The Nameless Slave 2

by Vitaly Zykov

  Gritting his teeth, Yarik jumped somewhere up from the branch which was sheltering him. The gripe with his left hand responded with severe pain in the muscles, and without trying to pull-up, Yarik swung forward like a pendulum, and at the top point he pulled-up with the help of his wounded arm and stood on the branch. It swayed under his weight. Yarik turned his head and met the robber's eyes. His lips were trembling, his hand was frantically trying to pull out an arrow from the quiver.

  – Get it! – Yarik breathed through his teeth and kicked the archer, knocking him off the tree.

  With a convulsive cry, he waved his hands, released the bow and it rushed down pounding over the branches, oddly enough, but the robber himself did not fall down. He fell from the branch and now was hanging on a rope tied to his belt. The limbs of the robber were roaming aimlessly in the air searching for support. Yarik's eyes caught the two things: a long knife at the belt of the robber and a thick branch near his right leg.

  «He'll stand now on the branch, get the knife, and I'll fly after the bow with a hole in my side», – a thought flashed in Yarik's head and he jumped at the hanging man.

  The robber just only found the branch, when Yarik's body hit him. His foot slipped again, the rope cracked and the robber shouted angrily. Yarik seized the body of the hanging man with his legs and began to fumble with his left hand seeking for the knife on the belt. The archer hammered with his hands in resistance. Lucky for him his elbow touched the arrow shaft, that stuck out from Yarik's arm. The arrow tip scratched the bone, evoking oceans of pain. Yarik yelled something obscene and threatening and hit the enemy with his forehead. Blood spurted from his cut eyebrow. The strike stunned the robber for a moment and gave advantage to Yarik. He finally felt the handle of the knife and pulled it from its sheath.

  «Just don't drop it!» – Flashed a thought. Yarik had already stabbed the enemy. The knife went into the human flesh almost without any resistance. Then another strike and another… At some point Yarik realized that he was just screaming and striking the already immovable body. His hand froze in backswing and at this moment the tearing rope cracked. Yarik rushed down like in a high-speed elevator. Wriggling in the air, he could achieve one thing – when he hit into the ground the robber was under him, not the opposite…

  Yarik lost consciousness for a short while, maybe a couple dozens of heartbeats. When he came around, he instantly remembered where he was and got on his feet. His left hand was exposed slightly forward, holding the knife at ready (he still hadn't drop it!), his eyes rummaged around.

  While Yarik was fighting on the tree, the situation on the ground had changed dramatically. Ataman was lying with his face down and a pool of blood was spreading out from under his body. A little further lay two other bodies. One of them was still twitching. An archer was lying on his side under a tree. The cause of his death was a knife protruding from his throat. An accurate throw! But where had Darg got the knife? At this time, Yarik saw his master. He was spinning a rope behind Yarik. Yes it was the ataman's flail! At this point, Darg released the flail from his hands and the dark ball rushed to the top of one tree with a roar. Immediately a clearly dying cry came from there and the body of an untied thief rushed towards the ground breaking branches on its way.

  Yarik breathed through his gritted teeth respectfully:

  – Wow!

  Darg turned to him, cursed and hissed:

  – Get ready, the others will be here soon!

  And Yarik immediately drew attention to the approaching screams and crackle. New faces appeared from the bushes across the road. Three… five… ten… seventeen! Five with bows, the others with axes and swords.

  – Shit!!! Darkness curse them! – Yarik growled and looked at his wounded arm.

  It's difficult to fight with a sticking arrow! And what fight was he even thinking about, they needed to escape! Yarik threw a short look at Darg. His lips were clenched, nostrils were flaring angrily. Apparently, his master decided to drown the bitterness of all defeats of the last five weeks in the battle. And he will drown, but in his own blood! And in Yarik's too.

  – Marhuz take you all!!! – Yarik roared, pumping fury and squeezing the arrow shaft, pushed it forward. The arrow tip scraped the bone again, creating a new wave of pain, but on the other side of his arm a knoll had swollen already. – Ah-ah-ah! Oh-oh-oh-oh!!

