its zenith. He could see all about him and the shadow-drenched trees seemed trimmed in a purplish hue from the light above him. As had been the case with every such parlay, he heard no sound; not the wind, or the rustle of leaves. Seth held his sheathed sword in his hand, but set it down and walked into the trees beyond his camp. He knew the path somehow, and knew that she would be waiting for him.

He came to a small space by a bubbling creek which he recognized as the spot where once, against his uncle’s warnings, he’d slept with his back to a mossy tree and woke to find Dumas watching him from across the narrow span of noisy water.

Did you pick this setting, Lady? Seth asked with a thin smile. She was sitting in the very spot once occupied by the ranger

I thought you would recall it. Amaryllis returned the smile, a sweet grin that made her beautiful. It was where your adventure truly started. You and I were unacquainted with each other until then.

Much has changed, hasn’t it?

In you, Seth Kish. She replied, gesturing with a near-translucent hand. You are far from the Elf that first held The Mark. Your skills have grown.

You’re not going to tell me that I’m a wizard, are you? Seth made a false grimace. I don’t think I can bear hearing that word applied to me again.

You possess great magic and wield it. By what title would you be called? Amaryllis replied. But this is not why you’ve come, is it? You are troubled tonight.

Seth nodded. I want to know more about these things I carry, Amaryllis. Not just how to use them.

Ask me your questions. I will answer if I can.

The Ruby, Amaryllis. Seth began. Dumas feared I could be entranced by its power. Am I? Am I becoming enthralled to the gem?

Again, the sweet smile, Do you feel entranced?

Seth’s eyebrows rose. Would I know if I was?

Probably not. She shrugged. But look at what has happened and judge for yourself. Tell me, what was your reason for pursuing and attacking the gargoyles at the farm?

Well… He began.

"Did you feel compelled to go or was it because you saw your own kin among those farmers? She did not wait for an answer before continuing. They were helpless and you knew that you were their only aid. And do you now go face the dark wizard because you realize that there is no one else who can? You said as much before you slept. For what purpose have you sent your friends from your side other than to protect them as they once guarded you? Were you without fear then? Are you fearless now?"

Seth smiled. No lady, I am not.

Amaryllis leaned towards him, drawing his eyes to hers. In each of these decisions you did not act out of impulse, but rather the desire to help, or to spare others from danger. I see forethought in this, not the blind passion of one enchanted, or even the ill-conceived plans of a youth. You have shown more of valor than foolhardiness, and more of love than selfishness. You are no stranger to dread, but neither are you a coward Seth Kish.

Even so, can the gem bewitch me? Seth asked again. Will it?

Perhaps… But I am here to protect you. Amaryllis answered firmly.

Seth nodded. Then the question burst from him with the very impulsiveness that Amaryllis had denied. Are you somehow a reflection of my mother?

Amaryllis laughed. Nay, I am not. But your mother’s clan has held me for generations. It is not so strange a thing that I should come to reflect something of that long association.

I’m fearful of your reply, but I must ask. Seth asked, sensing their time together was growing short. Can I defeat Locke?

How shall I answer? Amaryllis began. I cannot see the future. Would you have me tell you the truth as I perceive it, or speak to lift your spirits?

I would know if we have a hope of success.

She beamed. Then be of good heart; there is always hope. You own much that Locke does not. If courage and tenacity of will account for anything, then your chances are good. You possess both in abundance.

Seth could not know the length of their conference in his dreams. Nor did he remember how the conversation ended. It seemed that Amaryllis faded into the shadows, and that he closed his inner eyes and drifted into thoughtless slumber.

Seth woke to a gray, chilly dawn. He pulled back the frost-stiffened hood of his cloak, rose and stretched. Swiftly, he performed the morning routine that had become fixed over weeks on the road, and was riding before the first sunlight penetrated the trees.

