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“Isn’t it quite obvious? We’re robbing you.” The man snorted and nodded as his friends all chuckled behind him. “Come on now, let’s make this quick, we've all got places to be.”
Remis had landed in the tangle of Percy’s legs. Percy sighed, his head hitting the bench as he deflated at the news—as if being robbed was an everyday annoyance. Merritt was already pulling himself up from the carriage floor.
Still, Remis couldn’t help but feel immense relief. Highwaymen. It was only highwaymen, not dragons. This he could handle. Well, at least he thought he could live through this. He’d never actually been robbed before.
“Out you go.” The highwayman grunted again, jabbing his blade toward Merritt.
Sliding out from between his friend’s limbs, Remis followed Merritt out onto the dark trail. Only the pale moon shone down on them between the leafless limbs of the trees. Their faces were shadowed but he could make out eight silhouettes. An entire band of highwaymen. At least out here the strong breeze brought with it fresh air so they could be spared from the strangers’ stench.
The moment Percy stumbled from the carriage a highwayman climbed inside. Already two others had dispatched themselves from the group without a word and began undoing the trunks that had been secured at the back.
“I’m curious,” the highwayman purred, running his sword along the frosted ground at their feet. The blade left a streak amongst the icy crystals, drawing a line between the group and them. “What are three pretty rich boys doing out here during dragonis season?”
At least the highwayman thought he was pretty, Remis supposed. Though if he thought he was too pretty that could pose an entirely different plethora of problems. He considered reaching for his sword then and testing out the skills he’d been taught. Though fighting amongst ruffians and thugs in the black of night would likely be far different than working with trainers who’d pull their strikes back to keep from leaving a mark.
The trio stood quietly, not readily answering, and the man sucked his teeth and waved the blade before them. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”
“Not yet,” one of the men behind him called, pulling forth a round of laughter.
Remis tried to look anywhere but directly at the sword pointing deviant before him. Night cloaked most of the group hiding away features and thick jackets disguised their true physiques. He counted them again, noting those who were currently turning their carriage inside out. Eight. The odds of winning eight to three weren’t terrible but they certainly weren’t in their favor either.
“Out with it,” the highwayman pushed the words out through clenched teeth. He’d stilled his pointless waving of the sword and directed it at Merritt. The blade stilled near enough to Merritt’s throat that one sudden movement could end his entire life.
Guilt was a creeping serpent wrapping itself around Remis’ spine. It slithered up, striking with a poisonous bite somewhere deep in his chest.
Hours. They’d only been gone for hours.
“We’re traveling to Croughton,” Merritt answered. The bob of his throat snagged on the edge of the weapon and a bead of blood welled.
“What’s in Croughton that is valuable enough to risk your lives here?” Merritt looked to Remis from the corner of his eye and the highwayman’s brows raised. “Are you the leader then?”
Then the blade was at his neck. It didn't brush against his flesh, but the nearness was damnable. Remis wouldn’t push the man, not when he so clearly had the advantage.
“A business deal.” The answer managed to pull itself from his dry throat.
“Businessmen!” the highwayman crooned.
At the same time, the man who’d climbed inside the carriage stepped out with a shrug. “Only a broken lantern in there.”
The others had succeeded in removing Remis’ trunk and the two smaller satchels that accompanied it. They waited at the edge of the road ready to scurry off with their winnings and every ounce of the trio’s supplies.
It was most tempting then for Remis to pull his own weapon, to test his hand as well as his friends’. Merritt had been brought up much the same and was quite adept at swordplay but Percy knew more about the sport than he could successfully put into practice.
Perhaps all this made him a coward. He couldn’t find it within him to summon the strength to try or to fight. His desire to live far outweighed his want for his supplies.
“Well, it was our pleasure, truly.” He took a small bow, pulling himself away and creating room for the three friends at the edge of his sword to breathe. “We truly wish you the best of luck on your journey. You’re going to need it.” He backed away, along with the rest of the men.
“You can’t just leave us here with nothing,” Merritt snapped. “We won’t survive.” His hand gripped the hilt of his blade. “We’re as good as dead without it.”
“You’re dead with it!” the highwayman shouted and his words startled birds from a tree. “Make no mistake, we’ll slice you one way and then the next and leave your carcasses for the dragonis if you show your sword. It’s a small mercy we’ve left you with your weapons. You should be showing us gratitude.”
It was no mercy they’d left them with their lives. Remis sighed. Gratitude, the man had said. He couldn’t imagine having any sort of feelings of warmth for these men who’d destroyed their carriage, murdered the driver, and—two of the men climbed on top of the horses who’d been unhooked from the carriage rails at some point and began leading the thieves away. They’d taken the horses too.
Damn it all.
All they could do was stand and watch as everything they’d brought with them was carted away. Remis hoped the man would enjoy his portions of dried meats and aged cheese. He wondered if the next person they stole from would be greeted by the smelly, dirt-covered leader in what were once his trousers.
“My favorite shirt is in that bag,” Merritt whispered, though the men were already far enough away he doubted they could hear anything they said. The highwayman had created the distance that made them comfortable to turn their backs on what was now three desperate men.