  Yarik continued to yell when a strong hand grabbed his wounded arm, a sharp blow broke the swollen knoll and the tip covered with blood appeared on the other side. A jagged tip! Darg, of course it was him, broke off the tip and pulled the shaft from the wound.

  – Let me bind it up! – It was the voice of a chief accustomed to command. He skillfully wrapped and tightened Yarik's arm.

  The rope seemed suspiciously familiar to Yarik. He looked under his feet – of course, it was the rope used by the robber killed by Yarik…

  – Come on, grab the ax! It is going to be hot! – Darg shouted and threw one of the axes of dead robbers to Yarik. Only by miracle Yarik managed to dodge and even catch the weapon.

  Darg ran to the dead archer and pulled off a good long dagger from his belt. He took it in his left hand, the sword in his right, whirled a deadly whirlwind around, and then stopped. Judging by the expression on his face, Darg was satisfied.

  At this time, the first pair of bandits ran from the bushes. It looked like they had not really understood yet what was going on here. Only that could explain why they had not started with shooting from bows. Darg as if waited for that. Although, maybe he did indeed! He leapt forward, the sword flashed, and the head of the hapless thief rolled on the ground. The second tried to hit with his ax, but Darg easily dodged and stabbed the dagger right under the robber's chin. A dancing step and Darg was already standing aside. As Yarik noticed, his master stood behind the trunk of a thick tree, in order to be invisible from the road.

  That's reasonable! Yarik decided to use this tactic too. In few short dashes from trunk to trunk he approached Darg. This precaution turned out to be really useful – the first arrows rustling with torn leaves flew beside Yarik. But the archers, apparently, decided that they could waste all arrows in such a way and stopped firing. And five robbers entered the bushes at once. Then there was no time for observations.

  Once the robbers jumped out from the bushes (this time Darg gave them time to get to the open space between the trees), they assessed the situation immediately, including Yarik's blood-stained right hand, and four of them attacked Darg, while the fifth one went to Yarik. New robbers rustled in the bushes.

  Yarik focused his attention on one vilely grinning robber. The whole world shrunk to this only bastard. His lips moved, saying something to Yarik, but Yarik did not hear. He took his ax comfortably, swung it and stepped toward the enemy. The latter played with a short sword. Apparently, the enemy was greatly baffled by the fact that before him stood a man with weapon in his left hand. But Yarik did not know properly how to hold a weapon in the right hand either! At this time, clangs came from Darg's side, followed by someone's death cry.

  «Master does not waste time!» – With this thought Yarik hit the enemy with his ax.

  The robber easily parried the blow with his cheesy-looking sword. The recoil of the strike replied with pain in Yarik's shoulder. Yarik dropped his ax. The robber grinned and raised his sword above his head.

  Yarik had no choice but to throw his body forward. The enemy did not expect such a blow, he stumbled, waved his arms, and they both rolled on the ground. The sword stayed somewhere behind. Yarik clutched his hands on the robber's throat trying to strangle him. But he could not do that – Yarik met an extremely healthy fellow. The man cursed, then swung and this time Yarik was buried under his body. With the next movement he torn off Yarik's hands from his neck. Yarik began to punch like mad, trying to get into the enemy's eyes. But the guy cursed again, clung Yarik's wrists, and Yarik clearly understood that now a monstrous blow will follow, which will cripple him, if not kill him on the spot.

 
In desperation Yarik pulled his hands. The foe, did not allow it, of course. As a result, Yarik pulled himself to the robber's chest. The latter involved his second hand, trying to press Yarik to the ground, but lost balance and fell on Yarik, opening his neck. And Yarik grabbed it with his teeth. Blood spurted forth. Feeling the taste of blood on his lips, Yarik clenched his jaw even stronger. A heavy blow struck on his head from somewhere aside, then another and another. The roaring guy, mad from pain and fear, discharged a burst of punches upon Yarik's head.

  Finally, the robber jerked extremely strongly and broke away from Yarik's grip. Then he rolled aside and got on his feet. He tried to hold fountains of blood with his hands, but all in vain. A few moments, and he lost consciousness. Yarik had certainly bit some artery.