He had advanced only an hour when he found the marks of a trail-road in the forest. It was narrow and barely clear, a wagon path like that which connected his village to Ringham. Such a rustic thoroughfare would be worn smooth twice a year while crops were brought to market and exchanged for goods, but the trail would be thick with overgrowth in those seasons when traffic between communities was lessened.

I’m sorry, boy. Seth whispered to Bolt as he looked along the path. If I’d seen it sooner, we’d have gone twice as far in half the time. But a road leads somewhere, and we’ve a few coins for a meal and a night’s rest.

The thought of being under a roof for the night made him wish to hurry, but always he heard Dumas’ voice cautioning him against speed. Nodding to that advice, he slowed and listened regularly. Seth did not locate a village by sunset, but instead found another trail crossing his and running south to north.

I’ll bet this one leads to Bardefaus. Seth commented, and felt a pang of temptation to turn Bolt and follow the new path. He paused, and after a long moment, sighed, and continued east.

He came to an apple orchard off the wagon path two days later and knew that he had reached a village. The orchard was bereft of leaves, and the fruit had been harvested, but the trail grew wider and Seth could manage a trot easily. He rode through neat, tended fields which might have been visible to a bird, but within the confines of the forest were completely undetectable.

He saw no one, but was unconcerned. The danger of a war notwithstanding, the harvests were in and those that tended the orchards and fields would be about winter chores. Now was the time of putting up jarred goods for the cold months, of darning and knitting, of hunting and curing meat, and of caring for livestock. These were tasks he knew all too well for he had performed them since he could toddle.

If it’s like home, He thought. We won’t see anyone until we near the gate and hail the watchman.

He trotted up an easy grade that opened to a second cleared space, and there saw the hamlet. The stockade was not as sturdy as the defensive wall of Niffinier. It was barely a stick fence surrounding the settlement and no more than eight feet high.

Hardly enough to keep a cow from wandering. Seth scoffed. Two Orcs could tear it down with ease.

There was no gate, but Seth could see a gap facing north and assumed there would be another facing south. Judging by the buildings and the expanse of the fence, he estimated that the populace was close to that of his village. But as he neared, his suspicion grew. Not because of the weak walls, for a village far south of the capital and nestled deeply in the woodland, would have less fear of attack than his border town, and be more lightly defensible. Rather he grew concerned because the gates were the common place for social discourse, even in winter. In Niffinier, he’d expect to find children playing and womenfolk chatting in clusters, but he saw no one. He reined to a stop at the entrance and peered within, confirming his suspicions. The town had been abandoned.

He dismounted and led Bolt in, fearing the worst. The Orcs, Goblins and Gnomes had raided deeply into the Elf lands and he recalled with a shudder the images he’d been shown when he touched The Marks at Kestrels’ cabin. He discovered with relief that the exodus had been planned. There was no destruction and no bodies that would have been the aftermath of a raid.

Seth chose the widest street and found the livery and a large community stable. The livestock and every wagon were gone. The livery had been swept clean, indicating that the folk planned to return. Seth presumed that the villagers left for the capital to wait out the war behind the stout walls of Bardefaus.

He led Bolt to a stall, unsaddled, fed and watered him. Then, tossing his saddlebags over his shoulders, Seth wandered about the village to see what he might salvage. He resolved that if he entered a house, he would leave payment for whatever he took, and if the value was greater than he possessed, he would leave a note and make good upon the debt later.

That is, He whispered to the shuttered windows he passed. If I’m alive to pay.

Somehow, walking through the deserted streets made him feel more alone than when he was riding through the woods. He located a small general store near the center of the village and there he found enough to replenish his stock of rations and make his dinner. He considered building a fire and bedding down in one of the houses, but decided against it. Sitting in someone else’s home was somehow disturbing, and he chose instead to make his bed in the stables with Bolt and get an early start on the morning. However, as he walked back through the hamlet Seth discovered a little tavern and within it, a large bathing tub.

He paused there, hands on his hips, thinking. Then he took a good whiff at his clothes and grinned. Seth stripped and heated enough water to wash the grime from his kit in a basin. While his laundry dried near the fire, he indulged in a long bath that felt as wonderful as anything he could remember.

