The Mage in the Iron Mask - Brian Thomsen [18]
Guiding the horse closer to the arch rubble, Volo allowed himself to slump down in the saddle as if he had fallen asleep, while tightening his hold on the reins to keep control of his steed in as inconspicuous a manner as possible.
Easy pickings, the master traveler thought to himself, usually leads to careless thieves.
He heard the scurrying on his left and above, and readied himself for the attack.
A last scratch of a scurry from above, followed by a grunt, clued Volo in on a moment's notice that the outlaw who was stalking him was leaping down on to his not unsuspecting prey from above.
The master traveler quickly spurred his steed forward, upsetting the dim-witted brigand's planned interception, causing him instead to go crashing to the hard stone ground below.
Once again at a moment's notice, Volo reined in his steed with one hand, this time quickly turning his mount around to face the inept assailant, while flinging a throwing blade with his freed hand. The blade met its mark, passing through the shoulder fabric of the black haired brigand's cloak, lodging its tip in the seam between the stones in the road, and staking him to the ground while barely scratching the less than deserving oaf.
Dazed and bewildered, the thief looked up and began to quake in his threadbare boots, beads of sweat trickling down his face from razor cut locks of ebony as he waited for another blade to make its mortal mark.
"What is your name, O inept felon?" Volo inquired.
"James," the thief sputtered.
"Well, felonious James, or perhaps James Felonious since you do seem to be rather backward," Volo blithely explained, "I'm afraid that business demands that I go this way, and since the authorities that I would have to turn you over to lie back from whence I came, I'm afraid that I will have to leave you behind."
James the Felon tried to get up but was still held in place by the blade-staked cloak.
"I can't get up!" the bewildered and dense brigand cried, unaware that it was his own cloak that was holding him down.
"That's right," the master traveler replied. "I have cast a static cling spell that is causing the ground to grip you up against it."
Volo spurred his steed again, and began to set off at a light trot.
"Don't leave me here!" the thief cried. "I'll starve!"
"The spell will wear off soon enough," the master traveler assured, then added, "and when it does you better hightail it out of these parts. I'll be passing back this way again soon, and I'd better not find you around."
"What if someone should come upon me before it wears off? I'm helpless!" the thief cried louder.
"I wouldn't worry about that," Volo replied jovially. "From what I've seen and heard, the brigands that favor these here parts are a rather inept bunch."
After a few moments Volo looked back in the distance. From what he could make out the thief was still struggling on the ground. The master traveler allowed himself a chuckle, and continued onward.
Others might have passed through the area at a faster pace, but not Volo. This was in no way due to the potential speed of his steed, but rather by the personal choice of the rider himself. The master traveler was a stickler when it came to local flavor and color, and he had no desire to rush through it at the risk of missing something, even if the flavor of the landscape was bland and its color was gray.
I must remember to include a warning about brigands in the book, the master traveler noted. After all, not all travelers are as observant-or as adept at handling such situations-as myself.
* * * * *
Sometime past midday, the master traveler came in sight of his destination: the isolated monastery known as the Retreat. The leisurely pace with which he had traveled obviously caused him to arrive while the various hermits of the place were on their lunchtime break deep within the monastic walls, as no one was in sight in the fields around the old stronghold.
I guess I should have sent word to wait lunch on me, the master traveler reflected with a chuckle.
Maybe if I can catch the eye