“Take your mare, Saliné. Ride and tell Vlaicu to leave the road at the first safe place he can find. A tributary would be the best, it will not be blocked.
“Codrin…” Saliné tried to protest, but discipline took over, and she dismounted, then jumped on her mare. “Be careful.”
“Go now.” I stared at her as she disappeared behind the boulder. See you again.
“This a good place for an ambush.” I stared around, and pushed Zor further until we came to a point where the road curved left for about fifteen paces. It was already narrower, less than seven feet wide. I moved again along an even tighter path until we arrived on the other side of the boulder, then I turned Zor, and let him walk slowly back until I could see the road at its full width again. A few more steps and I could see where the hairpin curve turned on our side.
“Vlad, place your horse like Zor.” I turned him to the point that he stood diagonally across the path, his head forward, facing in the direction we were riding. I picked up my bow and turned in the saddle. Standing still, I tensed the bow, with no arrow, and aimed at a small tree, growing about forty paces away from me. It was about the height of a rider. I released the cord and aimed again, then I released again. The cut in my left shoulder burned a little, but that was all; my movements were fluid. On my right, Vlad aimed too, maybe to control his nerves; he was not wounded. I picked out two arrows, and arranged them in front of me in the arrow pocket on the saddle. “If things go well we shoot twice. I will take the one in front or the one on the left, if they are riding more than one abreast. We should be able to take at least two of them down. Then we run.” I stared around, trying to imagine how things could go wrong, but usually they go wrong in the way you never thought of. “Now we have to wait.”
“Maybe we can take a nap,” Vlad laughed, staring at the place too – I was not the only one trying to foresee things. “They will not be able to shoot at us when we run. We will be behind the boulder.”
“It may be that they have no bows, but I’m sure they have spears. You are never cautious enough.”
“I wish I could have met your mentor, Tudor,” Vlad said. “He must have been an interesting man.”
“How to make ambushes, I learned from Father. But every fine detail of my actions comes from Tudor. It was hard training, started when I was only seven years old. In a given situation, things come to you, sometimes in succession, sometimes like an avalanche. You are forced to choose and merge together several strings of action, situations or places. Sometimes you have only a moment to choose right from wrong. That brief moment decides if you stay alive or not. Moments have a life of their own. You ride the moment or the moment rides you. We have the advantage, as we have planned this and they have to react in a heartbeat when we attack. It doesn’t mean that things can’t go wrong.”
“They are coming.”
Having grown up in the mountains, Vlad had better hearing. A few moments more and I heard the sound coming closer. The echoes cavalcaded, and it did not sound like hoof-beats at all; it was a continuous, indefinite hum – the sound of many horses riding in a column. It grew in volume, and then it became familiar: horseshoe steel meeting the stones in the ground. I nocked my bow.
When the first rider saw us, his natural reaction was to stop, and he tightened the halter, no longer than two or three heartbeats. Well trained, he pushed his horse forward with an abrupt move. It no longer mattered; my arrow pierced his neck, before the horse could react to his command. I did not know him, but he was richly dressed, and that was what we needed. That rider was their leader, a leader who now fell slowly to the ground. A second one fell almost simultaneously. The rest of the riders reacted before we could release our next arrows. Two spears flew. They fell ten paces in front of us, but they achieved their purpose. Those few moments when we followed their flight allowed the riders to regroup. They leaned forward on their horses to offer our arrows less of a target.
“Thighs,” I said, and my arrow flew. Then Vlad’s flew. Our arrows made wounds that would not put a hardened soldier down; but no one is able to ride hard and long with a deep hole in his leg. “Ride!” I pushed Zor to a gallop; everything was now on our horses, but they were a sure bet. I briefly turned back before the next curve of the road: no one had passed the boulder on our side.
“Did you know that man?” Vlad asked.
“No, but he played his role well.”
“You kill the leader; you are half through victory,” Vlad said. “I understand it now better.”
