Castle Perilous by John Dechancie

Author:John Dechancie
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: ereads.com
Published: 1987-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Eating a hurried lunch in an outdoor cafe, he felt the pressure of observing eyes. He made no effort to look about and find who was watching him. He paid the bill and left, returning to the stable where he had left his mount. He knew he was being followed.

He passed through the city gate in the middle of the afternoon and headed out into the desert, making straight for the mountains to the north. The sun was fierce but bearable this time of year, dun-colored rocks baking in its glare.

He reached the foothills by mealtime but did not stop, heading upward, his animal’s sure-footed gait slackening only a little on the steadily inclining terrain. He surveyed the parched land around him as it gave way to grassland, then stunted evergreen, then alpine meadow. He was aware that two riders had followed him and were now closing the gap.

They passed him an hour later, smiling and waving as they urged their mounts up the twisting trail.

When they disappeared into the pass, he stopped. He traced patterns in the air with his fingers and looked thoughtful, as if testing the wind. Presently he gently kneed his mount in the ribs. The animal brayed, broke wind, and continued up the trail.

In the narrow pass two riders blocked his way, while the two who had followed him came out of a side canyon to close off his only avenue of retreat.

The leader was young and had a pointy, rodentlike face and a sneering smile.

“Greetings, honored sir!” he called. “And what is a finely dressed man of distinction such as yourself doing on this lonely trail?”

“Be you Vorn’s men?” the stranger asked.

“Eh?”

He looked at each man in turn. “No, I think not. Common highwaymen.”

“A pox on you,” the leader sneered. “We’re not common. You’ll not find our like in a thousand leagues of road. But enough of that — deliver your purse, or it will go badly for you.”

“I left it in the city, along with its contents.”

“Then give us what you bought.”

“It is a mere book, of no use to you.”

“You insult me!”

“How so?”

“You imply I’m unlettered!” The others laughed.

“You are,” the stranger answered, “and a scoundrel to boot.” He traced a quick pattern in the air.

Shrugging, the leader drew his shortsword. “Enough of this pleasant banter. Throw all your valuables over here now, or — “ He suddenly developed a pained expression, dropping his sword and clutching at his chest. Alarmed, his companion reached out and grasped his arm to steady him. The leader’s eyes bulged; then blood exploded from his mouth. His mount reared, throwing him off.

The other three regarded the still form of their leader, then looked fearfully at the stranger, who had ceased his hand passes and finger waving.

“A sorcerer!” one of them gasped.

The stranger raised a hand, one finger pointing. “Begone,” he said. “That way. Or your heart, too, shall burst like an overripe melon.” He pointed in the direction from which he had come.

They left very quickly, not bothering to take their leader’s body or his mount.

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