Clean and whistling, Seth returned to the barn with his new supplies and prepared a hay bed of luxurious proportions. He ate his meal as the sun set, and closed the barn to keep out the chill. Then, cocoon-like under clean new blankets, he settled in for a long sleep.

But it was not to be.

The vibrations of The Mark woke him in advance, but the clamor they raised would have done as well. He could hear them before they approached the village fence shortly after dawn, their noise carrying rudely in the still air. He packed quickly and silently, loading his belongings into his saddlebags, and listening intently as he did. There was jangling and jostling among them, the sounds of loads improperly made on beasts, not the orderly, silent packing that Arl and Dumas always insisted upon.

Men! Seth determined by their voices, and instinctively he slung his sword over his shoulder, belting it at his waist. The sun was up and light streaked into the barn from cracks in the boards. He cursed silently. The comfort of his bed had let him sleep past sunrise or he’d have been gone long before these newcomers arrived.

Seth crept to one of the cracks in the wall and peered into the street. In moments, the rattling train of the men was visible. There were four of them and all mounted, though two were on mules. They towed a string of six other mules, laden with sacks and bags, and dangling items of all description. Seth thought for a moment that they might be traveling merchants. But their harsh language, scruffy appearance, and the weapons they carried in their hands told him otherwise. They were thieves.

Such men lived at the fringes of all nations; outlaws who would find no honest work, or to whom honest work was repulsive. Their business varied with the times. Sometimes they were highwaymen, robbing the unsuspecting far from safe havens. Sometimes they were worse. In larger groups, they might raid homesteads or terrorize small hamlets. The walled villages of the border country were good defense against them, but occasionally one would hear of an ambush during the weeks after harvest when surplus was shipped from one town to another for sale. The small, forest roads were trafficked often during those times and the potential profit for criminals was irresistible. His father and uncle had often accompanied Niffinier’s wagons to nearby Ringham or Listowood, armed.

With war upon the land, and many villages evacuated to the capital, these rogues had obviously taken advantage by embarking on a safer line of work; sacking the vacated towns. Judging by the laden pack animals, the brigands had found a lucrative enterprise.

As the group tethered their mounts Seth got his first good look at them. They were a hard, unkempt sort, and Seth guessed that he could smell them if he was down wind. They carried an assortment of weapons, mostly daggers and staves. He made out most of their speech, a guttural uncouth slang that was clearly of the southland, although he was unsure where. They went to the first house on the street and stepped onto the porch. Not bothering to check, the leading man kicked the door open and entered. Hooting with delight, the others trailed him.

Quiet, boy. Seth cooed softly in Bolt’s ear as he saddled him. After so many weeks on the road the spirited mustang had grown unaccustomed to confines and was anxious to get into the sunlight. Once in the forest they can’t follow us, but we have to go past them to get out.

The Mark’s warning grew stronger as Seth watched the door of the house the brigands had entered. His heart was pounding and he chastised himself for seeking the shelter of the village when he should have continued straight on, avoiding settlements altogether. He could hear the harsh laughter of the men and of things being broken within. His brow furrowed. The looters were not content to steal those few personal treasures that the villagers could not take with them, they were destroying anything they could not carry. The wanton destruction stirred Seth’s anger and he thought of the tears that would be shed by the townswomen when they returned to find their well-kept houses ransacked. As he listened to the vandals his hand dropped to the pocket that held The Ruby.

A thought, and all of you would be cinders. Seth told himself. Your ashes would blow clear of the village before the Elves returned.

The Mark continued to vibrate against his throat, its message was one of caution, and Seth perceived its meaning easily. He had used his magic against the Gargoyles and against the strange insect-creature days later. To use it on these brigands would mark his location to anyone looking for him and identify his position to Locke. He swallowed and his hand moved from the pocket.

