A movement caught the edge of Ra-khir's vision. He whirled, still clutching Silver Warrior's reins. A small, thin donkey the size of a large dog looked back at him, its muzzle grizzled and its back bowed from age. Behind it stood a wooden cart currently holding an assortment of bric-a-brac from the battlefield. Glancing a bit further, Ra-khir discovered a boy cowering behind one of the corpses.
"Hello," Ra-khir called out, his voice a mixture of question and welcome.
Pinned by Ra-khir's gaze, the boy did not try to hide further. Instead, he stood up to reveal an unexpectedly lanky frame covered in ill-fitting, patched linen. Dirt smeared his cheeks and limbs, and his hair was a brown snarl that dangled into his face. "Hello," he returned in the Western tongue, the same one Ra-khir had used.
Uncertain where to take the awkward conversation, Ra-khir chose to introduce himself. The formality this entailed seemed ludicrous, under the circumstances. "I am Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet and His Majesty, King Griff."
The boy shuffled his bare feet in the dirt. "I'm Darby, sir."
"Darby," Ra-khir repeated, for lack of anything better to say.
"Yes, sir."
Ra-khir glanced around at the carnage before asking the obvious question. "What exactly is a boy doing on a battlefield, Darby?"
Darby cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot, stalling. "Well, sir, I wouldn't lie to a Knight of Erythane."
Ra-khir nodded encouragingly. The basest hypocrite would give no different answer. "That's good to know."
"I… thought…" Darby paused to stare at his feet. "Well, I just figured…"
Ra-khir waited patiently.
"The battle was over, and… and…" Darby sighed. So far, he had said essentially nothing in a whole lot of words. "… and the victors left so much they clearly didn't want or need. So, I thought…"
"You would take it?" Ra-khir supplied.
"Well, yes, actually, sir. My ma and I and my sister could use it." Darby finally met Ra-khir's gaze. "Is that bad, sir? It's not a crime," he added hastily, "least not in these parts. Abandoned stuff belongs to the one who found it."
Ra-khir considered. "I don't believe it's bad, no. But can your ma and sister really use these weapons? And armor?"
Darby flushed. "I thought I'd sell it, sir." He added quickly, "Is that bad?"
"No," Ra-khir admitted. "Once the combatants have moved on, and the owners of the property are dead by other hands, I see nothing inherently evil in making decent use of what's been left behind."
Darby heaved a loud sigh. "Thank you, sir."
"For what?"
"For putting my conscience at ease."
Ra-khir shrugged, surprised it mattered to the little urchin. "What's a fine boy like you, one that listens to his conscience, doing in a woodland battlefield?"
Darby stared. Then, apparently worried about the rudeness of doing so, he rubbed his eyes with a filthy fist. "No disrespect, sir. But haven't we already had this exact conversation?"
Ra-khir laughed. He had asked the same question, in a slightly different form. "I just mean, most urchins don't care much about the morality of their actions. You have some breeding, Darby. Why aren't you out apprenticing a trade, something more refined than battlefield robbery?"
Darby took a backward step, sucking air through his teeth. "Robbery, sir? Didn't you just say…?"
"Poor choice of words." Ra-khir hurried to put the boy's mind at ease. For reasons he could not wholly explain, he liked Darby. "If the owner is dead in deliberate combat, and the victor has no interest in the spoils, then they become fair game for seekers such as yourself."
Darby gave a heavy nod.
Realizing he had gotten sidetracked, Ra-khir tried again. "So how come you're legally scavenging a battlefield rather than apprenticing a regular trade?"
Darby shrugged. "I haven't any trade to apprentice." There was more to the story, they both knew.
Ra-khir continued to look at the boy, brow cocked.
Darby stared back, defiantly at first, than with less assurance. Finally, he cracked. "My pa died in an accident that involved a…" He considered his words carefully, "… popular leader. A lot of people blamed my pa for it, so hardly anyone wants to mix around with us."
"That's not fair."
Darby threw up his hands. "Fair or not, it's how it is." He rubbed his hands together, and dirt fell in peels from his palms. "My ma gets work now and then, when they can't find no one else. Same with me, when there just aren't enough other men to do the job. My sister… well, the only things men want her for, they can't have."
