14. The Package


  

  From Flammen, Messl was a single day of travel and, thanks to their efforts up to this point, a short one. It was well that it was, because the first junction confirmed what people had told them in Flammen the night before: the direct route was out of bounds. The locals had not been subtle in spreading this message. Three upturned carts blocked the track with chains wound from the trees either side, making it abundantly clear no one should pass this way. As if this wasn't enough, someone had taken an axe to the sign post so that only the 'l' of Messl remained, the freshly cut wood smelling faintly of pine resin.

  Fortunately, this was only a diversion of a few miles, and their prior haste had more than paid for this time. At the next village, they were about to angle back towards Messl with no further obstruction.

  The coach rolled forward onto a track that was now more mud than gravel, the wheels sucking and churning softly. Aside from seeing it on maps, Luka had never heard anything of Messl. It was soon evident why. The village was barely even a hamlet, maybe a dozen houses set in the clearing between the trees with a dry pond in the center, the cracked earth looking like old ceramic.

  They pulled up alongside this feature and dropped to ground level to put boots on earth. It was quiet, deadly quiet.

  "I don't like it. Does no one live here?" Rolan's voice, normally clear, sounded muffled in the still air.

  "Good question."

  No one was tending their garden. No one was hammering horse shoes. There was no rumble of laughter and urgent banter from the local inn.

  Luka reached into the coach and lifted out his crossbow. It was a fine piece of machinery, polished wood, metal, and leather in perfect balance. He felt underneath and tested to see if the upgrades he had paid for in Ravelle were still working.

  With a yank of a lever, a six-inch blade jutted forth from the underside, turning the crossbow into a short spear in an instant. He pushed, and the blade retracted again with a faint, oiled snick. On the other side of the mechanism, he pulled another lever, and the string stretched taut, ready for a quarrel to be dropped into place, which is just what Luka did.

  Rolan loosed his sword from its scabbard and gave a few experimental twirls, the steel making a sharp, high whisper in the silence, and then put on his steel helm. The visor remained raised for now.

  Softly treading, they moved around the pond looking for signs of life. Luka felt no urgency in this. He already knew there were no eyes looking their way.

  He opened a door with his boot, and it stuck in its hinges before giving way with a dry, scraping sound. The house inside was empty. No one was there and, moreover, no one had been there for some time. Furniture was minimal. All cooking implements gone. No chests for clothes. No stools to sit upon. Just beds and tables that looked like they may have been too heavy to carry.

  Quite suddenly he felt an itch behind his eyes. The sight of Messl from a different angle to the one they had entered flashed in his mind. Luka rushed outside.

  "This way."

  Rolan followed instantly as they made their way to the road leaving the village to the west. Soon a coach, not unlike theirs except pulled by a single horse, rolled softly into view.

  Luka raised his crossbow to the driver while Rolan paced with wide side steps, ready to see the coach from behind.

  The driver held up his hands pacifyingly, his face a mask of weary relief. "Whoaa. It's just me, I promise."

  "What happened here?"

  "I don't know. I'm not from here. I was just sent here to deliver something. I was told there would be couriers coming. Is that you?"

  Luka nodded to Rolan who opened the back door of the coach. Rolan immediately nodded back, confirming the account.

  "Do I need to prove who I am?" Luka asked.

  "No. And don't tell me."

  "Then how do you know I'm the right person?"

  "There's no one else here. I was told to take this package to Messl. Give it to the couriers when they arrive. Leave and never think about it again."

  The man allowed himself a wry smile. "So to tell the truth, I don't care if you're the right people or not."

  "Understandable." Luka conceded.

  "It's heavy," Rolan reported, his voice betraying a hint of strain.

  "One moment..." Luka eyed the driver. "How did you know we'd be here today?"

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  "I didn't. You're early. Earlier than I expected, at least. I thought I'd have to hole up here for a while. So thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  Luka joined Rolan at the back of the coach and helped lift the long, oblong box so that it was out in the open. There were rope handles for them to carry it. Even so, Rolan wasn't lying about the weight. With one hand lifting and one holding his crossbow, they set it on the ground clear of the track.

  When the driver saw that they were clear, he started to urge the animals forwards again.

  "I don't suppose they told you what it is?" Luka called out.

  "No. And they said you wouldn't ask."

  The driver turned his cart and rumbled back along the track he arrived from, his relief palpable even from a distance.

  "I'll bring the cart round," Luka said and jogged back to their horses. Crossbow disarmed and placed back in the recess it belonged, he pulled up the carriage right next to the box and then helped Rolan haul it among their supplies.

