“Standard procedure,” he said distastefully. “Stand back to back with your weapons held as you wish, then start walking at my count. I will count to ten then shout ‘now’. You turn and fire at that shout, not before.” He backed away quickly as Dagon and the officer turned their backs to each other. “One, two, three…” The count seemed to take no time at all. He reached ten and the officer turned and fired. Dagon staggered forward. “Bastard,” said Cheydar. There had been no ‘now’ and the official was unlikely to object. There was a silence as Dagon regained his balance. The officer dropped his expended cylinder and was putting in a new dart when Dagon turned, and holding his gun one-handed up to his shoulder, took careful aim, and fired. The dart cracked against the officer’s gun and ricocheted up into his jaw. He stepped back making a keening sound, his cheek hanging off in a flap and his side teeth exposed in a bloody grin. He put another cylinder in his gun. Dagon fired again and there was the hollow fleshy thump indicative of a chest hit. The officer keeled over and lay coughing blood. Dagon walked up to him, watched him for a moment, then walked towards Cheydar. Cheydar watched the soldiers, then glanced aside as the official stepped up to him.
“Your phaeton is ready,” he said, his face deliberately clear of expression. “I suggest you get in it now and leave.”
Cheydar nodded in agreement and turned his attention to Dagon.
“Are you hit?”
“Yes.”
Cheydar looked at his left arm. Blood was trickling from his fingertips. “How bad?”
“The bone is broken. The dart is still in me.”
Cheydar nodded to the interior of the tavern. “We will deal with it now.”
“It would be better if we left,” said Dagon.
“Don’t be foolish. If there is to be a fight later on today or tomorrow I do not want you weak from blood loss. We deal with it now.”
Dagon looked at him with evident surprise then smiled. “You are right. You are absolutely right,” he said. Cheydar wondered why he took such delight in being wrong, but dispelled the thought when Dagon staggered as they entered the tavern and he stepped to support him. Suen rushed to help once they were inside.
“Sheda, get my things,” she said. They sat Dagon in a chair and Eric stood guard at the door. “Sheda!
Damn, where is that girl?” Cheydar looked around then continued to cut away Dagon’s shirt. He took a look at the wound then went to his own pack and removed a field-surgery kit. Suen walked to a back door and looked out. “Sheda!” Cheydar put a tourniquet around the top of Dagon’s arm then tossed powder on the split below.
“That should deaden it some,” he said. “I have to get the dart out.” He cleaned a pair of surgical pliers in alcohol and a pair of spatulas that he handed to Suen. “When I say, hold open the wound with these.” They waited a short time until the powder did its work, then at Cheydar’s instruction Suen pushed the spatulas into the split and opened it wide. The dart was imbedded in broken bone. Cheydar got the pliers on it, but had to shove his fingers in the wound so one end of the break did not get pulled out as he tugged at the dart. Dagon turned to look at him with a sickly grin on his face, then he fainted. Cheydar stitched his wound and splinted his arm while he lay unconscious on the floor.
“Now we have to get him to the phaeton. Where is David?” Cheydar turned to Eric, who looked momentarily guilty before removing a fold of paper from his tunic and handing it over. Cheydar unfolded the note and read it. He was angry for a moment then guilty to feel relieved. He handed the note to Suen. She read the note then suddenly looked very angry. Cheydar waited for the explosion, as Dagon regained consciousness and struggled to sit upright. Cheydar squatted to help him.
“What’s going on?” Dagon asked Suen.
“David and Sheda have gone. They’ve taken or are taking a barge to Elmarch.”
“We have time to stop them,” said Suen, screwing up the note.
“Why?” asked Dagon.
“Why!” Suen all but screeched. “She is my daughter. She is just a little girl!” Dagon gave her such a look of contempt it was almost a blow. She stepped back. “That little girl has been lying with David since I joined you, and probably long before. She’s found love, or infatuation if you will, and you want her at your side to go and die with you below a death post.”
“I am not going to die,” said Suen, quietly, almost whispering.
“Then you can find them in Elmarch sometime after. They will be safer there.” Dagon staggered to his feet. Suen stared at him, probably knowing him to be right but loath to agree. She turned away as Cheydar and Eric began to collect up their things.
“I blame you for this,” she snarled at Cheydar. He nodded acquiescence and continued with what he was doing. Suen abruptly sat down and began crying into her hands. Cheydar reached out to touch her shoulder and she knocked his hand away. As they loaded the phaeton she made no objection. She boarded without a word.
It took four days to reach the last coach house before North wood and during the four stops on the way for the feeding of the titanothere they mostly stayed inside the capacious phaeton and ate cold food. For a day Dagon ran a fever, but this was quickly dealt with by drugs bought at their first stop. No one followed. Perhaps the soldiers were embarrassed by the cowardly duelling tactics of their officer, or frightened by the way he was dispatched. At the last coach house they bought supplies and set out afoot along one of the many paths into the Wilder.
“Perhaps we should have hired a guide,” said Cheydar as the trees closed around them. He preferred to be out in the open. Too much that was unexpected could come upon them in this place. There were dangerous creatures in the Wilder and dangerous men. He unhooked his airgun, dart pack and blades, and handed them to Eric to free himself of iron before checking their course. He laid the compass on the map, turned the map, grunted his satisfaction then put map and compass away. His son returned to him his weapons. They continued.
“We’ll be at the coast by the evening,” said Cheydar. No-one felt inclined to reply to him. The forest brought its own silence that it seemed should not be disturbed by rude human chatter. Suen had had very little to say since her daughter had run away. Perhaps, Cheydar thought, she was beginning to realise what was most important. He had. He was glad David had gone and only sad that Eric had not gone with him. The two of them had not yet sworn any oath to Tarrin’s family and it was not necessary for them to serve to the limit; death.
They walked all morning and most of the afternoon through thick deciduous woodland. Great oaks, chestnuts, nettle elms, and the like, towering all around them. The nettle elms were bare, but the oaks still held onto the Autumn leaves other trees were in the process of shedding. The ground was swamped with leaves in shades of red and gold, and every breeze brought more of them kiting down. Through this colourful layer pushed fungi in bright poisonous colours and colours the same as the leaves. Dagon collected some of the latter in a cloth bag he hung at his belt. Eric and Cheydar, not knowing which fungi might be edible confined themselves to picking up sweet chestnuts, and walnuts. Suen just tramped along.
“Let us take a break now,” said Cheydar, in the afternoon. “The last four days have been wearing. Here at least we can relax some. Here.” He gestured to an area clear of briers below an ancient walnut tree. Suen nodded to him and slumped down on a pile of leaves by the trunk. “Take yourself off,” said Cheydar to Eric, while looking at his mistress. “Bring us some fresh meat. I’ll light the fire.” Dagon and Cheydar cleared a space in the leaves and collected together a pile of the ample fallen wood. Cheydar waved Dagon away as he built a fire. Dagon went to sit by Suen.