Rise and Fall by Joshua P. Simon

while short bows lay on the ground next to them. The two men communicated with hand signals.
    Arguing? They recognize the rock formation as a likely vantage point, but see and hear nothing so are unsure how to proceed.
    With the scouts’ attention directed elsewhere Tobin rose to his feet, drew his bow in one fluid motion, and fired a quick shot on the run. Tobin covered half the distance to the two scouts as the arrow pierced the back of his target’s neck. The other man turned toward Tobin at the sound of arrow hitting flesh, his hand moving for the sword at his back. He reacted too slowly. Tobin snatched the dagger from his mouth, and hurled the blade toward the second scout. The knife caught the scout in his shoulder, causing the arm he reached with to go limp. The man’s eyes widened as his free hand frantically reached for the dagger jutting from his shoulder. Tobin’s knee pinned the scout’s arm across the man’s chest. To his credit, the man continued to struggle. A second dagger flashed into Tobin’s hand. The touch of its edge against the scout’s throat caused the man to release a small gasp.
    The scout opened his mouth to speak when Tobin cut him off. “You will say nothing unless you are answering my questions. Is that understood?”
    “Yes.”
    Tobin growled in a low voice. “Are you the only two scouts?”
    “Yes.” The man stuttered, “Please don’t kill me, I’ll…”
    Tobin used his free hand to twist the blade in the man’s shoulder, stopping just before the man let out a cry. “Silence. What I do with you will depend on your cooperation. You do anything other than answer my questions and I promise, you’ll suffer. How far away are the others?”
    “Over an hour, maybe two,” said the man with a slight whimper.
    “How many?”
    “Three thousand riders.”
    “None on foot?”
    “No.”
    The news came at a surprise, but Tobin did not let it show as he continued. “Shamans?”
    “Uh…”
    Tobin pressed the blade harder into the warrior’s throat, slicing through the thin black cloth and exposing the scout’s dark skin. “How many shamans?”
    “Ten.”
    Tobin’s gut wrenched. “Ten? Why so many?”
    “The Warchiefs wanted to ensure a swift victory.”
    “What direction are the riders coming from?”
    “North.”
    “Why not use the trail along the coast?”
    “The north is a harder journey but shorter.”
    “You said that all were riders, where is your horse and his?” said Tobin gesturing toward the dead warrior.
    “About one hundred yards east of here, behind a group of boulders at the bottom of two small hills.”
    Tobin paused. This seems too easy. Can he be that scared or is he trying to deceive me? “What are you not telling me?” he asked.
    The scout’s eyes flickered down to the blade at his throat and managed a swallow between gasping breaths. “That’s it. I promise. I’ve answered all your questions truthfully.”
    Tobin nodded. “I believe you,” he said with a comforting calmness to his voice.
    The scout relaxed. “Thank…” Words of gratitude turned into a gag as Tobin’s blade slid across the man’s throat, soaking the black cloth around it.
    Tobin wiped his knives clean and sheathed them. Gathering his bow, he edged to the east. He had no way of knowing whether another scout would be waiting at the next turn.
    A hundred yards later, he found two lean horses tied to a cactus, their heads down, nipping on the sparse vegetation. He shook his head in disbelief.
    He actually told me the truth…so far anyway. The muscular animals were hard and beautiful. Their black coats reflected the glare of the sun above. A far cry from the workhorses in Munai. These are specifically bred for battle.
    He moved to take the two animals when a disturbance coming from the other side of a large hill, some fifty yards away, pricked his ears. The thunderous beating of hooves faded as he listened, replaced by shouting voices. He sat crouched behind a boulder for