His hatred for the bandit lord roared into an angry flame. The man seemed to represent everything frightening, terrible, and unfair in the world. He was a deadly foe, but unlike the dragon Flayze, he was not invulnerable.
And he had Mirabeth.
“Which way did he take her?” Foryth asked. “I saw him here at the edge of the ravine with Zack, but then I chased after you, Dan. I’m afraid I lost sight of him.”
“We saw his men down by the stream. I’m sure he’ll take her there.” Danyal started along the most direct route to the clearing, plunging between the trees, holding his arms before his face to brush the branches aside. He heard Foryth and Emilo charging behind him and, in a surprisingly short time, saw the open sunlight of the meadow expanding before them.
Instinctively the lad halted and crouched. Joined by his two companions, he squirmed forward to get a look without revealing himself to view.
A shout sounded from the far side of the clearing, and they saw Kelryn Darewind holding the still-squirming figure of Mirabeth in one hand. With the other, he waved, and one by one his men came into view, scrambling up the bank of the low streambed to rejoin their captain at the edge of the woods.
“I count seven of them,” Foryth Teel remarked softly. “Plus the young lady, of course.”
And then they were gone, vanishing into the woods at a jogging trot that, Danyal knew, he and his companions would be hard pressed to match for any length of time.
But they had to try. He rose to his feet, ready to dash across the meadow and chase the kidnappers through the woods, when he felt a restraining hand on his arm—one on each arm, actually.
“Wait!” Emilo hissed.
“Indeed. Wouldn’t you think they’ve set someone to watch their trail?” Foryth asked, with what seemed like maddeningly casual curiosity to Danyal.
“Why?” snapped the lad. “He’s got what he wants. He’ll just—”
“Precisely my question,” the historian continued. “What does he want? If we knew that, we’d know what he plans to do about us, among other things.”
“Such as whether or not he wants to lure us into an ambush,” Emilo added.
Danyal was infuriated at the thought of some cowardly bandit lurking at the forest’s edge, but a cool, quiet part of his mind suggested—in a very soft voice—that his companions were right. He looked across the clearing at the opposite grove, estimating that a hundred paces or more of open ground separated that clump of trees from the wedge of forest where the three of them currently held their council of war.
“We could charge across the clearing together,” suggested Danyal impulsively, remembering the big knife he wore at his waist.
“Tsk … a nice idea, and appealing to my own sense of bold adventure. But what if there are two, or even three of them?” Foryth demurred.
“Or an archer. It seems to me at least two of the bandits had short bows,” Emilo chimed in.
Danyal’s frustration welled anew, but again he saw the need for caution. He cast his eyes left, seeing only the sloping and fully exposed incline of the grassy ridge that formed the side of this stream valley; then he looked right, toward the stream that was currently invisible, running within its deep banks.
“The streambed!” he whispered. “Let’s stay in the woods until we meet the stream. Then we can follow the channel, hiding below the bank until we get to the other side of the clearing!”
“Splendid idea!” Foryth exclaimed in an enthusiastic whisper.
Emilo was already moving back from the clearing. In moments the three were on their feet, concealed a short distance within the woods as they once more plunged between the trees with all possible haste. Soon they heard the trilling of water before them, and then the stream was there, spilling across its gravel bed some five or six feet below the level of the forest floor. To the left, they could see the waterway cutting its deep channel into the ground in the meadow beyond.
Without hesitation, Danyal led the way down the smooth, muddy bank. Emilo and Foryth came behind him, though the historian stumbled at the base of the bank and splashed to his hands and knees into the stream. Still, he rose to his feet with aplomb and hastened to follow.
Kicking through the shallows at the edge of the flowage, Danyal had a strong feeling that he was in a tunnel. The lofty trees closed in above the narrow stream so that no more than a small strip of sky was visible. Compared to the dappled shadows of the waters here, the bright, sunlit expanse of the meadow glowed brighter and brighter before them.
And then they were out of the woods, still following the streambed in its course through the meadow. Though the bank was already higher than his head, Dan leaned forward and down with instinctive caution. The shorter Emilo didn’t have to worry, while Foryth, the tallest of the trio, ducked with exaggerated care as he splashed along behind.
Heart pounding, Danyal wondered if the bandits would have thought to watch the stream as well as the clearing—or even if he and his companions were correct in their suspicion that one or more of the men had stayed behind. The lad couldn’t help worrying that they were wrong, that perhaps all the precautions were a waste of time, allowing Mirabeth to be spirited away while the trio of would-be rescuers tried to sneak up on an empty patch of woods.
The branches of the next grove arced before them, and soon they felt the cool shade of the trees around them again. Danyal still led the way, trembling with a tingling awareness of the need for stealth and of the existence of potentially deadly danger.
