Gordy rode up beside Mica and between them they made a wedge for the others to follow. They both slashed downward with their swords slaying two men instantly. Adar drove the end of his staff into the face of one of the men who shrieked in agony as he dropped his sword, and put his hands to his face. Rico dropped to the ground and thus avoided a sweeping blade from Elijah. He stayed there on the hard rock of the bridge, fearing for his life.
Mica looked up as they passed over the bridge; four horsemen were facing them on the road. She immediately recognised Fletcher and the bandit leader who had stopped them on the road to Tursy. She somehow knew that this man would not be happy until he found out what had happened to his men, would only be happy at her demise, after ravishing her of course. There was no stopping now. “Keep going, don’t stop,” she yelled, raising her sword as they met the group of horsemen with clashing swords.
Mica knew that they had to get by these men as quickly as possible. If they didn’t then those behind them would have time to regroup. Even now she knew the archers who were on either side of the road would be joining those on the bridge. The archers could easily pick them off one by one.
She put all her force behind the sword as she swung it down at the bandit leader’s neck. He blocked her sweep and held her eyes for a moment.
“You will die slowly,” he snarled, quickly withdrawing his sword and thrusting it at Mica, barely missing her.
Mica pulled the horse out of range and was aware of the fight going on around her. She caught a glimpse of Yost, Gabriel, Lucy and Stan as they broke free from the cordon and fled into the forest. She turned to the bandit leader. “Your men were confident as well, were so sure that they could beat me, but they found out otherwise.”
“Bitch,” yelled the bandit leader as he motioned his horse closer and swung his sword in a wide arc. Mica blocked it easily. The man’s anger was causing him to make mistakes. He was now trying to use his strength rather than his skill.
Agar had told her of this, men will think themselves stronger than you, think that they can just brush you aside with their strength, this will be their undoing. You must never lose your temper; never lose control when you are fighting with the sword.
Like a mad man the bandit leader kept swinging his sword, Mica blocked, feinted and then thrust forward when she saw the opening. The sword entered at the base of his neck. She saw the surprise on his face, then the fear, and finally the anger as he spat at her with a globule of blood and slid from his horse.
Elijah was still battling it out with a skinny bandit. Gordy was finishing off his bearded opponent. Adar was in trouble as the man named Fletcher had unseated him from his horse. He was in a daze and unaware that he was in any danger. Mica urged her horse forward and as Fletcher lifted his sword arm to strike Adar she swept her sword across, striking the man’s arm and severing it below the elbow.
The stump spurted a fountain of blood and the sword fell to the ground with Fletcher’s gloved hand still clasped onto the leather handle. “Fucking whore,” he yelled, reaching for the dagger at his waist with his free hand. He threw the knife with his left hand, but it lacked the power to penetrate Mica’s thick clothing.
Mica moved closer to Fletcher, the blood was still spurting from his wrist as he lowered it, preparing to accept his fate. Mica didn’t waste any time, she swung the sword with all her strength, striking his neck. His head rolled onto the ground followed by his body. Gordy dispatched the other bandit that Elijah was fighting and then Elijah helped Adar onto his horse.
“Let’s get out of hear,” said Mica as arrows came whistling past.
They rode hard until the horses could go no further.
“The others can’t be that far ahead of us,” said Gordy as they climbed from their horses and began to lead them along the trail.
“Are you all right, Adar?” enquired Mica, noticing that he was a little groggy on his feet.
“Yes, Adar all right, hit head when fall off the horse, Adar grateful for Mica saving life.”
“Think nothing of it, Adar.”
“I lose my staff, man cut in half, Adar make another one.”
“I’m sure you will,” said Elijah. “Does anyone have any injuries?”
Mica and Gordy both checked themselves out and found no cuts, but there would be some bruises.
“I think Stan took an arrow,” said Gordy.
They hadn’t gone far when Yost came out of the forest near a stream and hailed them. “Over here,” he said waving them on.
Weaving through the thick scrub Yost led them to a small gap that opened up onto a grassy bank beside the stream. Stan was sitting up against a tree with an arrow protruding from the rear of his left shoulder. Lucy sat beside him, looking anxious and holding his hand. Stan’s face reflected his pain. Gabriel was at the edge of the stream washing a blood stained cloth, he had a cut to his right arm.
Mica handed the reins of her horse to Yost. She knelt down beside Stan and looked at the arrow. Gordy stood beside her. “Can you see the head of the arrow?” he asked.
“No, it is in too deep,” replied Mica. “I will have to cut it open and try and expose the arrowhead.”
“And then what?” asked Stan, grimacing in pain.
“Once we see what type of head it is then we can make some sort of decision on what to do. If it is a hunting arrow, we may have to leave the head in there. I don’t think it is a steel tipped arrow otherwise it would have gone right through your shoulder. The best outcome would be for a plain wooden tip. That we can pull out. I will make you a broth to drink. It will help dull the pain.”
Adar, as usual was gathering wood for a small fire. Mica retrieved some of her medicines from her pack and selected the one she needed. She poured some of the garish liquid into a pot, added some water and then placed it over the small fire that was now blazing.
