Quickly, he selected an arrow and nocked it to the string. He was about to draw back when a calm voice behind him said:
‘Don’t shoot him. I’d rather like to see this.’
Startled, he turned to find Gilan behind him, almost invisible in the folds of his Ranger cloak, leaning nonchalantly on his longbow.
‘Gilan!’ he began, but the Ranger made a sound for silence.
‘Just let him go,’ he said softly. ‘He’ll be fine as long as we don’t distract him.’
‘But …’ Will began desperately, looking to where his friend was facing a full-grown, very angry man. Sensing his concern, Gilan hurried to reassure him.
‘Horace will handle him,’ he said. ‘He really is very good, you know. A natural, if ever I saw one. That bit with the practice stick and the hilt strike was sheer poetry. Lovely improvisation!’
Shaking his head in wonder, Will turned back to the fight. Now Carney attacked, hacking and lunging and cutting with a blind fury and terrifying power. Horace gradually gave way before him, his own sword moving in small, semi-circular actions that blocked every cut and hack and thrust and jarred Carney’s wrist and elbow with the strength and impenetrability of his defence. All the while, Gilan was whispering an approving commentary beside Will.
‘Good boy!’ he said. ‘See how he’s letting the other fellow start proceedings? Gives him an idea of how skilful he might be. Or otherwise. My God, he’s got the timing of that defensive swing just about perfect! Look at that! And that! Terrific!’
Now Horace had apparently decided not to back away any further. Continuing to parry Carney’s every stroke with obvious ease, he stood his ground, letting the bandit expend his strength like the sea breaking on a rock. And as he stood, Carney’s strokes became slower and more ragged. His arm was beginning to ache with the effort of wielding the long, heavy sword. He was really more accustomed to using a knife to the back of most of his opponents and he hadn’t looked for this engagement to go past one or two crushing, hacking strokes to break down the boy’s guard before killing him. But his most devastating blows had been flicked aside with apparent contempt.
He swung again, losing his balance in the follow-through. Horace’s blade caught his, spun it in a circle, holding it with his own, then let it rasp down its length until their crosspieces locked.
They stood there, eye to eye, Carney’s chest heaving, Horace absolutely calm and totally in control. The first worm of fear appeared in Carney’s stomach as he realised that, boy or not, he was hopelessly outmatched in this contest.
And at that point, Horace went on the attack.
He drove his shoulder into Carney’s chest, unlocking their blades and sending the bandit staggering back. Then, calmly, Horace advanced, swinging his sword in confusing, terrifying combinations. Side, overhead, thrust. Side, side, backhand, overhead. Thrust. Thrust. Thrust. Forehand. Backhand. One combination flowed smoothly into the next and Carney scrambled desperately, trying to bring his own blade between himself and the implacable sword that seemed to have a life and an inexhaustible energy all its own. He felt his wrist and arm tiring, while Horace’s strokes grew stronger and firmer until finally, with a dull and final CLANG, Horace simply beat the sword from his numbed grasp.
Carney sank to his knees, sweat pouring off him and running into his eyes, chest heaving with exertion, waiting for the final stroke that would end it all.
‘Don’t kill him, Horace!’ called Gilan. ‘I’d like to ask him some questions.’
Horace looked up, surprised to see the tall Ranger standing there. He shrugged. He wasn’t really the type to kill an opponent in cold blood anyway. He flicked Carney’s sword to one side, way out of reach. Then, setting one boot against the defeated bandit’s shoulder, he shoved him over in the dust on his side.
Carney lay there, sobbing, unable to move. Terrified. Worn out. Physically and mentally defeated.
‘Where did you come from?’ Horace asked Gilan indignantly. ‘And why didn’t you give me a hand?’
Gilan grinned at him. ‘You didn’t seem to need one, from what I could see,’ he replied. Then he gestured behind Horace to where Bart was slowly rising from his kneeling position, shaking his head as the effect of the hilt strike began to wear off.
‘I think your other friend needs a little attention,’ he suggested. Horace turned and casually raised his sword, swinging it to clang, flat-bladed, against Bart’s skull. Another small moan and Bart went face down in the sand.
‘I really think you might have said something,’ he said.
