After an hour's ride, the forest gave out, and the barren expanses of Featherdale loomed before Cyric and the two dalesmen. Looking back, the thief half expected the mysterious forest to shimmer and vanish, or the trees to uproot and follow them. Yet nothing strange occurred.
The riders left the riverbank to avoid a curve of the Ashaba to the north in order to follow the most direct route to Scardale. After an hour's ride over the dull flatlands of Featherdale, Cyric spotted a handful of riders in the distance, riding toward them. 'What do you want to do about those riders?' the thief asked as he turned slightly in his saddle.
'We have no quarrel with whoever it is,' Yarbro snapped, a slight tinge of nervousness in his voice.
Cyric reined his horse to a stop. 'We could try to avoid them, but they might think us cowards or criminals and set out after us if we do.'
A frown creased the young guard's face. 'Just a minute! I'm trying to think,' Yarbro growled harshly.
'There isn't much time, of course,' Cyric continued. 'If we ride right now, we might stand a chance of escaping from them.'
'A moment ago, you seemed to favor facing them,' Mikkel said, confused. He stopped his horse next to Cyric's.
The hawk-nosed thief smiled. 'Well, either way might be dangerous. There are many things to take into — '
Yarbro shook his head violently. 'Be quiet! I can't hear myself think!' Mikkel frowned at the blond guard.
The thief smiled. Good, he thought. This kind of conflict will make it easier for me to stay alive a little longer in the company of these yokels. Cyric turned back to Yarbro. 'Aye,' he said condescendingly. 'That's the problem with these situations. You need a clear head, plus a bit of hindsight, to judge them properly. If I may be so bold — '
'You already have been,' Yarbro barked. 'Now shut up! You're making my head swim!'
'Am I?' Cyric said softly, almost meekly. 'It's not my intention, I assure you.' The thief turned away and did as he was told.
After a moment, Yarbro drew his sword and laid it across his lap. 'We do nothing,' he said, sounding pleased with himself. 'We'll simply stay here and wait to see what they do.' In a short time, the riders had approached to within about a hundred yards. Their dark clothing and coats of arms became clearly visible, and Cyric identified them at once. 'Zhentilar,' the thief said flatly. 'Probably just a wandering band. I doubt that they're on any special mission. All that should concern them is staying alive.'
The dalesmen were tense and nervous as the riders approached. If they handled themselves properly, the dalesmen could avoid a conflict with the larger band. However, their frightened expressions and slightly quavering voices would probably give the hunters away no matter what they told the Zhentish troops.
The band of Zhentilar stopped about fifty feet from Yarbro, Mikkel, and Cyric. The leader of the company, a burly, black-haired man, rode forward a few steps. 'I am Tyzack, leader of the Company of the Scorpions. These are my men — Ren, Croxton, Eccles, Praxis, and Slater.'
Each of the black-garbed travelers nodded as his name was called. They were all well tanned from days of riding, and their clothes were worn and dirty. After a quick scan of the company, Cyric could not help but notice that one of the 'men' in the company, Slater, was actually a woman.
Tyzack crossed his arms, and there was an uneasy silence for a moment.
Cyric leaned toward Yarbro. 'You're supposed to respond,' the thief whispered. 'And I shouldn't be the one out front. It makes it seem as if I am in charge.'
Yarbro led his mount past Cyric. The thief eyed the hilt of the guard's sword as he passed. Of course, Cyric didn't dare make a move for the weapon with Mikkel still at his back.
The blond dalesman cleared his throat. 'I am Yarbro… a hunter of the Dales. With me is Mikkel, and Cyric.' The nervous pause was far too lengthy to he missed by the Zhentilar.
Tyzack looked around at the barren fields surrounding the two parties and laughed slightly. 'You're a bit out of your element, huntsman. Are you lost? Unable to find your way hack home?' A low rumble of laughter ran through the Zhentilar.
'They mock us,' Mikkel hissed in a hoarse whisper.
'Better that than attack us,' Cyric hissed to the fisherman.