  Luka looked at the wooden box. It was black and about six feet long, maybe four feet wide, and another two feet deep.

  "Shall we crack it open?" He suggested.

  "We said we wouldn't." Rolan countered.

  "Yeah. Maybe it's one of those things that's better not to know."

  In the original plan, Luka had imagined Messl would be a place they could stay for the night. Now, standing among the empty houses and holding a massive, black box, he just wanted to leave as soon as he could.

  "We'll stop at the village where we turned off."

  "Very well." Rolan answered and immediately got back onto his saddle.

  It was one of the things he valued about Rolan. When things got practical, he didn't waste time with questions. In very little time, they were on the move again. It was more than he wanted to push today, but every mile extra was one they didn't have to do tomorrow.

  The trees around Messl gave way to a more mixed landscape, sometimes wooded, sometimes open fields of wild grass. There was little in the way of farmland here. He supposed there wasn't the population to require it.

  Woods enclosed them again. The itch in his head returned, a sudden, demanding pressure behind his eyes. Once he was sure there were no obstacles ahead, he let the intrusions flood his mind.

  His eyes snapped open almost at once and turned to Rolan.

  "Riders. Behind us."

  Rolan didn't answer. He simply spurred his horse into a gallop, the massive charger’s hooves chewing the dirt as he disappeared beyond the upcoming bend.

  Soon after, Luka heard the hoofbeats clamoring against the dirt. He peered past the edge of the coach. There were six of them heading towards him at full pelt.

  He shook the reins and his three steeds lurched to life, going from trot to canter to gallop in quick succession. The pursuers moved faster. Luka peered behind again and an arrow came back at him, skimming the side of his vehicle with a wooden thwack.

  "Arseholes."

  The thundering came nearer. Two of the riders broke forward to go ahead of his cart; the other four closed from behind.

  Luka had his crossbow loaded and ready and sank back into his mind until he saw his own coach and someone raising a bow towards it.

  He blinked, held out his crossbow to the left of the carriage, and shot. There was a muffled cry and a thud, and a second cry. He peered again. Now the riders had gone narrow, using the carriage to block off any shooting angles.

  Ahead, the horsemen who went ahead tried to form a barrier. Luka urged his steeds to pull harder, forcing them to leave the track and dodge between trees, snapping twigs as they passed, before circling around to stop him, this time with swords drawn.

  A sound like a roll of thunder came from ahead. The two in front turned slowly and then in panic at the sight of Rolan's great charger heading at them. One tried to raise his sword. Rolan swung first, and for a moment the arm stayed raised before it dropped behind Rolan in his charge.

  Luka looked away from the stream of blood that followed and watched Rolan streak past the carriage and send one of the pursuing riders tumbling from their saddle. The rest burst apart like a flock of birds under attack.

  Rolan did not stop. He veered hard and came up upon Luka's left flank, now bearing down on the sole rider ahead who wisely decided to break off from the track altogether.

  Luka focused on the reins again, the cart bumped and jumped and skidded, barely staying out of the bushes, snapping twigs and scraping bark as they passed.

  "Just keep going," Rolan urged, his voice tight.

  "Come on, come on!" Luka encouraged the horses. "Just one sprint and we're done for the day."

  The track slapped against the wheels, shaking Luka up to his teeth until the village was within sight. Before they reached its threshold, he slowed the horses back down to a canter and then trot and then stop.

  Breath pitched out of his lungs like vomit.

  "Fuuuuck."

  His heart still vibrated like the cart was still in motion. He breathed again. Focus. Focus. He closed his eyes. There was the coach from behind and the blond tuft of Rolan's charger. Look further. No eyes on the tracks appeared, and he almost opened his eyes when another image flashed. Darkness. Hands against black wood.

  "Oh shit."

  Luka dropped to the ground while Rolan cantered to a stop.

  "Are they following?"

  "No." Luka hurried to the back of the coach with Rolan following.

  "What are you doing?"

  Luka ignored him, went straight to the box. He lined up the crossbow and pushed the underlever with all his force. The blade jutted out, forcing a gap between the lid and the rest of the box.

  "Luka, what are you doing?" Rolan repeated warily.

  Luka wedged the blade and levered the crack so wide there was a crack in the wood wide enough for him to get his fingers under and start yanking, pushing with his thighs for extra force. The lid opened wider. Rolan appeared behind his shoulder.

  "Oh shit!"

  "Yes." Luka concurred.