‘I would have if you were in trouble,’ Gilan said. Then he moved across the clearing to stand over Carney. He seized the bandit by the arm and dragged him upright, frogmarching him across the clearing to throw him, none too gently, against the rock face at the far side. As Carney began to sag forward, there was a hiss of steel on leather and Gilan’s saxe knife appeared at his throat, keeping him upright.
‘It seems these two caught you napping?’ Gilan asked Will. The boy nodded, shamefaced. Then, as the full import of the comment sank in, he asked:
‘Just how long have you been here?’
‘Since they arrived,’ Gilan said. ‘I hadn’t gone far when I saw them skulking through the rocks. So I left Blaze and doubled back here, trailing them. Obviously they were up to no good.’
‘Why didn’t you say something then?’ Will asked incredulously.
For a moment, Gilan’s eyes hardened. ‘Because you two needed a lesson. You’re in dangerous territory, the population seems to have mysteriously disappeared and you stand around practising sword craft for all the world to see and hear.’
‘But,’ Will stammered, ‘I thought we were supposed to practise?’
‘Not when there’s no one else to keep an eye on things,’ Gilan pointed out reasonably. ‘Once you start practising like that, your attention is completely distracted. These two made enough noise to alert a deaf old granny. Tug even gave you a warning call twice and you missed it.’
Will was totally crestfallen. ‘I did?’ he said and Gilan nodded. For a moment, his gaze held Will’s, until he was sure the lesson had been driven home and the point taken. Then he nodded slightly, signifying that the matter was closed. Will nodded in return. It wouldn’t happen again.
‘Now,’ said Gilan, ‘let’s find out what these two beauties know about the price of coal.’
He turned back to Carney, who was now going quite cross-eyed as he tried to watch the gleaming saxe knife pressed against his throat.
‘How long have you been in Celtica?’ Gilan asked him. Carney looked up at him, then back to the heavy knife.
‘Tuh-tuh-tuh-ten or eleven days, my lord,’ he stammered eventually.
Gilan made a pained face. ‘Don’t call me “my lord”,’ he said, adding as an aside to the two boys, ‘These people always try to flatter you when they realise they’re in trouble. Now …’ He returned his gaze to Carney. ‘What brought you here?’
Carney hesitated, his eyes sliding away from Gilan’s direct gaze so that the Ranger knew he was going to lie even before the bandit spoke.
‘Just …wanted to see the sights, my … sir,’ he amended, remembering at the last moment Gilan’s instruction not to call him ‘my lord’. Gilan sighed and shook his head with exasperation.
‘Look, I’d just as soon lop your head off here and now. I really doubt that you have anything useful to tell me. But I’ll give you one last chance. Now let’s have THE TRUTH!’
He shouted the last two words angrily, his face suddenly only a few centimetres away from Carney’s. The sudden transition from the languid, joking manner he had been using came as a shock to the bandit. Just for a few seconds, Gilan let his good-natured shield slip and Carney saw through to the white hot anger that was just below the surface. In that instant, he was afraid. Like most people, he was nervous of Rangers. Rangers were not people to make angry. And this one seemed to be very, very angry.
‘We heard there were good pic
kings down here!’ he answered immediately.
‘Good pickings?’ Gilan asked and Carney nodded dutifully, the flood gates of conversation now well and truly open.
‘All the towns and cities deserted, like. Nobody there to guard them, and all their valuables left lying around for us’n to take as we chose. We didn’t harm nobody though,’ he concluded, a little defensively.
‘Oh no. You didn’t harm them. You just crept in while they were gone and stole everything of value that they owned,’ Gilan told him. ‘I should think they’d be almost grateful for your contribution!’
‘It was Bart’s idea, not mine,’ Carney tried and Gilan shook his head sadly.
‘Gilan?’ Will said tentatively, and the Ranger turned to look at him. ‘How would they have heard that the towns were deserted? We didn’t hear a thing.’
‘Thieves’ grapevine,’ Gilan told the two boys. ‘It’s like the way vultures gather whenever an animal is in trouble. The intelligence network between thieves and robbers and brigands is incredibly fast. Once a place is in trouble, word spreads like wildfire and they come down on it in their scores. I should imagine there are plenty more of them through these hills.’