  The dead body tumbled onto one side, and Yarik could safely get on his feet now. Theoretically. The strong blows had affected his state. He tottered from dizziness and noise in his ears. Yarik had to make an effort to just get up. At first, he got on all fours, pulling his disobedient legs, then shaking his head, and struggling with haze before his eyes, got on his feet.

  The surrounding world was reeling. Yarik stepped to a tree and leaned his hand on the trunk. He felt sick. Yarik looked around with mad glance trying to assess the situation. It was odd enough, but nobody attacked him. The bodies of the robbers were lying around. Darg moved between them quickly searching for any valuable things. It was a real looting on the battlefield. He could hear clanking of iron and shouts from the side of the road. Yarik shook his head, trying to get rid of obsession. What else could it be called, if it seemed, that some armed group was finishing the remains of the robbers?

  – Come on! Here! – Darg said in a muffled voice. – Put it on!

  He handed someone's pants to Yarik. But why someone's? Yarik looked around and immediately saw a body, naked from its waist down. To put on the pants of a dead man?! A lump rolled up in his throat. Yarik tried to restrain, but could not cope. He hunched and splashed out his stomach contents on an innocent bush.

  – Put it on immediately! Do you hear me, slave?! – Darg was not prone to joke. He took off his rags and was already sitting in the chieftain's clothes pulling on his boots.

  Yarik had no choice but to obey the order. However, as soon as his look fell on the dead bodies, his stomach began to shrink in convulsions.

  – Well, now we are looking like men at least! – Darg grunted. – Hold it.

  Yarik took the bag silently. Darg himself hung a small bag over his shoulder and attached the sword and the dagger on his belt.

  – You take the ax – Darg turned to the slave, buttoning his belt.

  Yarik nodded obediently. He imagined himself mentally, and saw a barefoot man in gray pants, naked to the waist, belted with a rope, with a bag over his shoulder, and with an ax in his hand. In comparison with his previous appearance – now he looked much more impressive. That is, more befitting the appearance of a slave belonging to a stranger, which Darg looked like now. Yarik shook the bag and heard something rattling inside. It was heavy!

  – Do not untie! – Darg growled. – There are more or less valuable things of this scum.

  – Did they have money? – Yarik could not help asking.

  – They did – Darg shook his handbag.

  At this point the screams on the road ceased.

  – Our helpers have finished their job. Let's go! – Darg shook his head invitingly and began to wade cautiously between the bushes. – Do not shoot! We are not enemies!

  He shouted, referring to the people on the road.

  – You go out, at first, and then we will see who you are! – A cheerful perky voice came from the road. Obviously, the speaking man was not too old.

  Darg came out carefully to the road. Yarik was going after him. The slave could only repeat all the movements of his master, who was standing motionless now, his hands spread apart, showing his peaceful intentions. Yarik put the ax to the ground and raised his hands. Four archers were standing five yards ahead attentively watching at their movements. Both, afoot and horseback warriors began to gather around. The eyes of all the men were wary and there was no humanism shining in them. Yarik shivered. Could it be that they had got out of the frying pan into the fire?!

  At this point, a burly man in expensive clothing cut his way forward. White, or rather snow-white shirt, dark blue trousers and jacket, thick pouch on his belt, a wide leather belt, black boots, variety of gold chains and bracelets, rings on his fingers: all that spoke about his wealth. Although, to Yarik's taste, such a number of trinkets could only be worn by a man of not quite normal orientation. On the other hand, it could be local fashion. Tastes differ, as they say… The rest of his appearance was quite pleasant: respectable, age about forty, an impressive belly, a clean and sleek face without a trace of vices. A portrait of a typical merchant.

  – Who are you?! – This dapper man asked in thick and juicy baritone.

  – A wanderer and his slave, your honor! We were walking to Kargol and got lost. Then we got out to this road and were attacked by robbers. I had already thought that we were dead when you arrived… – Darg lowered his hands and bowed his head in appreciation.

  «I wonder whether this fatty will ask Darg why his clothes are too large and hanging on him like a sack?» – Yarik thought sadly.

  At this time a young man ran out of the bushes from which Darg and Yarik had come and jumped to the fatty.