For ten minutes, we rode alone through the gorge. After a large bend in the path, three riders came into sight. They were not ours, and they were not from Leyona, but they were not riding at leisure. Seeing us, they slowed down, and I checked them through my spyglass.
“Two of them are wounded. Fresh wounds. Ride!”
When we approached, they charged us, and I unsheathed my swords, guiding Zor with my knees.
“Cover me with the bow.”
The rider in front fell before I could engage. An arrow hit me in my left forearm, its point going out through my skin, and I lost Flame. With Shadow, I put down the second rider. The archer had no time to nock again, and I hit him with the flat of my sword, knocking him down.
“Watch the road,” I said to Vlad and dismounted. I broke the tip of the arrow in my arm, and took the shaft out. It burned like hell, but the wound did not feel bad. I could flex both arm and fingers, and no tendon or bone was injured, but fighting would be an issue.
“Who are you?” I asked the fallen archer. He stared at me and refused to answer, maybe because of the fall or the wound. There was a cut on the side of his head, and one ear was missing – a recent wound, viscous blood still spread across his face.
“Vlad, bind his hands and tie him on his horse.”
“Your wound,” Vlad pointed to my arm, and handed me Flame.
“That can wait. There was a fight ahead of us.”
Clumsily, I mounted Zor, and took the halter in my right hand, then waited for Vlad to finish with the prisoner.
“Put your ear to the ground,” I said before Vlad could mount.
He jumped to his feet a mere moment later. “They are coming. Should I..?” His finger slid across his neck, and he pointed to the prisoner.
“Not yet.”
Mounting, Vlad took the halter of the horse carrying the prisoner too, and we rode as fast as the foreign horse allowed us to ride. We said nothing. After three more minutes, two riderless horses appeared along the road, and we slowed down. There were no signs of their masters. I pushed Zor faster again. At one point, I stopped abruptly, and turned.
“Watch the road.”
In the grass to the left of the path, three bodies were lying in unnatural positions. The two visible faces were unknown to me. The third corpse lay face down twenty paces further on. The corpses wore dark blue jackets, like the ones we had killed, and our prisoner – it was an organized band.
I hope they are not mercenaries. “None of them is ours. Vlad, take this body and carry it behind that bush,” I pointed six paces further on. “Give me his crossbow, and arrange him so he is standing, partly visible from the road. Arrange his sword between the braches, half of it sticking out.”
When he had finished, Vlad put his ear to the road again. “They are getting closer.”
We rode fast, the same silence running through us. One curve, then another curve. At least the bends in the road were tight, and hid us from the Leyonan soldiers. Ten minutes passed, with nothing moving on the road in front or behind us. We could not risk the time to stop and check the sounds of pursuit from the ground again. The silence around us was appeasing. Take it as a good sign, I encouraged myself.
Two more riders appeared in front of us, half hidden by some bushes. It was too far to recognize them, and we slowed down. Mechanically, my left hand went for the spyglass, and I almost let it fall. That would have been a pity; they were unknown in Frankis, and even in Arenia they were a rare thing.
“Ban,” I said relieved, and pushed Zor faster.
Behind him, a small rivulet merged with the river that had shaped the gorge.
“This way,” Ban pointed upward, along the rivulet. He stared at our prisoner. “That bastard was one of the soldiers that attacked us.”
“Get out faster,” I said. “The Leyonans are not far behind.”
The path up was steep and filled with sharp-edged boulders, and we advanced slowly.
“We will be safe behind that rock there.” Ban pointed to a large rock, the size of a house. “It hides the road; it hides us from the eyes on the road.”
Below us, the sounds of unseen galloping horses filled the valley. I heard a hard thump behind me, and I turned fast, unsheathing Shadow.
“He tried to make a noise.” Vlad pointed to the unconscious archer with his dagger. “He will be silent for a while.”