Lucy came over and sat next her. “Will he be all right?” she asked.
“Yes, we just have to get the arrow out. He may have some fever at worst,” said Mica.
Gabriel came over to the fire. Mica looked up at him. “How bad is that cut?”
“It’s fine. It doesn’t trouble me at all.”
Mica stood up and looked at the wound on his upper right arm more closely. The cut was about four inches long and quite deep. “I will have to stitch that up, it will heal quicker.” She turned to Gordy. “The bandits might still try and follow us.”
“We must have killed half their number,” he replied.
Yes, but the others might now want revenge.”
“I will watch the trail,” said Gordy, retrieving his bow and a quiver of steel tipped arrows that would pierce even the best armour.
Gordy walked back down the trail and selected a place where he could see a good length of road. He was becoming fond of Mica, something that he had intended not to let happen. His task was to spy for the king and give him information, which could lead to him having to betray Mica. So far this trip had revealed to him valuable information on the Manutes. He would have to be patient. For the moment he would be Mica’s ally, kill for her and keep himself in her favour. He would eventually have to part from her company.
Even though they had lost almost half their number the bandits were livid at their failure and wanted revenge. Rico was against it, this woman was no ordinary woman, she had suspected a trap, knew they were on the bridge. Out-voted he followed along at the rear with the injured man whose face had been smashed with a staff. The man could barely see out of his puffed up, purple eyes and had trouble finding his way. They moved slowly, following the tracks and the faint drops of blood.
Gordy saw them at the end of his range, moving ever so carefully; there were seven of them. The bandit in front was doing the tracking, while the others were watching the trees with swords drawn. It would only be a matter of time before they found the others. He would only get one chance to fire an arrow. He decided to take the tracker. The arrow went true as the tracker fell to the ground.
> The others were immediately lost in the trees, except for one of the bandits who rode on. “What’s happened? What’s going on?” he yelled.
This bandit must have been blinded in the first encounter. Gordy left him. The man would do them no harm in his condition. Quickly, he made his way back to the stream. The arrow had been taken from Luke’s shoulder, which was now bandaged up as was Gabriel’s wound.
“They have followed us. There are five of them in the trees somewhere.”
Mica took up her sword. “Gordy and I will see to the bandits.”
“There are at least two archers with them,” whispered Gordy as they crept through the forest.
“You keep your bow drawn. I will take any with the sword,” said Mica as they slipped away and quietly crept through the bush back along the trail.
“Rico where are you?” It was the blinded bandit. He had climbed down from his horse and was on the edge of the track. They saw him draw his sword and prod the ground before him. He took a couple of tentative steps. “What’s happening?” Have we been attacked again?”
Mica and Gordy stood stock still. They both knew that one of the other bandits would see to his friend, either to collect him or to put him out of his misery. The bandit prodded at some of the undergrowth in front of him with his sword. A man appeared from out of the bushes and went to grab his friend. It was all the time Gordy needed. The arrow struck the man in the side. The dying man clutched at the blinded bandit as he fell to the ground.
“That was one of the archers,” whispered Gordy.
The blind bandit was fumbling now. He was on the ground on all fours, running his hands over the body of his dead companion. He found the arrow and let out a shriek. Four men suddenly appeared in front of them, not ten feet away. Gordy quickly dispatched the other archer who was preparing to shoot at them. The other three came on with their swords drawn.
Mica took the lead bandit as Gordy dropped his bow and drew his sword. The lead bandit was a grizzled veteran, unwashed, unshaven but he could use a sword. Mica found herself parrying his blows as she was forced into a retreat. He was using his strength and skill to great advantage. She saw the grin on his ugly face, the same grin she had seen on the other bandits when she had killed them. This man had no respect for her, no respect for her sword arm. She ceased her retreat and began to attack. The bandit was now forced to move back, the smile gone from his face. She increased her speed, upped the tempo, the bandit couldn’t defend himself. She buried the sword deep into his chest.
Gordy was fighting the other two men. He struck one of the men in the arm causing him to drop his sword. The other man, on seeing Mica approach, dropped his sword and put up his hands. “I yield, I yield.”
“A wise decision, go with your friends and don’t let me ever see you again. And take a word of advice, find some other way of making a living,” said Mica, sliding her sword back into its scabbard.
“Rico, is that you? Where are you?” yelled the blinded bandit climbing to his feet.
Mica and Gordy left them and went back to the campsite. Adar had cut two poles and stretched some cloth across them. The ends of the poles were then tied onto the saddle of one of the horses. Stan was strapped onto this improvised stretcher.
“I thought we had better be prepared to move out in case something went wrong. He can’t ride,” said Elijah.
“The bandits won’t trouble us anymore, we can leave now.”
It took them two more days to reach the village. Stan was by now suffering a high fever and was at times delirious. Lucy tried to comfort him, tried to talk to him, but he was in a world of his own. Mica made herbal drinks for him with what she had; it was all she could do.