Preserve what advantages you have, they are few enough, and capture by this lot could easily mean being murdered. He thought, as his hand found the hilt of his sword. The rogues don’t appear a merciful sort, and I’ve no value as a hostage. Like all criminals, they would want no witnesses. I must run or fight.

He had grown confident in his swordsmanship, and this would not be the first time he’d bloodied his weapon, but a duel with four adversaries was a fool’s errand. Deciding on swift departure, he looked around the barn noting that the livery had only a single, double-door.

If you brigands will oblige me by staying indoors a bit longer, I can swing the door open and race for the exit. With a lead, their sorry mounts will never catch Bolt!

He led Bolt to the door, and with one hand holding the reins, placed his other on the latch. He took a deep breath and was about the push the portal open when The Mark’s warning intensified, signaling danger. He paused and peered through the crack between the doors. He could hear the men in the house, their noise dimmer as they were probably in the rear, looting as they went. His eyes darted up and down the street, but he could see nothing amiss. Steeling himself, he was about to push open the livery gate when a crash made him jump. One of the thieves had cast something through the window and their rough laughter filled the street.

The quartet exited the building, their arms loaded. They placed their booty on the porch for later packing and then walked in his direction towards the next home. Again, they forced the front door and entered to ransack. Seth watched, heart beating like a hammer, waiting his chance.

Minutes dragged as he listened for the men to absorb themselves in their thievery, wanting their attention diverted and their hands full when he put his heels to Bolt. Despite the morning chill, beads of sweat wet his brow.

The Mark pressed its steady warning of danger as Seth heard the breakage and guffaws of the vandals from deeper in the home. Sensing his opportunity, Seth shoved at the door as hard as he could. He mounted and with a tap of his heels drove his mustang from the stable onto the street. As soon as he cleared the swinging door he pulled Bolt’s reins hard to the left and urged the horse into a sprint. The brave mustang responded, stretching itself into a run. Then, as he looked up to direct Bolt to the open gate, Seth realized why The Mark had continued to warn him.

There were not four brigands, but five.

This man had been left at the gate as a precaution. He was leaning against the last large stakes of the wall, entertaining himself by carving at a piece of wood with a small knife when he heard the barn swing open and saw what he initially took for a mounted boy riding out of the stables. His practiced eyes realized that the rider was an Elf barely out of his teens. But more importantly, the rider was on a splendid horse and the leader of their little gang would be more than a little angry if so valuable a prize as that mustang escaped him.

He reached back for his weapon, a bill, which had been leaning against the wall nearby. It was a wicked weapon, eight feet long, and equipped with a short axe blade and a spiked spear-point. Opposite the axe was a sharpened sickle-like hook whose military purpose was for pulling cavalrymen from their horses.

But the villain had never been a soldier. He did not possess the requisite discipline or sense of honor for such an occupation, and thus had never been trained in the intended uses of the weapon. He carried the wieldy arm because he found it well-suited for violently yanking coachmen from the driver’s bench during a robbery. Passengers always surrendered their valuables more readily when he provided the proper motivation.

Seth was surprised by the sight of the man and when he took up his long weapon a shudder ran through his body. But he was committed to his gallop and every second counted. Those inside the house would have stopped their thievery at the sound of Bolt’s hooves. He could not risk swinging the horse about and aiming for the rear of the town for fear the others would intercept him. Leaning over Bolt’s neck, he steered away from the thief and for the opposite side of the gate.

Had there been time, Seth’s southern comrades might have schooled him as a cavalryman, instructing him in the methods of charging pike-armed infantry on the ground. He’d have been taught to let the weight of mount, armor and rider drive through the opposition; to trust that most infantry, except the most elite, would break before standing their ground in the face of thundering hooves. Soldiers in such a fight would be bowing to the perfectly normal desire to save their skins rather than risk being trampled beneath the fury of cavalry.

But Seth was not a steel-clad horseman with a lance, nor was Bolt a cavalry mount. If pressed, the mustang might pull up before running a man down. Seth’s hasty plan was to avoid the thief and his weapon, hoping to clear both, and be through the gate before the criminal had a second try.

