Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [58]
“Where do you suppose this goes? Or comes from?” he asked, looking up and down the little-used path.
Nightmare’s muzzle dipped toward the ground. The horse tore away a clump of clover that grew beside the track, while Danyal tried to think. He saw no sign of tracks-hoof, boot, or cartwheel-in the road, and guessed that it hadn’t been used in some time. Yet it suggested that there was something worthwhile in each direction, else why build the road in the first place?
He decided to camp nearby and consider the questions during the night.
Just upstream from the bridge, he found a sheltered grotto with a soft, mossy bank and a deep eddy in the creek that seemed to promise good fishing. Though he wasn’t sure why, Danyal also made sure that his makeshift camp was out of sight of the unused roadway.
After another meal of grilled fish, he made himself and the horse as comfortable as possible. Again he fell asleep easily, completely drained by the strenuous activity of the day.
This time, however, his sleep was interrupted by a sound that had him sitting upright, clutching his fishing knife, before he even knew what had awakened him. Then it came again, a shout of alarm followed by a cold, harsh bark of laughter.
There were men nearby! And judging by the sounds of confrontation, Danyal guessed that some unfortunate traveler had encountered another group, perhaps bandits or other roadside bullies.
Heart pounding, Danyal threw off his blankets and crawled to the edge of his grotto. The slope on this side of the road was steep, climbing into a cliff of broken, craggy rock. At the base of that precipice, barely a few paces off the road, he saw the glowing embers of a camp-fire. And in the dim light, as he stared, he saw one man backed against the rock wall while several others, large, hulking fellows, closed in on him menacingly.
Nightmare stood still nearby, nostrils quivering, ears cocked toward the disturbance. Abruptly Danyal realized that the horse might make a sound at any minute, a sound that would betray his own position. There was no way he could move the animal soundlessly, so to protect himself, he began to sidle sideways, staying above the strangers, moving along the slope of the hill so that he closed the distance between them.
Light flared as one of the bandits threw dry wood onto the fire. Danyal got a view of the lone traveler, who stood with his back to the rocks, weaponless, as he faced the others. Moving still closer, the lad was surprised to see that, while he was unarmed, the man was holding a book in his left hand. The tome was opened, and in his right hand, he actually held a quill and ink bottle, trying unsuccessfully to dip the pen while he addressed his attackers.
“Where did you say we are? And what was that name again? I’m sorry, but in this light it’s terribly hard to see the page. Ah, thank you… that’s much better,” he declared as more tinder was thrown onto the fire.
“Never mind that,” growled one bandit, a strikingly handsome fellow whose gleaming dark hair and firm facial features seemed incongruous above the filthy mat of his leather shirt. “Hand over your purse, if you have any thoughts of seeing the morning!”
Danyal gasped quietly. Despite his guess, he was shocked to hear the men’s intentions confirmed. He shrunk down behind a felled tree, trying to remain invisible and silent, yet he pressed his eye to the gap under the log so he could still see the scene around the traveler’s campfire.
“I daresay my purse hasn’t much to offer,” the fellow was saying. He seemed remarkably unconcerned, thought Danyal, for someone who might be facing the last minute or two of his life.
“This could go badly for you. Don’t you have the sense to be scared?” demanded the handsome bandit, obviously wondering about the same thing. He swaggered around as if he were the leader of the group. “Here, Baltyar-give me a brand. Perhaps we’ll make this fellow think twice about his answers.”
“Aye, Kelryn,” replied another, sticking a branch bristling with dry needles