The man from the north’s face turned into stone. He thought about Son and Maren in Laor, and the danger they were likely in. Standing in his way of them was an unwise highwayman with a penchant for northern insults. He peered at the bandit and declared, “I am sorry then. I will be taking what I please, with or without compensation. For your sake, I advise you to stay out of my way.”
“And what, pray tell, will happen if we do not? Are you going to kill all four of us?” the dirty-blonde-haired man asked indignantly.
“Only if you are fortunate,” Dulnear huffed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that if one of you raises a hand, I will cut it off. If you attack, I will strike back.” Then, in a motion far too quick to counter, the northerner plucked the sword from the bandit’s hand and held its point to his neck. “But, even if you let me be, I am still going to cut that ridiculous braid from your head,” he growled.
The braided man’s eyes grew wide and he swallowed. The corner of his mouth began to twitch and he ordered, “Kill him!”
Dulnear turned the sword and slapped the man in the face with the broad side of it, sending him tumbling sideways. In the same motion, he backhanded the man to his right with an iron fist. The man fell to the ground, cupped his nose with both hands, and cursed groggily.
A third man rushed toward the northerner with a sword ready to strike. Before he was close enough, Dulnear flung the braided man’s sword at him, planting it firmly in his ribcage. He then felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder and realized that the fourth bandit had thrown two knives into it.
The warrior stood tall, pulled the knives from his shoulder, and grunted, “This was my father’s coat!”
“Then you shouldn’t have worn it to a fight,” the bandit said from the other side of the fire. He then produced two more knives and cocked his arm back to throw them.
Suddenly, there was a whoosh and a thunk, and an arrow appeared in the man’s chest. He dropped his knives and fell to the ground, clutching the arrow.
Dulnear pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. “I told you to stay by the road,” he said.
“And I told you we were in a hurry,” Faymia noted as she strode out from behind the wagon.
“Perhaps, but I was enjoying myself.”
“Too much, if you ask me,” his wife replied. “Let’s get going.”
“One thing first,” he said. He then walked over to where the braided bandit was on the ground. “We will be taking two of your ponies, ne’er-do-well. You should have been more hospitable.”
The man sat up, made an obscene gesture, then rubbed the growing bruise on his face.
The man from the north didn’t appreciate the gesture. His nostrils flared, and he withdrew a knife from under his coat. “Thank you for the reminder,” he scowled, and he reached down to grab the man’s head.
The bandit kicked and pleaded for his life. “Don’t kill me! Take anything!” he cried.
With a simple flick of his knife, Dulnear removed the dirty-blonde braid from the back of the man’s head. He then tossed it into the fire. “You should re-think your life,” he advised.
He and Faymia took the two healthiest-looking horses and rode east as quickly as they could.
“Woooo, rahhhh!” Maren whispered to herself as she watched the terrible Cutthroat Seamus the Fierce race across the ship’s deck to do battle with Admiral Cole of the great ship Nollaig Moon. She could hardly contain herself as the play unfolded. Looking over to see Micah’s reaction, she added, “Cutthroat Seamus is the meanest pirate on the sea!”
“He sure is,” the boy responded. However, his face portrayed more boredom than excitement as he watched the players prance about, clashing swords and shouting taunts. “Do you think he’ll ever defeat Admiral Cole?”
“Certainly,” the girl answered confidently. “He wants that ship and he’ll do anything to get it!” Suddenly, there was a flash, and a deafening boom as prop cannons began firing over the audience. Maren startled, reaching for her ears. When she realized what was happening, she began to laugh. “Boom!” she shouted, and looked back at her friend.
Micah laughed with the girl, then leaned closer to her. “I’m going to slip out for some sweets,” he said.
Maren couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave at this moment. She looked down in her lap and realized that she had hardly touched the pie that sat there on a small tin plate. She took a big bite, then said with her mouth full, “Okay. Come back soon.”
“I will,” the boy said, then slipped out into the aisle and out the back of the tent.
“Pssssh!” Maren said as she used her fork to mimic the movements of Cutthroat Seamus as he fought against Admiral Cole and his crew. Enthralled with the play, she gave herself fully to savoring every sword clash, every costumed buccaneer, and every line uttered by the actors. When the play came to an end, she stood to her feet and applauded, as did the rest of the audience. It was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen!
As the cast took a bow and walked off the stage, the girl watched them jog to the rear of the tent and make their way outside. She was thinking about running out to meet them when a man’s voice rang out, “Okay people! Let’s make a line!”
Maren was shaken from the world of pirates and excitement. She looked around and saw sword-bearing men standing along the walls of the tent. The crowd that was so enthusiastic moments ago sluggishly shuffled into the aisles and began to queue up at the exit. She took one last bite of her dessert,
