Chapter 7

The carriage came to an abrupt halt rocking the men within it. What little relaxation they’d found entering the Deadwoods was ripped away from them as the driver let out a startling cry. Remis’ eyes grew wider as the sound reminded him of a dying animal. He squeezed his eyes shut hoping the noise would come to an end and the driver would pat the carriage wall and tell him it was all a mistake.

The screaming did indeed stop and was quickly followed by a loud thud as a weight fell from the carriage. Remis cracked an eye open. His friends sat in stunned silence, though Merritt’s upper half tipped toward the door as if he’d been drawn to the noise.

Percy, however, shrunk back into his seat. “Do you suppose we should investigate that?”

“And get picked off by dragonis. I think not. It’s safer if we stay right here in the carriage,” Merritt said as he pulled himself back.

If staying in one’s carriage was what would keep someone from being snapped in half in the jaws of the dragonis, then surely there would be more survivors to tell the tale. There was no hiding from these monsters.

A sickly tremble traversed down Remis’ spine. He’d been certain they’d run into trouble on their journey. There was no possibility of avoiding the dragonis. Still, it surprised him at how swiftly they’d been stopped. Only a few hours into their journey and they would meet their end. It seemed almost laughable that his story would conclude so quickly. In fact, he would have laughed out loud if not for the fear that threatened to turn his bowels to liquid.

Two more heartbeats passed. Remis exhaled slowly and shifted forward in his seat.

A twig snapped somewhere outside. Goosebumps rose along his flesh with the knowledge that they weren’t alone. Something lurked beyond the thin walls that caged them in. Could it sense the three men who waited in stifling silence? Could it smell their fear?

His hand drifted to the hilt of the weapon strapped to his belt. Wet with sweat, his palm curled above the bulbous end.

There came several muffled thumps, a familiar pattern of human steps. For a split second, he wondered if it was the driver, finally coming to apologize for the scare, but the noise was multiplied many times over. It was joined with a pounding against their carriage’s sides, a startling slap of flesh.

Something shoved against the side of the carriage, rocking them, then tipping all three of them in their seats. Arms and legs were cast at odd angles trying to find purchase. Remis caught Meritt’s elbow somewhere in his rib cage and he was certain he caught sight of Percy’s boot against Merritt’s bicep. Before they were entirely tipped onto their sides, something caught them and launched them back the other way.

Remis fully slid from his seat then. As the curtains swayed with the movement, he caught sight of dirt-coated skin and a half-toothless smile. Back and forth the carriage rocked, bouncing them around like dice held within cupped hands. Where they might land nobody knew.

“Men, not dragons,” Remis seethed. Probably more than the three of them could handle even with their sword training if they were tossing the carriage around as though it were but a toy.

The shaking stopped with a loud crack, everything tilted definitively to the rear left side, and the door to the carriage was flung open. Cold invaded their space, followed closely by the foul scent of body odor.

A man leaned inside with his weapon outstretched. Mud streaked what skin was exposed around what looked like a woman’s fur coat. Dirty blond hair was braided back to reveal the line of his jaw and the scars that peppered it. Did he shave with a dull blade?

“We’ve got…one, two, three…three pretty boys who think they can make it through the Deadwoods,” the stranger shouted.

“What do you want?” Merritt scowled.

Several more faces, varying in ages, but all dirt-covered tried to peer in around the one who held the weapon. The smell of their unwashed bodies and perhaps another more putrid scent turned every breath sour. Remis tried to count them as they came into view. He thought there were six but then again perhaps there were seven.

“Isn’t it quite obvious? We’re robbing you.” The man snorted and nodded as his friends all chuckled behind him. “Come on now, let’s make this quick, we”ve all got places to be.”

Remis had landed in the tangle of Percy’s legs. Percy sighed, his head hitting the bench as he deflated at the news—as if being robbed was an everyday annoyance. Merritt was already pulling himself up from the carriage floor.

Still, Remis couldn’t help but feel immense relief. Highwaymen. It was only highwaymen, not dragons. This he could handle. Well, at least he thought he could live through this. He’d never actually been robbed before.

“Out you go.” The highwayman grunted again, jabbing his blade toward Merritt.

Sliding out from between his friend’s limbs, Remis followed Merritt out onto the dark trail. Only the pale moon shone down on them between the leafless limbs of the trees. Their faces were shadowed but he could make out eight silhouettes. An entire band of highwaymen. At least out here the strong breeze brought with it fresh air so they could be spared from the strangers’ stench.

The moment Percy stumbled from the carriage a highwayman climbed inside. Already two others had dispatched themselves from the group without a word and began undoing the trunks that had been secured at the back.