Ra-khir's expression became as deadly serious as Darby's.
"I'm trying to gather up as much of value as I can before bigger men find this treasure and take it."
Ra-khir sighed. He knew what he had to do, even if it meant further delays on his hunt. These corpses were fresh. He had nearly caught up with the Renshai, but duty bound him, as always. A Knight of Erythane is honorable in every situation, not just when it suits him. "Darby, you gather what you want on that wagon and your person. When you're finished, Silver Warrior and I will help you get it safely home." He patted the horse affectionately, earning a dry-nosed snuffle for his loving gesture.
"Really?" Darby stared, his obvious joy tempered with awe. "You'd do that for me?"
"What sort of knight would I be if I didn't help someone in need?"
"But I'm not really-" Darby started. Then, apparently realizing he was talking himself out of a princely escort, he let the argument drop. "Thank you. Thank you so much, sir." He hurried off to finish loading the cart.
Ra-khir removed Silver Warrior's bridle to allow his loyal white stallion to graze. He continued to study the battlefield until he spotted a string of haze floating toward the sky. He followed it to the smoldering remains of a massive pyre. Wet ash filled a hole apparently hacked into the ground using the discarded helmets of Northmen, which now lay, filthy and abandoned, near the hole. A slurry of charcoal and charred bones filled the pit, leaving nothing identifiable in the way of clothing, soft tissues, or features. Renshai had built it, Ra-khir felt certain. Clearly, they had won the battle, cremated their dead, then moved on, leaving the Northmen's broken bodies for the crows, dogs, and buzzards to devour.
And the Northmen either had no survivors or those had retreated too far away to tend their own dead. Yet. If they existed, Ra-khir hoped they did not return before Darby collected his spoils. He did not want to oversee disputes over whether or not the boy had taken something of value or desecrated their dead. Darby clearly meant no disrespect and had obeyed the laws of property abandonment.
Tears welled in Ra-khir's eyes as he stared into the pit, watching gray ash curl in the wind. The smoke had withered to a trickle, and no clear fire remained. That meant at least a few hours, more likely a few days, had passed since the pyre was lit. He wondered whose scorched bones still occupied that pit, whose organs formed the ash, whose teeth still clung to their smoldering jaws. A scavenger might find some lumps of melted coins in the heap, but not a single sword. Those required loving restoration, if necessary, and the honor of use. In the best circumstances, they would go to a relative or to a child named after the deceased in tribute.
Saviar might lie in there, Ra-khir realized. Or Calistin. That seemed far less likely. He found it impossible to consider his youngest's death, not only because of his preternatural sword talent, but because people of Calistin's temperament never seemed to die young.
Saviar seemed a far more likely victim of the Northmen's attack, not quite yet a man by Renshai standards, never having experienced a real battle. Ra-khir felt the familiar cold touch of despair, but this time he did not succumb to it. He had no way of knowing the fate of his sons, and it did no good to mourn in ignorance. Until he received word of their deaths, from a reliable source, he had no choice but to believe he could still find them alive.
Ra-khir stepped back from the p
it. The quiet stillness of the forest, the gentle breeze caressing the leaves all seemed to belie the grotesqueness of the scene in front of him. Once again, he glanced over the corpses: the sightless eyes, the bloodless faces, the bits of gore splattering the ground and tree trunks. One, in particular caught his attention, a Northman's headless torso, the neck hacked to pieces, clearly after death. Here, someone had vented his anger in a burst of violence so bloody it brought to mind the ancient accusations against the Renshai tribe that had led to their initial banishment.
Ra-khir turned away. There was nothing more he could glean from the carnage. He headed back to find Darby with a well-loaded cart, still stuffing coppers into his pocket.
The boy looked up at Ra-khir's approach. "I'm ready when you are, sir."
Ra-khir nodded. Though relatively small, the cartload dwarfed the even tinier donkey. He whistled for Silver Warrior, who came to him at a brisk trot.
