Fifthwind Read Free

dusted
himself off. "You'd better have a good reason for that."
    "I'll
tell you later."
    "You'll
tell me now!"
    "It's
going to have to wait, Mason."
    "Why?"
    "It
looks I've attracted some unwanted attention," Ben said, indicating
the large man on horseback approaching with his sword drawn. The
small caravan of trade wagons had stopped a short distance away and
all eyes were on Ben, who had just burst out of the roadside weeds
screaming like a madman.
    The
traders amounted to four teamsters, two stately-looking men, a young
woman and about ten caravan guards. The young woman spoke briefly to
the older of the two men and pointed angrily at Ben. A moment later,
three more guards broke away from the group and moved forward.
    The
approaching mounted soldier looked eager to deal with the problem
that had just appeared in the road. His mount was not of the working
breed, but rather a heavy charger, armored and trained for combat.
This man was not a simple hired sword, but a veteran who was
well-equipped in both blade and armor. Apparently, his line of work
paid well. Unfortunately for Ben, his line of work was the
dispatching of unwanted riffraff from the path.
    Mason
sighed and dutifully stepped toward the approaching horseman, putting
himself in front of Ben and in direct line with any potential danger.
The old soldier glanced back at Ben and broke the tension, as he
always did, with a crooked grin.
    He
said, "In all the years I've known you, I've never seen you run
from
anything
. So, in case I'm about to live my last day, at
least tell me what you saw back there."
    Ben
looked back over his shoulder as if staring straight into the eyes of
the watcher in the dark reaches of the trees. He had no explanation
for what had happened, but he was absolutely sure he had not imagined
the encounter. He also knew without asking, that Mason had genuinely
seen nothing.
    "I'm
not sure..."
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
     
    "Clear
the road!" the rider commanded as he dismounted and stepped
aggressively toward Ben. He was a large, muscular man who held an
oversize broadsword with a firm grip, the heavy weapon conceding to
the dominance of his powerful arm. He moved confidently and with an
impatient purpose in his stride. He was not as big as Mason, but he
was younger, probably stronger, and lacked any hint of compassion.
This man intended to deal with the situation before him quickly and
without the burden of explanation.
    Ben
immediately recognized the man's accent as that of a Borderman, a
clansman from the northern disputed lands between The Whip and the
Tanian Empire. Regarded as fierce fighters with unwavering loyalty to
the purse that paid them, they set the standard for personal
protection.
    During
the war, the Bordermen were viewed as emotionless killers who
followed orders without question. They could be trusted to carry out
tasks that weighed heavily on the hearts of less dedicated soldiers,
so they were often chosen for the most heinous of missions. Their
absolute loyalty and refusal to question the judgment of justly
appointed officers had earned them the unfair nickname of
Dog
Soldiers
.
    Mason
raised a calm hand and said, "I've no intention of fighting you,
friend."
    The
Borderman stopped a few feet short of Mason, looked devilishly at his
blade and smiled, "Good, that'll make this go faster."
    "The
war is over, friend. Why so eager to spill blood?"
    "I've
got a wounded man back there who needs attention and I've got cargo
itching to get off this road. The sooner I deal with you, the sooner
I can be on my way."
    Ben
was impressed. Mason had hurdled the first barrier and had gotten the
man to speak. Not only that, but the man had attempted to justify his
actions. Whether the Borderman knew it or not, that was a sign of
doubt and indecision. A weakness that Mason would exploit.
    The
Borderman was a stocky man with wide shoulders. He had short, brown
hair and a neatly trimmed beard that framed a stern face. A pale scar
ran from his left ear to