Temple Hill - Drew Karpyshyn [0]
The Cities Series 02 -
Temple Hill
By
CHAPTER ONE
Alturiak, 1370 DR
Corin felt them before he saw them, felt them just as sure as he had felt the coming storm that had been raining down on them for the last hour. After a year of working for Igland's White Shields, escorting dozens upon dozens of caravans between Elversult and Iriabor, he had developed a sixth sense for these things.
Thunder broke overhead, and lightning illuminated the landscape for a brief second. Corin saw nothing out of the ordinary, but still he knew. He held up a clenched fist and pulled his mount up short. Behind him the other nine members of the White Shield Company did the same. Corin wasn't their official leader, but the others in the company respected him for his skill with a blade and his composure in the heat of battle. Despite his youth, they knew to trust his instincts; that was why Igland had him riding point.
The passenger coach that the Shields surrounded ground to a halt as well, and the door flew open. Fhazail's fat form rolled out from the carriage, a broad umbrella spread above to keep the downpour from ruining his fashionable courtier's clothes.
"What's going on here?" he wheezed to Igland, Captain of the White Shields.
"Something's not right," Igland answered. "Get back inside before the trouble hits."
Fhazail peered about, his beady eyes squinting through the storm. "I don't see anything except rain clouds. Are you telling me you're afraid of a little thunder and lightning?"
"Bandits," Corin said in a low voice. "Nearby. They'll hit us any minute."
"Impossible!" Fhazail sputtered, his jowls quivering. "How could you know that?" Turning from Corin, he addressed the captain, nervously twisting one of the heavy gold rings on his right hand, rotating the gemstone set into the face completely around his sausagelike finger. "You told me a small group of armed soldiers wouldn't attract attention, you promised we'd be safe if we went with your company!" His eyes narrowed even farther as he cast suspicious glances at the armed men surrounding him. "I could have hired fifty soldiers to protect Lord Harlaran's son, but you convinced me to use your small company instead!"
It was untrue, of course. Fhazail had chosen the White Shields because they were a fraction of the cost of hiring a full merchant escort. Corin suspected the steward had informed Lord Harlaran that he was hiring a virtual army to escort his son, then pocketed the difference. The gaudy jewelry on his right hand was matched by equally ostentatious, and expensive, rings on his right.
"Captain," Fhazail added in a softer voice, "did you betray me?"
Igland's reply was stiff and cold. "The White Shields are not traitors."
"Everyone's a traitor for the right price," Fhazail returned, rubbing his double chin and eyeing Corin in particular.
Igland ignored the insinuation. "There's always bandits on the Trader Road, Corin just has a sixth sense for when they will attack."
Corin returned Fhazail's glare and said, "They probably don't even know who the boy's father is-kidnapping and ransom are likely the last things on their minds. They'd attack just for those bands of gold around your fingers, and the satisfaction of slitting our throats."
Fhazail was about to reply when a single arrow buried itself in the soft earth just inches from his feet. He stared down in surprise, then scampered back into the coach as several more shot into the wooden roof of the carriage. Suddenly the dark sky was filled with missiles launched from the hidden bandits' bows, falling down on Corin and the others like the rain that had drenched them for the past hour. The driver of the coach leaped down from his unprotected seat and squeezed his way inside the carriage over the protests of Fhazail. Rain was one thing, a storm of arrows was quite another.
Most of the arrows landed harmlessly on the ground. Some would have fallen on the men and their mounts as they closed ranks, but they threw up their painted broad shields, for which they were named, over their heads to catch