SAMPLE: ROGUE ON THE ROCKS - Introducing Quake

The boots were ruined. Mud and grit had been driven into the soft fabric as he ran from the fat merchant. Burs were caught in once plush material and thorns had already torn the side of his left boot; a ragged gash flopped open like a gutted fish. Quake sighed deeply and lifted his right foot from the shallow river bank and examined the sole of his boot. The rich material was well and truly ruined.

Quake sighed and shook his head. He stepped forward several yards and leant forward cautiously. A thunderous roar of a raging beast called up to him, the icy spittle from its mouth moistened his anxious grin. The water tumbled down into a frothy broth within the deep pool far below the upper crest of the waterfall. The glacial waters made his toes ache. He wiggled them to return the flow of blood, he felt no change but sought comfort in the fact that his toes could still move. He scanned the vertical mossy bank of rock, without rope and adequate footwear he would not be able to make the climb without breaking his neck.

He stepped back as the chirping bark of dogs reached his ears. The yaps bounded from the thick trees and rolled across the wall of rock high on his left. In less than a minute they would be upon him. Quake doubted the merchant would be amongst the men pursuing him, he would have quit long ago. Maybe the exertion had killed him and the men were merely racing to applaud him on killing their hateful employer. Quake doubted this very much. Fat men with red faces always had a following of well paid loyal vagabonds.

There was no way he could return the way he had come for the forest would be thick with men and dogs. The dogs would know his scent from the sheets he had hastily thrown to the floor before spring away.

Why had he bedded the whore? He knew she was married and it was dangerous. But the offer was there! And she had gold by her bedside! At that exact moment in time Quake hated the one weak aspect of his personality: he could not refusal the entertainment of a lady. Well, a woman, no necessarily a lady. A woman boasting a stack of heavy gold coins could not be ignored. After al, he was not a fool.

He fingered the heavy pouch of gold hanging from his hip. The leather was reassuringly heavy and sealed tight. He also carried a cutlass hanging from his sash. The sword was worth double the value of the gold and once belonged to a champion warrior who fought for the Lords of Tantnovoy. Quake smiled, he had been lucky to swipe the blade from the dead man before he was seen. The temptation to sell the blade had always been great but he had resisted the second temptation of his life: gold.

The day had begun well. Quake had collected his pay, plus a little extra, from his latest ‘employer’ and he had bedded a fine young bored noble lady. But in these times ones luck tended to become swiftly soured. Perhaps it was time to move on? Quake suspected that time had come and gone long before the sun had stained the land with her fingers of burnished gold.

Quake turned and looked to the snowy peaks to the east, a glacier divided two great zeniths of the ancient monoliths and fed the water filing the winter sated river. Why had he come to a foreign land where he was more than content across the sea? He considered that boredom may have driven him from his home land but then he recollected the incident with perfect clarity. It was the faithful gold that had driven him and the threat of the gallows of course. That always warmed his heels when he was travelling.

The dogs barked again, they were getting closer. In the next few seconds there were decisions to make. ‘Jump or fight, fight or jump,’ he muttered.

The boots were as good as ruined, he accepted that, but they were not beyond repair. He could maybe get a handful of coppers for them if they were scrubbed up nicely. If he jumped he would lose them. He would also lose the gold. The pouch was heavy and would be heavier still when flooded with water.

The rogue was wearing lamb skin gloves and a coat of green wool embroidered with red kites and spiralling roses along the sleeves. The black leggings were tucked deep into the ruined boots, flecks of mud had sprayed up the inner thigh which now cooled and chilled his legs.

He drew his sword. This would also be lost if he was not careful. Could he fight? He was no fool with the blade by any means. Had he not won a number of duels against jealous husbands and vengeful ‘clients’?

He would not throw aside the sword if he made the jump, he would have to lose the gold. The blade could be easily held but the leather sack would likely split when he hit the water. Or would it fill and drag him down?

Quake considered his odds of survival against the men. There had to be at least a dozen armed men interspersed throughout the woods. Each with a dog, some may have bows or crossbows. He made a calculation in his head, Quake was apt at odds predictions, after all, one could not gamble if they did not have a firm understanding of the laws of chance.

The odds were not good. He considered his chance of survival if he jumped, these odds were no better.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and cursed aloud. In all the tales and fables the lovable rogue always survived and lived happily ever after. He was lovable; all the women told him so. More dogs barked and the deep rumble of male voices stirred within the cacophony.

To the north stood a wall of steel bristling, to the south a plunge into iced water and basement of spiked rocks. The first man appeared from deep within the bushes; he shouted and pointed toward Quake. The guard ran through the water, kicking white water in a wall of spray ahead of him. Another joined him, both carried swords, one led a scrawny grey and black flecked dog.
Thankfully, none carried a bow thus affording Quake at least another two seconds of life before he made the decision. He closed his eyes and nodded. The decision was made. He looked to the mountains and reached for at his hip. Both hands took hold; one held the gold the other the cutlass. The men were upon him.

He faced the men and held his prizes high above his head. Over their shoulder, to his surprise he spied the fat merchant. At his ample waist he held a wide crossbow, bolt cocked and ready.
Decision made. Quake took a single step and confronted his destiny, gold in one hand and cutlass in the other. The merchant stared in open mouth disbelief and fired the heavy bolt…