“I’m curious,” the highwayman purred, running his sword along the frosted ground at their feet. The blade left a streak amongst the icy crystals, drawing a line between the group and them. “What are three pretty rich boys doing out here during dragonis season?”

At least the highwayman thought he was pretty, Remis supposed. Though if he thought he was too pretty that could pose an entirely different plethora of problems. He considered reaching for his sword then and testing out the skills he’d been taught. Though fighting amongst ruffians and thugs in the black of night would likely be far different than working with trainers who’d pull their strikes back to keep from leaving a mark.

The trio stood quietly, not readily answering, and the man sucked his teeth and waved the blade before them. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”

“Not yet,” one of the men behind him called, pulling forth a round of laughter.

Remis tried to look anywhere but directly at the sword pointing deviant before him. Night cloaked most of the group hiding away features and thick jackets disguised their true physiques. He counted them again, noting those who were currently turning their carriage inside out. Eight. The odds of winning eight to three weren’t terrible but they certainly weren’t in their favor either.

“Out with it,” the highwayman pushed the words out through clenched teeth. He’d stilled his pointless waving of the sword and directed it at Merritt. The blade stilled near enough to Merritt’s throat that one sudden movement could end his entire life.

Guilt was a creeping serpent wrapping itself around Remis’ spine. It slithered up, striking with a poisonous bite somewhere deep in his chest.

Hours. They’d only been gone for hours.

“We’re traveling to Croughton,” Merritt answered. The bob of his throat snagged on the edge of the weapon and a bead of blood welled.

“What’s in Croughton that is valuable enough to risk your lives here?” Merritt looked to Remis from the corner of his eye and the highwayman’s brows raised. “Are you the leader then?”

Then the blade was at his neck. It didn”t brush against his flesh, but the nearness was damnable. Remis wouldn’t push the man, not when he so clearly had the advantage.

“A business deal.” The answer managed to pull itself from his dry throat.

“Businessmen!” the highwayman crooned.

At the same time, the man who’d climbed inside the carriage stepped out with a shrug. “Only a broken lantern in there.”

The others had succeeded in removing Remis’ trunk and the two smaller satchels that accompanied it. They waited at the edge of the road ready to scurry off with their winnings and every ounce of the trio’s supplies.

It was most tempting then for Remis to pull his own weapon, to test his hand as well as his friends’. Merritt had been brought up much the same and was quite adept at swordplay but Percy knew more about the sport than he could successfully put into practice.

Perhaps all this made him a coward. He couldn’t find it within him to summon the strength to try or to fight. His desire to live far outweighed his want for his supplies.

“Well, it was our pleasure, truly.” He took a small bow, pulling himself away and creating room for the three friends at the edge of his sword to breathe. “We truly wish you the best of luck on your journey. You’re going to need it.” He backed away, along with the rest of the men.

“You can’t just leave us here with nothing,” Merritt snapped. “We won’t survive.” His hand gripped the hilt of his blade. “We’re as good as dead without it.”

“You’re dead with it!” the highwayman shouted and his words startled birds from a tree. “Make no mistake, we’ll slice you one way and then the next and leave your carcasses for the dragonis if you show your sword. It’s a small mercy we’ve left you with your weapons. You should be showing us gratitude.”

It was no mercy they’d left them with their lives. Remis sighed. Gratitude, the man had said. He couldn’t imagine having any sort of feelings of warmth for these men who’d destroyed their carriage, murdered the driver, and—two of the men climbed on top of the horses who’d been unhooked from the carriage rails at some point and began leading the thieves away. They’d taken the horses too.

Damn it all.

All they could do was stand and watch as everything they’d brought with them was carted away. Remis hoped the man would enjoy his portions of dried meats and aged cheese. He wondered if the next person they stole from would be greeted by the smelly, dirt-covered leader in what were once his trousers.

“My favorite shirt is in that bag,” Merritt whispered, though the men were already far enough away he doubted they could hear anything they said. The highwayman had created the distance that made them comfortable to turn their backs on what was now three desperate men.

“My backup book is in mine.” Percy tucked his novel against his chest and folded his arms over it. It would only be good for kindling now but he didn’t want to tell Percy that.

When he could see the men no more, Remis turned toward the carriage. The back left wheel had snapped right off, likely from the violent way the wicked men had rocked it back and forth. On well-oiled hinges, the door swung quietly as a gust barreled past them. He was thankful then that he’d kept his fur-lined cloak on. Another small gift, if it could be called that, that the men had left behind.

Yanking his hood over his head, Remis gently pushed the door aside to see the cushions on the benches ripped open. Small white feathers were scattered across the fabric and littered the floor as the down stuffing spilled out. There were no secret compartments in this rather plain carriage but there were gouges in the wood as evidence that the stranger had tried to pry several boards apart to check.