The leader of the Zhentilar eyed the dalesmen for a few moments, then looked back to his company. Ren, a wiry, golden-haired young man, nodded, and Tyzack smiled. 'Heading to Scardale, are you?'
'That's correct,' Yarbro said. 'And we are in a bit of a hurry, it you don't mind.'
'Not so fast, dalesman,' Ren called from behind Tyzack. 'Tell me, what is it you hunt? You've come a long way to track your game.'
Mikkel moved his horse past Cyric. 'We only wish to be on our way,' the fisherman snarled. 'Will you let us move along?'
Tyzack spread his arms in a flourish. 'Was there ever any question?' The Zhentilar signaled his company to move forward. 'I didn't realize you required our permission.'
Cyric cursed softly. It was clear that the Zhentilar had no intention whatsoever of letting them go. I'd better make the best of the confusion, the thief thought to himself.
Yarbro turned to Mikkel and Cyric. 'Ride on,' the guardsman said, the words catching in his throat. Yarbro and Mikkel flanked the thief as they rode toward the Zhentish soldiers.
As the companies came close to one another, Eccles, a wild-eyed Zhentilar with flaming red hair, spat on the ground in front of Mikkel's horse. 'I'd spit on you, dalesman, but it would be a waste of water,' the fighter harked as he got close to the red-skinned fisherman.
Mikkel stiffened in his saddle. 'Zhentish dog!' he cursed bitterly.
'What was that?' Tyzack screamed, holding up his hand. The Company of the Scorpions halted.
'He called your man a 'Zhentish dog!'' Yarbro said flatly and reached for his sword. The Zhentilar quickly unsheathed their weapons as well.
Cyric considered his position. Yarbro and Mikkel still were on either side of him. The Zhentilar were formed in pairs, with Tyzack and Eccles in the lead, followed by Croxton and Praxis, then Ren and Slater at the rear. There's nowhere to run to, the hawk-nosed thief realized, and I have no weapons.
Eccles held a broadsword in his right hand and ran his left, with the reins wrapped around his wrist, through his red hair. The fighter trembled with rage. 'Well, Tyzack?' the wild-eyed Zhentilar asked breathlessly.
The black-haired leader of the Company of the Scorpions casually looked over his shoulder at his band. 'Kill them all,' he said calmly.
Fingers digging into the mane of his horse, Cyric prepared himself.
'You're dead men!' Eccles screamed as he kicked his horse into motion. 'Dead men!'
Cyric had leaped from his mount before the first blow was struck. He landed on the ground near Croxton, a red-bearded man with a flat jawline and thick, bushy eyebrows. The Zhentilar's lips curled back in a grimace as he saw Cyric fall, but he ignored the thief and rushed at Yarbro. As he raced past the guard, Croxton struck the young man in the face with the back of his mailed hand. Yarbro fell backward off his horse and landed beside Cyric. The thief saw seething hatred in Yarbro's bloodshot eyes.
Slater, the only woman in the ranks of the six-member band of Zhentilar, produced a crossbow and leveled it at Mikkel's face. She was no older than Midnight, Cyric realized as he watched her take aim at the fisherman, yet her features were as battle-worn as any man's he had ever seen. Her eyebrows had been completely shaved off, and her brown hair was cut short. Lips that might have been full and sensual were dry and cracked. She bit one side of her lips as she smiled and prepared to kill the fisherman.
Eccles rode past Mikkel and slashed him across the arm with his sword. Croxton and Praxis flanked Cyric and Yarbro. It was clear that the battle was over.
'Wait!' Ren yelled. 'Where's the fun if we merely slaughter them? Let's give them a fighting chance… and than we can slaughter them!' The golden-haired Zhentilar turned to the company's leader. 'Well, Tyzack?'
'I have no objections,' the black-haired soldier said, a wolfish grin crawling across his mouth. 'What do you propose?'
Ren pointed to Mikkel with his sword. 'Get off your mount, dalesman.'
The fisherman did not move. Ren leaned forward on his horse and pointed to Slater, who still had her crossbow trained on the red-skinned dalesman. Ren smiled, revealing a mouthful of rotted teeth. 'If I tell her to