It seemed like sacrilege to hitch up the magnificent steed like a common cart horse, and it would take an inordinate amount of time to jury-rig a harness and larger traces. "I'll follow," Ra-khir said, replacing the bridle. Silver Warrior held perfectly still as the tack fell into its accustomed place. The knight flicked the reins over Silver Warrior's ears, seized the saddle, and mounted. "If you would please tell me where we're going."
Darby watched the interaction between knight and steed with obvious interest before taking his own place at the donkey's head. "Keatoville." Grabbing the cheekpiece of a crude rope halter, he urged the donkey forward. It strained at the harness. "It's just a short walk east and south."
Ra-khir coaxed Silver Warrior forward until his chest bumped the wagon, providing enough momentum to get the donkey moving. The cart groaned, threatening to shatter, and the wheels creaked in protest.
Soon, they settled into a pattern, the donkey trotting easily, the horse pushing from behind, the wheels squealing in a steady rhythm. The boy marched at the head, whistling. He looked back frequently to meet Ra-khir's gaze, apparently to reassure himself that the knight remained with them and was having no difficulties. Ra-khir appreciated the boy's misplaced concern. Darby was clearly accustomed to responsibility, presumably from serving as the man of his family.
Silver Warrior occasionally snorted at the slow pace of the wagon, and Ra-khir quelled his own impatience. Darby moved at a reasonably brisk pace, paying close attention to the donkey's comfort. The little animal lathered quickly, turning its hide a dark brown, but its head never sagged and its hooves drummed a steady pace on the packed dirt roadway.
Worried for Darby, Ra-khir had just thought to suggest a stop for lunch when the not-too-distant sound of a cocking crossbow captured his full attention. He scanned the roadway and forest, finding nothing.
Darby stopped moving and pointed toward a rocky outcropping ahead and to their left. "There."
Ra-khir squinted. Bright sunlight blurred two figures, but the crossbows looked clear enough. The sound of another cocking came from a copse of bushes to Ra-khir's right.
Releasing the donkey, Darby edged toward Ra-khir. "What should we do?" he whispered.
Ra-khir cleared his throat. As a Knight of Erythane, he had the kingdoms of Erythane and Bearn at his back. What would Kedrin do? Ra-khir knew exactly how his Knight-Captain father would handle the situation, yet it seemed foolish with lives at stake. A Knight of Erythane always chooses the right way, not the easy way. He hissed back at Darby, "Do what you think best. I'll follow your lead as I can."
Darby stared in stunned amazement, mouth gaping. Then, his jaw snapped closed, and he nodded his head decisively. "What do you bandits want from honest men in broad daylight?"
Two men stepped from the forest on the right side of the pathway. These did not carry bows, both large and burly, armed with swords and axes. Their clothes were filthy, their hair snarled with burrs, their faces scratched and scarred. "Honest men, eh? I see a junk boy with a cartload of goodies that don't look like his'n."
"They're my… 'n," Darby affected the dialect of the highwayman. "If you doubt it, you need only ask the Knight of Erythane riding behind me."
Every bandit eye went to Ra-khir.
Ra-khir saw the utter futility in introducing himself in this situation. "They're his…" he could not help adding, " 'n." In his cultured tone, the colloquialism sounded positively ludicrous.
No one laughed.
"That ain't no knight," one bandit growled.
The other nudged him with an elbow. "I think it is, Nat. Look at 'im."
"Ain't no knight gonna be travelin' with this young punk."
Seeing no way to avoid it now, Ra-khir swept off his hat. "Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet and His Majesty, King Griff." He replaced his hat, studying the men in front of him. He could take them, he realized, both of them. The crossbowmen, however, were another matter.
Nat spat on the ground.
The other man nudged him again. "Look at what he's wearin' and ridin'. If he ain't no knight, he's doin' a damned good inidation. Else, he tooked that stuff off 'n a knight, in which case I don' think we wants to cross 'im, eh?"
"We're willing to fight," Darby said, snatching an ax from the cart pile with a quick, dexterous motion that impressed Ra-khir. He held it in battle position. Clearly, someone had at least started him in weapons training.
