Chapter Three—Ambush

The woman backed away as the two men came forward. Shiro took note of the bowman making his way up the incline to get a better position to loose shafts on them.

The spearman came in with quick, deft moves, but he was sloppy. Shiro batted the spearhead away, went in for a quick strike, but the man was careful not let Shiro too close to him.

At the same time, Ali began taunting his opponent and Shiro heard their swords clash, but didn’t turn to look.

The bowman on the lifted his weapon and loosed a shaft, but Shiro sidestepped and sliced the arrow in two. His deft skills made the spearman take pause, but he didn’t stop his attack.

Suddenly Ali appeared behind him and sunk his scimitar into the man’s shoulder. He cried out, and fell.

“Look out!” Shiro called, raising his sword defensively against a second shaft, but it went toward Ali instead. He dodged the projectile easily by rolling over his shoulder on the dirt road.

That was the bowman’s last attempt as he turned and ran for the hills. Shiro looked after the woman and the other swordsman who were also running.

“Come back and fight, eh?!” Ali shouted as he picked up rocks and hurled them at the fleeing bandits. The bandit he had struck in the shoulder was dead, blood pooling into the sand.

They had believed the two men easy targets since they were four and Ali and Shiro only two. But they had been gravely mistaken.

Shiro stalked up to the dead horse the woman had been sitting by. There were no packs, not even a saddle.

“Yes,” Ali said, gesturing toward the dead animal with his bloody scimitar. “Not their horse. Probably killed when they attacked and robbed other travelers. “This is their spot.”

He turned and screamed some oaths into the wind but Shiro didn’t understand them.

“This is no matter,” Shiro said. “Akarilion is close, yes?”

Ali turned, nodded and went to the dead man. He took the turban off the corpse and used it to wipe his half rusted sword.

Shiro turned away from the sight of the dead man. He didn’t like looking at such things, even though he sometimes was the cause of them.

“That was rather fun,” Ali said, standing.

Shiro only made a noncommittal noise of disagreement as he walked back to his camel.

“Let us be off, then.”

“Shouldn’t we wait?” Shiro asked. “They could follow us.”

“Ha!” Ali scoffed. “Them? They’re probably still running”—he turned in the direction they had fled—“BACK TO YOUR MOTHERS!” He laughed.

Ali was a very flippant man. An arrogant man. Sometimes it bothered Shiro. But he let the matter rest. They had been ambushed and they had dealt with the problem. Ali had handled himself quite well, Shiro thought. His skills are more deft than I gave him credit for.

Ali nodded. “Eh?” His gesture was that of impatience, as if he had proven Shiro wrong on some point.

Shiro said nothing. They continued on the road, looking for the path the map indicated. It wasn’t so much a path as it was a landmark. A rock, founded on one side, probably from the wind, and jagged on the other. Perhaps that shape had come to be because the rock broke apart at one time?

What if the rock has broken again?

If he could not pay off his debs soon, Shiro might not be able to find work in this region. So far, it has been a good place. There was far worse lands—lands at war, desolate wastes.

Places where they killed foreigners as soon as saw them.

Or the peoples in some areas simply did not speak the language. Shiro’s own skills in these lands when speaking were quite poor, but he had learned a great deal.

The dungeons were the best way to make money for him, as he did not want to take the mercenary’s path.

It was one of dishonor.

“Is that the rock?” Ali asked, pointing?

Shiro regarded the landmark. He couldn’t say, but there was a certain resemblance.

“Let’s get closer.”

Ali nodded.