He turned back to Carney as he said it, prodding the saxe knife a little deeper into the flesh of his neck, just holding it back so that it didn’t draw blood.
‘Aren’t there?’ he asked. Carney went to nod, realised what might happen if his neck moved, gulped instead and whispered:
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And I should imagine you’ve got a cave somewhere, or a deserted mine tunnel, where you’ve stowed the loot you’ve stolen so far?’
He eased the pressure on the knife and this time Carney was able to manage a nod. His fingers fluttered towards the belt pouch that he wore at his waist, then stopped as he realised what he was doing. But Gilan had caught the gesture. With his free hand, he ripped open the pouch and fumbled inside it, finally withdrawing a grubby sheet of paper, folded in quarters. He passed it to Will.
‘Take a look,’ he said briefly and Will unfolded the paper, revealing a clumsily drawn map with reference points, directions and distances all indicated.
‘They’ve buried their loot, by the look of this,’ he said and Gilan nodded, smiling thinly.
‘Good. Then without their map, they won’t be able to find it again,’ he said, and Carney’s eyes shot wide open in protest.
‘But that’s ours …’ he began, stopping as he saw the dangerous glint in Gilan’s eyes.
‘It was stolen,’ the Ranger said, in a very low voice. ‘You crept in like jackals and stole it from people who are obviously in deep trouble. It’s not yours. It’s theirs. Or their family’s, if they’re still alive.’
‘They’re still alive,’ said a new voice from behind them. ‘They’ve run from Morgarath – those he hasn’t already captured.’
If she hadn’t spoken, they would have taken her for a boy. It was the soft voice that gave her away. She stood at the edge of the camp site, a slender figure with blonde hair cut short – to a boy’s length – dressed in a ragged tunic, breeches and soft leather boots, bound up to the knee. A stained and torn sheepskin vest seemed to be her only protection against the cold mountain nights for she wore no cloak and carried no blankets. Just a small bandanna tied into a bundle which, presumably, contained all her belongings.
‘Where the devil did you spring from?’ Gilan asked, turning to face her. He sheathed his saxe knife as he did so and allowed Carney to fall gratefully to his knees, exhausted.
The girl, who Will could now see was around his own age and, underneath a liberal coating of dirt, remarkably pretty, gestured vaguely.
‘Oh …’ She paused uncertainly, trying to gather her thoughts, and Will realised she was close to the point of exhaustion. ‘I’ve been hiding out in the hills for several weeks now,’ she said finally. Will had to admit she looked as if she had been.
‘Do you have a name?’ asked Gilan, not unkindly. He too could see the girl was worn out.
She hesitated. She appeared uncertain as to whether to give them her name or not.
‘Evanlyn Wheeler, from Greenfield Fief,’ she said. Greenfield was a small coastal fief in Araluen. ‘We were here visiting friends …’ She stopped and looked away from Gilan. She seemed to be thinking for a second, before she amended the statement. ‘Rather, my mistress was visiting friends, when the Wargals attacked.’
‘Wargals!’ Will said, the word jerked from him, and she turned a level pair of brilliant green eyes upon him. As he looked into them, he realised she was more than pretty. Much, much more. She was beautiful. The strawberry blonde hair and green eyes were complimented by a small, straight nose and a full mouth that Will thought would look quite delightful if she were smiling. But right now, a smile was a long way from the girl’s thoughts. She gave a sad little lift of her shoulders as she answered him.
‘Where did you think all the people have gone?’ she asked him. ‘Wargals have been attacking towns and villages throughout this part of Celtica for weeks now. The Celts couldn’t stand against them. They were driven out of their homes. Most of them escaped to the South-West Peninsula. But some were captured. I don’t know what’s happened to them.’
Gilan and the two boys exchanged looks. Deep down, they’d all been expecting to hear something of the kind. Now, it was out in the open.
‘I thought I saw Morgarath’s hand behind all this,’ Gilan said softly and the girl nodded, tears forming in her eyes. One of them slid down her cheek, tracking its way through the grime there. She put a hand to her eyes, and her shoulders began to shake. Quickly, Gilan stepped forward and caught her just before she fell. He lowered her gently to the ground, leaning her against one of the rocks that the boys had positioned around the fireplace. His voice was gentle and compassionate now.
