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The Bow of Haladan Part IX
Under the thick carpet of leaves Dinet had buried a short handled
shovel, its blade rusted a dark brown-red. He found the work of digging
distasteful, his hands were made for finer things, but the time had come
to retrieve his hoarded wealth and depart the camp. He might be suspected
of the merchants death but they could not hang someone that they could not
find.
The camp was nearby, but he'd buried his small box of coins
further on. He'd need to steal a horse, he thought to himself, he couldn't
get far carrying his box of coins on foot.
Dinet was a fine rider, small and light but strong, he had been
trained by a lame old horseman from the northern plains. The old man,
Kassar, had been cast out for some offense, Dinet had never really
listened to his tale, but the nomad had settled in well with the life
among the camp and helped raise Dinet during the thiefs early years.
He'd taught him how to use a knife as well as ride a horse, the wily
old fellow was a master with the blade, almost as skilled at cutting
throats as he was with horseflesh.
It was late but the camp still roared with life. Some soldiers had
moved on but more had come up and settled into a forest of tents left
behind by the advancing army, about a mile down the trail. Dozens of
troopers had sneaked away after the last call and now spent whatever
little coin that they possessed on fast women, dice or cards. Their
money was eased out with large quantities of liquor, rough home brew,
some laced with the odd concoctions of the hedge wizards and
self-proclaimed witches who joined the camp.
These brewers of potions and makers of charms would stay till
their skills were shown to be false, their charms nothing but a bag of
herbs or bits of bones and their medicines more fatal than healing. But as
one left or was driven away or hung, another came to take their place.
Dinet crept to the horse-line of his old mentor Kassar, he
avoided the tripwire and one by one muffled the small bells that the nomad
had strung along the line. He had brought a strong length of cord and when
he sheared through the line, retied it taut, cutting out the horse he
always wished he'd owned. His hand was on the horses neck when he felt the
razor-edged line of steel pressed beneath his chin.
"Goin' on a trip." Kassar whispered in his ear.
"Kassar, I was...I was..." Dinet stammered out.
"You was doin' some horse stealin'" Kassar told him. "Retie the
line."
Dinet made a clumsy knot with nervous hands, he felt a small
trickle of blood run down his neck as he moved. "Careful there old
friend."
"You jus' keep doin' what your doin'." the knife didn't waver
from the young thiefs throat.
* * *
(To Be Continued...)