The brigand had never used the bill against a horseman, but he was certain he had little to fear from a terror-struck youngster who was obviously trying to escape. He held the weapon across his chest and sidestepped left, denying more and more of the path while keeping his eyes on Seth as he closed the distance between them. He grinned evilly, planning to hook him when he was abreast of him, gaffing him as easily as a trout alongside a boat.

Seth never considered charging the criminal as a cavalryman might. Had he done so, even as a bluff, he might have forced the man to yield and leap out of his path. He could see the hooked weapon the criminal held. It glinted in the sunlight and terrified him, but he could do no more than ride for the gate and wait for the man to commit himself to his attack. Seth was not wearing his mail shirt. He had packed the smelly armor after his bath, certain that he would not have need of it. He decided that he would try to evade the blade as it came, and if he was lucky, the man would miss and Seth would spur pass him like a blur.

The leering brigand made another step left as Bolt closed, and lunged outward towards Seth as he was nearly abreast. Once he snagged the rider he knew the horse would either rear up or ride on a few more yards before stopping. It was no matter in either case. Once the Elf was down, they’d recover the horse and what looked like a good saddle. Both would fetch a fine return.

Seth saw the man’s lunge and on instinct shifted his body to the right, ducking low and hoping that the extension of the hook would fall short and miss his head and neck. He was nearly correct and the loop of the hook, as well as the spear point missed him. But the criminal had some experience in bagging prey and, driving the weapon forward, the edge of the hook snagged Seth’s clothes. The honed blade tore his tunic, slashing across his left shoulder with searing pain as it bit. Then the hook’s point caught fast and dug in. Momentum and gravity did the rest as the brigand planted his feet and pulled, yanking Seth from the saddle to land hard in the dirt on his wounded left shoulder. Bolt rode on from beneath him and through the open gateway of the town.

HAH! The criminal laughed as Seth landed with a groan. Got you!

Seth could smell the coppery scent of his own blood. His clothing had provided some protection, but the cut seemed deep, was bleeding freely, and it throbbed painfully. Already hot crimson was soaking his sleeve and he could feel its flow running down his arm. The fall had jarred him, and he was struggling to regain his balance while his mind screamed that he must rise if he was to escape. There was only a single man before him now, but the others in the party would be upon him soon.

Hey! The outlaw was calling to his associates, ignoring the fallen Elf. I’ve caught me a little fish, I did!

Laughter behind Seth told him that the others were on the street and urgency drove him to turn on to his stomach. He shook his head and raised himself to his knees with the aid of his unwounded right hand. The blood of his cut had seeped through shirt and tunic and was now a bright, wet stain on his chest. A thin rivulet ran down his arm, dripping from his wrist. But his movement did not go unnoticed and his assailant closed on him.

Where do you think you’re going? The man snarled. He moved the bill to one hand and shifted to Seth’s exposed side while cocking his foot to deliver a hard kick. He grinned at the thought of launching the Elf into the air like a ball. A few broken ribs to teach the whelp who was in charge.

But Seth saw the boot coming, and frantic to avoid it, rolled away as it came. The thief, who had given such blows to helpless victims many times, did not reckon with Seth’s desperate speed and mistimed his swing. The momentum of his kick carried his bulk out of balance and the criminal teetered, trying to regain it with one arm pin-wheeling comically. He fell backward on his rump, his bill clattering into the dirt as he landed.

His four comrades stopped in their tracks and began to howl in laughter and derision at their compatriot’s discomfiture. They bent over, slapping their thighs and each other’s backs as they heaped their insults upon him for his clumsiness against a boy a fraction of his size.

The brigand looked at his laughing cohorts and then to Seth as his face contorted from malicious amusement to humiliated fury. Seth was gaining his feet slowly, the wound inhibiting his movement, but he could sense the criminal’s intentions before the red-faced man scrambled to rise and grasped his bill again.

"Ya shouldn’t have done