He growled and kicked at the front wheel. Even through his boot, the tips of his toes felt the impact and the rumble that rattled his chest deepened with the pain. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuccccck!”

“We’re dead.” Percy shuffled, nudging the dirt with his foot. “Dead men walking. This…this is now all borrowed time.”

“Oh, stop being so morbid. Why don’t we just head back into town?” Merritt balanced his hands on his hips watching as Remis rubbed the toe of his boot and cringed.

They could turn back. It was the glaringly obvious and better option. Yet, Remis’ mind ran at an exhausting rate. What would his father say? What would he do? The thoughts were almost as bad as watching his contract for school go up in flames right before him. It could be that fate was giving him the chance to live again, to turn around and refuse his dreams for the chance to survive. That was a good deal. Wasn’t it? Most people instinctually wanted to survive, to carry on, no matter the means. Remis’ instincts demanded more of him. To dream was to live and to succeed in those dreams was to thrive. He needed to thrive. The necessity of it ran in the demanding rush of blood that gave life to his body.

All of it was a dangerous desire. Probably the demise of them all. Would life be worth refusing himself of such a powerful calling? Destiny had him snared and it dragged him along, slave to its plan.

The distance they’d traveled thus far would be a nightmare to walk back. More than just a few hours. He looked up to the night sky and then at the twisting dirt path through the woods, trying to gauge where they were. He’d only briefly studied the map before they’d left. He felt like a fool for not looking more closely. Somewhere up ahead there was another city where he’d be able to get more supplies and maybe new horses. If he remembered correctly, they’d likely have as much of a walk toward the other city as they had if they turned around now and went back.

“I wouldn’t think less of either of you if you went back home.” Remis rubbed the back of his neck. “In fact, that would probably be the wiser choice. I think we’re nearly halfway to Olden. I can get supplies there and carry on.”

If he made it that far. He tried not to dwell on that particular thought.

He lifted his attention from where Percy’s boot had stopped toeing at the dirt and met the stares of his two best friends. Surely, they’d see reason enough now not to follow him on this fool’s mission. They’d learned rapidly what horrors were to be met in these monstrous woods. He hadn’t expected the first beasts they’d run into to be men but there was still no denying the dangers now.

“Percy, on a scale of one to ten, how much of an idiot is our friend Nikremis Lexmore?” Merritt’s eyes were wide, showing off the white around his iris. If he’d been a stranger, Remis would have thought him raving mad for the expression he wore.

“There is no scale for idiocy but if I were to create one and put him on it, right now, he’d be at least a seven. Potentially an eight or nine depending on how the rest of this conversation goes.”

Remis exhaled. These two were far too good for him. Or could it be that they were blind to Remis’ true nature? Did they not notice the way he’d trembled and dampened with perspiration only moments ago? He”d wanted to tuck tail and run. It wasn’t bravery that called him to carry on, it was the lesser of two evils.

“What have I done to deserve such loyalty?” he whispered.

Merritt snorted and clapped him on the shoulder. “Becoming friends with us was probably the smartest thing you’ve ever done in this lifetime.” He paused to look Remis over then glanced at Percy, who looked quite unaffected by their current situation. “You know, I think it would do me some good to stretch my legs anyway. I was far too comfortable before. We’ve got our swords, the clothes on our backs, and we’re certainly capable of walking. It’s more of a pastime for a peasant but I’ve been meaning to find a new hobby.”

Ever the optimist, Remis thought, though he did crack a smile. He wasn’t certain that walking could be classified as a hobby but the rest of it was true enough. Pushing his hair back, Remis gave a slight dip of his chin before turning toward the road, the same direction those vile men had gone. What would the chances of running into the same bandits again be? Or different ones? Surely, there couldn’t be too many survivors out here. This band of men had been shocking enough. He’d never heard of anyone but crossers making it through these woods. Maybe if there was a next time, Remis would have the courage to hold them at the end of a blade.

“This has been our worst idea yet,” Remis said.

Percy hummed his approval but ultimately his friends both followed as they left behind the broken-down carriage and started off into the night.The trees and the midnight breeze would be their company as they went. Remis was thankful for his cloak and the way walking on the uneven road warmed his body and fought off the cold. Drenched in his shame, he thought of all the things he was not thankful for as well. Being without food, spare clothes, or anything from his small medicinal pack that he’d packed was pretty high up on that list. At least he had some coin in his pocket.

Percy had been right. They were living on borrowed time. Then it occurred to him that the three of them were the real thieves here. Every moment they persisted they were stealing from death. Perhaps being a thief wasn’t so bad after all.