‘It’s all right,’ he said to her. ‘You’re safe now. Just rest here and we’ll get you something hot to eat and drink.’ He glanced quickly at Horace. ‘Get a fire going, please, Horace. Just a small one. We’re fairly sheltered here and I think we can risk it. And Will,’ he added, raising his voice so that it carried clearly, ‘if that bandit makes another move to get away, would you mind shooting him through the leg?’
Carney, who had taken the opportunity created by Evanlyn’s surprising appearance to begin crawling quietly away towards the surrounding rocks, now froze where he was. Gilan threw an angry glare at him, then revised his orders.
‘On second thoughts, you do the fire, Will. Horace, tie those two up.’
The two boys moved quickly to the tasks he had set them. Satisfied that everything was in hand, Gilan now removed his own cloak and wrapped it around the girl. She had covered her face with both hands and her shoulders were still shaking, although she made no noise. He put his arms around her and murmured gently, reassuring her once more that she was safe.
Gradually, her silent, racking sobs diminished and her breathing became more regular. Will, engaged in heating a pot of water for a hot drink, looked at her in some surprise as he realised that she’d fallen asleep. Gilan motioned for silence and said quietly:
‘She’s obviously been under a great strain. It’s best to let her sleep. You might prepare one of those excellent stews that Halt taught you to make. ‘
In his pack, Will carried a selection of dried ingredients that, when blended together in boiling water and simmered, resulted in delicious stews. They could be augmented by any fresh meat and vegetables that the travellers picked up along the way but, even without them, they made a far tastier meal than the cold rations the three had been eating that day.
He set a large bowl of water over the fire and soon had a delicious beef stew simmering and filling the cold evening air with its scent. At the same time, he produced their dwindling supply of coffee and set the enamel pot full of water in the hot embers to the side of the main fire. As the water bubbled and hissed to boiling point, he lifted the lid of the pot with a forked stick and tossed in
a handful of grounds. Soon the aromatic scent of fresh coffee mingled with the stew and their mouths began to water. Around the same time, the savoury smells must have penetrated Evanlyn’s consciousness. Her nose twitched delicately, then those startling green eyes flicked open. For a second or two, there was alarm in them as she tried to remember where she was. Then she caught sight of Gilan’s reassuring face and she relaxed a little.
‘Something smells awfully good,’ she said and he grinned at her.
‘Perhaps you could try a bowlful and then tell us what’s been going on in these parts.’ He made a sign to Will to fill an enamel bowl with the stew. It was Will’s own bowl, as they didn’t have any spare eating utensils. His stomach growled as he realised he’d have to wait until Evanlyn had finished before he could eat. Horace and Gilan, of course, simply helped themselves.
Evanlyn began wolfing down the savoury stew with an enthusiasm that showed she hadn’t eaten in days. Gilan and Horace also set to quite happily. A whining voice came from the far rock wall, where Horace had tied the two bandits, sitting them back to back.
‘Can we have something to eat, sir?’ asked Carney. Gilan barely paused between mouthfuls and threw a disdainful glance at them.
‘Of course not,’ he said, and went back to enjoying his dinner.
Evanlyn seemed to realise that, aside from the bandits, only Will wasn’t eating. She glanced down at the plate and spoon she was holding, looked at the identical implements being used by Gilan and Horace, and seemed to realise what had happened.
‘Oh,’ she said, looking apologetically at Will, ‘would you like to …?’ She offered the enamel plate to him. Will was tempted to share it with her, but realised that she must be nearly starving. In spite of her offer, he could see that she was hoping he’d refuse. He decided that there was a difference between being hungry, which he was, and starving, which she was, and shook his head, smiling at her.
‘You go ahead,’ he said. ‘I’ll eat when you’ve finished.’
He was a little disappointed when she didn’t insist, but went back to wolfing down great spoonfuls of the stew, pausing occasionally for a deep draught of hot, freshly brewed coffee. As she ate, it seemed that a little colour returned to her cheeks. She cleaned the plate and looked wistfully at the stewpot still hanging over the fire. Will took the hint and ladled out another healthy dollop of stew and she set to once again, hardly pausing to breathe. This time, when the plate was empty, she smiled shyly and handed it back to him.
Ranger's Apprentice 1 & 2 Bindup Page 28