Before passing behind the rock, I glanced back once more, two hundred paces below. The Leyonans were not in sight, but we could see only a small portion of the road.
“Our people are hidden behind that ridge.” Ban nodded upward, some hundred paces further ahead. “You are wounded.”
“A small thing. Watch the road, they should arrive shortly. Send Geo up when they arrive.”
Behind the rock, Vlaicu was leaning on the stone, watching the slope. There was no one else in sight.
“They are hiding in the forest.” Vlaicu pointed at the edge of the forest, some hundred steps away, with his left hand. His right was pressing a cloth to his biceps. “The bastards ambushed us. There were two archers hidden behind some trees. We were lucky that no one died. You had your share too, I see.”
“Did you recognize them?”
“They had no colors, but they were waiting for something. Most probably for us, four of them gathered in one place, and the archers behind those cursed trees. We need your healing skills. Two of us were shot from behind. Lady Jara and Saliné are more or less safe.”
The place in the forest looked like a hospital room; almost everybody was wounded. Three horses were wounded too. Saliné and Pintea were taking care of other people’s wounds. Shot in the back, one soldier was lying on his belly.
“One of the attackers had a crossbow.” Vlaicu gestured at the one with the wounded back. “We have it now.”
“We found a second one.”
A bow is rarely able to pierce a good mail-ring, it needs a good angle and luck, but the crossbow is a different story. Despite his wound, our soldier had some luck. The bolt had passed through his ring-mail, but it hit the shoulder blade. The bolt had already been extracted, and a piece of chiffon pressed under the ring-mail. He was a strong man, and the bone should not have been fractured. Going closer, I smelled alcohol.
“I have a small bottle with me,” Saliné said. “I copied your healing kit, but I could not get good curved needles. They are hard to make.” She had a wound on her upper right arm. It was already bandaged. “A small cut from a sword. You are wounded too,” she gestured to my forearm.
“It’s fine. Can you move well?”
“Yes,” she raised her arm. “Mother and Martin need stitches.”
Jara had a sword cut on her thigh. This will delay us, I frowned and kneeled in front of her.
“Let me see it,” I said, and without waiting for an answer, I removed her hand from the chiffon over the wound. The split in the flesh was neat, and it was neither too deep nor too long to incapacitate her. Her dark blue riding pants were now spotted, but she had not lost too much blood. “You were lucky,” I smiled. “The sword did not cut across the muscle.” The wound was indeed running along it.
“You could say that,” Jara sighed. “An arrow hit me in the helmet.” She rubbed the back of her head.
“And you complained when I told you to wear it.”
“Where did you get that idea? I just voiced my worry that the helmet would ruin my hair,” Jara grinned. “Which it did.” She touched her auburn curls and laughed.
“That is indeed quite an inconvenience when running away from the Leyonans. I will take the blame. Can you move your toes?” Yes, she nodded after a while. “Now, flex your leg, just a bit.” Jara obeyed, biting her lip, but the movement was fluent, and the tendons seemed to be untouched. “You will be fine,” I caressed her hand. “And you need just two stitches.”
“They are here,” Geo growled, breathing heavily from the sprint against the slope.
“Pintea, stay with the wounded,” I said, and moved down the hill. All who were able to fight came with me; even Saliné took her bow. I hesitated for a moment, then let her come; there was not much danger of being attacked right now.
“They went upstream on the road,” Ban said, just before we arrived.
“Keep watch.” I turned, and went back to the wounded. “Vlad, Pintea, ride and see what’s up there,” I pointed to the top of the hill.
It took me a few more minutes to take care of Jara’s wound, and she endured it stoically, biting a piece of thick leather. Then I moved to the other one who, from Saliné’s account, needed stitches. She was right, though Martin’s wound was a different story: the blade had entered his thigh and gone out the other side. A peculiar thing; the blade pierces the muscle, then cuts again when it goes out, leaving extensive, hidden damage behind.
“It doesn’t look nice,” Martin muttered.