Nat snorted. He glanced from the bowmen on the pinnacle to the one on the opposite side of the trail. "I says we jus' shoot 'em and be done with it."
Ra-khir hesitated. He knew the bowmen would have doubts, if not because of murder, because this particular one could leave them hunted by two mighty kingdoms. It would be easy for him to remind them of their folly. A life-or-death situation, like this one, virtually obligated him to take control. Yet Ra-khir pictured his father: always resplendent in his knight's garb, the perfect picture of a Knight of Erythane, his commitment to every principle unyielding. Knight-Captain Kedrin would finish what he had started. He would let Darby parley, despite the mortal danger. To do the same, Ra-khir had to bite his tongue. Hard.
"Shoot us, then." Darby's voice held nothing but calm bravado. Only Ra-khir stood near enough to see the boy's hands shaking on his weapon. "Earn a cartload of trinkets and the wrath of the high king. The penalty for interfering with the duties of a knight is a traitor's death. What do you suppose they would do if you killed one in cold blood?"
Darby's words were not strictly true, but there was no law that compelled Ra-khir to correct such misunderstandings or to argue minutiae. Under certain circumstances, the penalty could become that high.
Silence settled around them, broken only by the donkey. It snorted restively, pawing at the dirt. The bowmen shifted in obvious discomfort. Nat might command the strike, but they would be held at least equally accountable for the killing.
"Or…" Darby continued, his voice unexpectedly loud in the hush. "… you can let us go, and I can tell you where I found this… junk." He used their terminology, making a gesture toward the loaded cart. "I took only a small portion. There's enough left to make all of you wealthy."
Ra-khir caught himself nodding. He had not meant to become a truth detector for thieves.
The other swordsman looked hopefully at Nat. "That sounds all right, don' it, Nat?"
Nat scratched his stubbly chin. "Sounds pert' good." His eyes narrowed. "If 'n it's true. An' he don' lie 'bout the location."
"How we gonna know that?" The highwayman looked at Darby as he asked the question.
Darby shrugged. "It's not far. You'll have time to go there, see if I'm lying, and still get back to catch us before we make town."
Nat grunted. It was hard to argue with such logic.
Ra-khir supposed the men might find the battle site, mark the location, and come after them anyway; but he doubted it. Once they saw the battlefield and the potential it held, they would want to stay and plunder before someone else found it. "You're giving up a lot," Ra-khir whispe
red.
Darby did not bother to turn to face the knight. "I have more than enough."
Nat and the other man talked softly together while the bowmen remained in place, their weapons still cocked but no longer directly aimed at knight and boy.
"All righ'," Nat finally said. "Start talkin', boy."
Darby cleared his throat then explained, in reasonably clear terms, how to find the battle clearing.
When he finished, Nat made a broad, arching gesture. "Come on, men."
The click of disarming crossbows followed the command, then the highwaymen disappeared into the forest.
Only then, Darby collapsed onto the dirt. The ax slipped from visibly shaking hands. "Why… why did you do that?"
"Do what?" Ra-khir asked innocently, listening for the sounds of the departing men to assure himself no one had remained behind to watch them. He did not think they would. No thief would want to risk losing a share of treasure.
"Let me… me… handle that?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Ra-khir rubbed Silver Warrior's neck. The well-trained steed had remained still and silent throughout the ordeal. "I knew you could do it." He showed no trace of his own trepidation. He wanted Darby to believe he had trusted the boy implicitly. He would have done nothing different for his own sons.
"But you scarcely know me. And both our lives were at stake."
Ra-khir doubted the highwaymen would actually have slaughtered a Knight of Erythane, though Nat had seemed just stupid enough to do it. "I'm a good judge of character.You have courage, Darby, intelligence and moral fiber. I knew you could handle it, and you did."
Darby climbed to shaky legs. He hefted the ax and tossed it back onto the pile. "Coming from you, Sir Knight, that is high praise indeed. And I thank you."
Ra-khir nodded. "And thank you for not proving me wrong and getting us killed."
Darby laughed.
"Did you ever consider becoming a knight yourself?"
Darby drew himself up to his full height. "Only my whole life! Isn't that the dream of every Western boy?"
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