The village was different to what Mica had seen before, the houses were round, made of timber and stood on stone foundations. There were some thirty odd houses. The muddy road wound down from the ridge through vibrant green fields and on into the village, taking no straight course. Shepherd boys rugged up against the cold mingled with the herds of long-haired sheep that were milling about in the paddocks. This village was similar to Cragmoor in that it was situated at the edge of the snowline. In the winter the sheep would be herded around the paddocks near the village and on the lower slopes. In summer, when the snows melted, the herds would be taken up onto the rich alpine fields. The snow on the mountain peaks was clearly visible above the village. Mica shivered from the cold wind that blew down the valley.
As the tiny procession made its way down the track people began to notice them. Children stopped playing and ran to them. A man chopping wood ceased his work and peered up at them. Heads began to appear in the low doorways of the huts.
On his return from the lowlands Yost was always treated as a minor celebrity, he not only brought money and supplies for his family but news that the villagers craved. He had been worried about how he was going to explain this to his father, bringing strangers into their village, especially lowlanders who were deemed to be untrustworthy. His father had a bad temper and it didn’t take much to make him angry.
“Yost,” came a shout from a girl of around thirteen, with shoulder length dark hair, who was running toward them. She was dressed in skins made from the local sheep and wore calf length leather boots. “We have all been waiting for you,” she panted almost out of breath as she drew up beside him, her rounded red face filled with happiness.
“Lola, it’s good to see you.”
The girl turned her attention to the strangers that rode with Yost and the injured man. “Who are these people?”
“They were attacked by bandits on the road through the forest, one of them is injured,” said Yost twisting his story slightly. His father would not deny strangers who were attacked and needing help. Later, he would tell his father the truth when the excitement of his arrival had settled down.
“Mother and Father are at the house, Eva is watching the herd,” said Lola as she babbled on about the comings and goings on in the village while he had been away.
Eva was Yost’s other sister, she was fifteen and the task of looking after the family’s herd of sheep had been passed on to her. It used to be Yost’s job, to herd them to their pasture each day, but since he injured his hip he was unable to do even this menial task. Any job that kept him on his feet too long caused his hip to ache and become excruciatingly painful. It frustrated him immensely. He often felt that he was of no value to his family.
It was after he injured his hip that the relationship with his father deteriorated. He was always angry at Yost, seeming from that time on to blame him for all the family’s problems. When the wolves attacked the sheep, it was Yost’s fault because Eva did not know what to do. When his brother had to go into the army it was Yost’s fault. Gavin at the time was a timid, skeletal boy of sixteen, who liked to read and write, draw and paint. He could not harm a mouse let alone kill a man.
If Yost hadn’t injured his hip it would have been he that would have been drafted into the army and his brother would still be here, safe in the village. He remembered the day the green scarves from Santomine came for their recruits. Gavin had cried as they led him away. His sisters and mother had cried, his father had been angry and the guilt within Yost tore at his heart. That had been three years ago; since then they had heard nothing of Gavin.
When Mica had asked him about leading them to Santomine, he had first baulked at the idea, but as time went by he knew that he wanted to go for two reasons. The first was to find his brother and the second was that he knew he couldn’t continue living in the village, living in the shadow of his father’s simmering wrath. This was the opportunity he had been waiting for, a reason to leave, a reason to find his own way in the world.
Mica saw the young girl stare at her in between her talking, recognising the inquisitiveness of her look. It was something that Mica had become used to. No one could understand why a woman wore a sword. It always invoked interest and curiosity wherever she went.
Yost made his way towards one of the
rounded houses in the centre of the village. By now they had an entourage; the children led the way, followed by some of the adults. A tall man with broad shoulders, dark bushy hair and piercing eyes appeared at the doorway.
This would have to be Yost’s father, thought Mica; she saw the resemblance in his face. A woman, small in stature appeared behind the man. Yost leapt from his horse as the woman came forward and hugged him tightly.
“Yost, I missed you so.”
“And I missed you, Mother.”
“You have had some trouble?” she said looking past her son at the group of strangers.
Yost looked at his father. “They were attacked by bandits and one of them is injured.”
“You had better bring the injured one inside, your mother will see to him,” growled his father as he peered at the crowd that had gathered. He said no more, turned and went back inside.
“Don’t mind your father, he is always suspicious of anyone who doesn’t belong to the village,” said Yost’s mother.
“These people will need somewhere to stay.”
“They can bed down in the barn,” she said as she walked over to the injured man.
Mica climbed down from her horse. “He took an arrow in the back of his shoulder. I removed the arrow, treated the wound and gave him some herbs.”
“You have knowledge of medicine?”
“Yes,” I learned much from an old warrior.
“It is good. We can both work to help this young man.”
Lucy joined them. “This is Lucy, the injured man’s wife. My name is Mica.”
“I’m Thora. We had better get this husband of yours inside,” she said to Lucy.
With some difficulty they managed to get Stan on his feet and into the house. There they placed him on a bed up against one of the walls. It was very warm in the house, which had a small fire at one end. A tiny chimney took the smoke away. Yost’s father sat on the earthen floor near the fire kneading some leather. He took no notice of them.
The Orphan and the Shadow Walker Page 20