  – Well?! – The merchant asked ignoring Darg and Yarik.

  – Eleven bodies. One of them belongs to Kurgaz! – The guy shouted happily. Then he hesitated and added: – All of them completely robbed. One body is without pants and Kurgaz's only in underwear.

  The fat man turned to Yarik's owner and sniffed.

  – A wanderer, you say? And you have stripped the robbers just for fun – the dandy said either asking or condemning, ignoring Yarik completely.

  Yarik noticed how Darg tensed and, as if accidentally, his hand fell on the belt near the hilt of the sword. The fatty noticed it too and twitched his cheek.

  – Well, the murder of damned Kurgaz, let his bones freeze in the darkness of the Abyss, is a good deal!

  I would even say, a godly deed. Is that right, folk? – The fat man looked at his men, and they responded with approving roar.

  Darg relaxed a little, but was still alert. Yarik had learned to recognize that state of his master instantly.

  – I'm merchant Turan from the family of Golden Eagle. And these are my people. We are going from the East Cayen to Glort and then to Kargol. So, I'm happy to welcome a great warrior like you… I'm sorry, I have not heard your name… – Turan froze in expectation.

  – Darg, Darg from Polot. I decided to see the world. – Darg grinned and glanced at Turan.

  He frowned and sighed.

  – Well, honorable Darg. I'll be happy if such a great warrior joins my caravan. Do not neglect my hospitality, do an honor to me. – Turan winked.

  Yarik shifted from foot to foot.

  «It would be nice to move with the caravan, but is it safe for us? That is the question…» – But it did not depend on Yarik and he was calmly awaiting his master's decision. Besides everything else, the wandering with Darg had instilled, or rather, revived a healthy fatalism in Yarik: should be it possible, he would go peacefully, if not he would use his ax.

  – It's my pleasure to accept the invitation of such a respected man. – Darg was a courtesy itself. – I and my slave are pleased to join your caravan.

  Yarik was relieved. Now, perhaps, it would be possible to relax. And immediately the human mass began to rustle and stir around. Some orders sounded. Riders jumped on their horses, somebody hastily dragged the bodies of the dead robbers aside. Apparently, they were not going to bury the robbers.

  One warrior with an ax and a sack dived into the bushes, where was the fight. A moment later there was a sound of chopping and the soldier appeared already carrying the sack with some spots of splashes on the de
nse cloth.

  – The main guardian of Kargol promised a good reward for the head of this bastard! – The soldier said passing by. He obviously had no intention of giving the bag with the trophy to Darg.

  Yarik looked at his master, but Darg did not even wince. On the other hand, he was right. They were not in a proper position to put on airs. And merchant's actions were quite reasonable, a merchant is always looking for benefit. For example, Turan will receive the reward for the ataman, and get a new guard in the caravan for free.

  «Well, this Turan is a quirky guy!» – A thought full of respect flashed in Yarik's mind.

  An ugly little unarmed man came to Darg and invited him to follow. And the master ordered Yarik with a nod to keep behind. The guide led them to one of the wagons. They could spend the rest of the way in a wagon. Yarik adjusted his bag on his shoulder (it was heavy!), grabbed the ax more handy and went behind his master.

  The little beast was in a hurry. The goal was so close that every moment of delay caused a burst of impatience in his small heart. He wanted to run and run forward, without stopping even for a second. But no matter how hardy was the little hunter, he had to stop for rest and feed.

  The surrounding world was so careless. The local beasts were slow and scattered. For example, yesterday the hunter saw a gray creature of his own size on a tree. It was perching on a branch and clucking something. And how he crept to the prey that time! He froze still, then darted like an arrow, then hung upside down on the branches, approached at the distance of one jump and then rushed upon the pray like a lightning. One movement, and blood gush from the bitten neck, and gray feathers were swirling around. And what was the taste… It was impossible to eat so well at home!

  The beast ran on and on. Now he ran out to an unimaginably long clearing, wriggling like a snake. Almost all the grass was trampled there. It was so easy and pleasant to run on it! No need to wade in the maze of thick grass or jump from branch to branch. At this point, the animal felt the strong smell of the Big. He was here!!! Recently!!!