“When did you ever see a beautiful wound?” I laughed. “Three stitches and you are ready to ride,” I patted his shoulder, then raised my head at the sound of trotting hoofs: Vlad and Pintea were back.
“There is a small round depression on the top of the hill, thirty feet across. You can’t see the entry from here,” Vlad added, when I craned my neck, to see uphill. “It’s surrounded by rocks and small trees. The path to it passes through a narrow clough. An isolated spot; we may even be able to make a small fire during the night. They would need it.” He whispered the last phrase, and nodded at the wounded.
The top of the hill was crowned with a knot of old and twisted trees and a circle of broken stones, offering some shelter against the wind. We found a good place between the stones, tall enough to hide even the horses. Once we had settled, Vlad searched the prisoner.
“A good dagger, and this purse.” He showed me a purse made of skin of high quality, good enough for a Seigneur. There was an intricate design on it which I knew well.
I glanced at the prisoner’s mantle and ring-mail. Good quality, but nothing comparable with the purse. I grabbed his dagger, which lay on the ground. Its sheath was graved.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Why should I tell you?” he growled.
“We can make a bargain for your life.”
“That will be quite a good bargain. I give you what you want and receive death in return. Do you think me stupid?”
“I think that you have a choice.”
He spat on my boots and remained silent. Vlad moved to hit him, but restrained himself at the last moment.
“You are a bit of a riddle,” I continued. “A Leyonan purse and a mercenary’s dagger. Who is your Black Dervil?”
“Valer,” he said at once.
“No,” I shook my head. “You come from the far south.” Valer’s sign was a hawk, but the prisoner’s sheath had a wolf graved on it. Black Dervil Wolf; I remembered Calin. Sharpe, true to his nature, had a snake. The prisoner’s mantle was not in the fashion of Peyris, and his skin had the southern olive tan I associated with Viler. The last two things were just an educated guess. “Let’s start again. Who are you?”
“Fire would make him talk,” Vlaicu said, when the silence went on too long.
“Not yet,” I said. I don’t like torture. My eyes fell on Jara and Saliné, who were a distance away, talking. But what he may tell us could save their lives. “Gag him.”
“Aaargh...” the prisoner howled, a deliberate reaction. Vlad’s boot closed his mouth, and he lost consciousness.
Everybody jumped up, ev
en Jara and the soldier with the wounded leg.
“It’s alright, we are far from the road,” I calmed them. I was too weak with the prisoner, and endangered everybody. It must not happen again. “There must be another team of mercenaries around,” I whispered to Vlaicu and Vlad. At least we learned something from his attempt to give us away. “Keep this to yourself. You can warn Ban too,” I glanced at Vlaicu. “Vlad, gag him tightly.”
We lit a small fire, late in the evening, after the sun went down behind the hill in front of us, and smoke could no longer be seen from far away. It was for a hot meal and comfort; it grew cold, and the wind sang, blowing east, carrying the fumes away, in the right direction. Through the smoke, the stars were pulsating like many hearts on fire.
“Strange,” Vlaicu murmured, after taking me aside.
“What?” I glanced at him.
“They were mercenaries, but the trap they set on the road was bad. The archers hit us too late. We were lucky, but I fail to understand why.”
“Are you complaining?” I laughed.
“No. Maybe the archers arrived too late,” he said and become silent.
Round the fire we sat, but there was not much talk, and the silence grew until everyone felt it; their eyes shining over dimly lit faces in the red glow of the fire. One by one we moved to find a place to sleep. Faraway owl calls, the swish of horses’ tails and occasional movements of hoofs became loud noises. Close to midnight, we set watches and put the fire out.
“How the wind howls,” one soldier complained.
“It’s howling like a wolf.” Vlad burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, it’s spring, and wolves are shy when it’s not snowing. They will not attack men, when game is available.”
“I was raised in the city,” the soldier reacted, but he was not upset.
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