The human youth found a niche where the streambank had yielded to the pressure of a gnarled root and dropped into a deep notch. With two steps, he was up, slipping through the forest with the wicked knife in his hand. He stayed low, trying to be stealthy, using all the techniques of rabbit-stalking that he had learned over his life. Gliding from one tree to another, he kept the meadow to his left and advanced on the place where the bandits had disappeared into the woods.
He was startled by a sudden waft of odor, an acrid stink of sweat and campfire smoke, and he knew beyond any doubt that an enemy was near. With a gut-wrenching jolt of energy, all his doubts disappeared and he was ready, even eager, for danger. Emilo, also moving soundlessly, joined him behind the trunk of a massive pine while Foryth held back a few paces.
The kender wrinkled his nose, also sensing their enemy ahead. With a finger to his lips, Emilo pointed to himself, and to the right; then he indicated Danyal, and pointed left. The lad nodded, watching his companion draw a dagger almost as long as the weapon Dan had claimed from Zack.
Foryth, meanwhile, had armed himself with a stout stick that was nearly as tall as he was, a club that bulged with a solid knot at one end. He indicated silently that he would come after the two, moving straight ahead.
As Emilo disappeared behind intervening trees, Danyal was startled to realize that his fingers, clenched around the hilt of the knife, were stiff with cramps. He changed hands on the weapon and painfully flexed his reluctant digits. At the same time, he moved forward with extreme care, keeping the blade outthrust and ready.
After a moment, he caught sight of a man—or a man’s boots, to be entirely accurate—extending from beneath a tree. Judging by his feet, the bandit was lying on his belly, no doubt looking out over the clearing that extended just beyond his vantage. There was no visible reaction from the lookout, who remained apparently unaware of the stealthy trio.
Dan had no more started to congratulate himself on his luck when he considered, for the first time, the realistic prospect of sticking the sharpened piece of steel that he held in his hand into another person’s flesh. Practically speaking, the task should be easy. He was still unobserved; he should be able to fling himself forward and fall on the man’s back. One quick stab and the fellow would be killed, wouldn’t he?
All at once Danyal felt himself weakening, his guts once again churning with a feeling of despair as he wondered if he could, in fact, just murder this man in cold blood. But if he didn’t, how were they
ever going to rescue Mirabeth?
“Ssst!”
A harsh, clearly audible whisper split the woods, and Danyal all but groaned, certain that one of his companions had given them away. Still, he shrank back into his own concealment, surprised to see that the man under the tree was wriggling backward with no indication of extreme alarm. Finally the bandit rose to his haunches, turning his face away from Danyal as he replied with similar furtiveness.
“Yeah? What is it?”
Only then did Dan see the second bandit, a mustachioed bowmen called Kal. The fellow crept up to his compatriot and gestured into the field. “Any sign of ’em?”
“Nah.” The reply was curt and disgusted.
“Me neither. They haven’t tried to come along the ridge, or I woulda seen ’em for sure.”
“D’you think we should head back to Loreloch, or at least meet Red at the bridge?”
The archer barked a dry laugh. “Boss said to wait until tonight. I’m not thinkin’ I’d like to cross him.”
“Yeah. Well—”
The snap of a dry twig was like a crack of thunder in Danyal’s ears, a sound that overwhelmed everything else. It had come from behind him, near where the lad had last seen Foryth.
“What was that?” The bowman instantly had an arrow nocked, his weapon drawn as he peered into the thick woods. “Go check it out!”
“Me?” The squatting man was at first indignant. Then he looked at the other’s weapon as he drew his own short sword, apparently reaching the obvious conclusion: His companion could cover him with an arrow, while his blade would only be useful at close quarters.
Rising to his feet, the swordsman advanced past the other side of the large tree trunk behind which Danyal crouched. Scarcely daring to breathe, the lad peered between the branches, saw the bowman moving closer to gain a clear shot past his companion’s shoulder.
“Who’s there?” demanded the swordsman, slashing at a few branches in an attempt to open up his view. “Don’t make me come in there after you!”
“Tsk.”
Suddenly Foryth Teel came into sight, stepping between two trees with his stout stick clenched in his hands. Danyal couldn’t see much, but he was aware that the historian was trembling, staring at the bandit with wide eyes.
“Why don’t you just drop that little club,” suggested the swordsman with a grim chuckle. “Else I’ll have to cut yer hands off first.”
The historian lunged away with an abrupt movement, drawing a shout of alarm from the sword-wielding bandit.
“Hey!” Steel flashed as the man charged after Foryth, only to fall with a thud, then utter a shriek of pain. Emilo Haversack rolled free, his blade bright crimson as he bounced to his feet.
“Why, you little—” The archer lunged forward, ready to shoot, but he never released his arrow or finished his threat. As he darted past the tree, Danyal charged from his shelter with a yell of rage. He was so close to the bowman that he could smell the stink of his filthy clothes, and without pausing to think, he aimed for the spot where the ragged vest was laced with a few torn strips of leather.
The heavy knife stuck hard in the bandit’s chest as the man whirled away, shocked by the sudden attack. His elbow cracked Danyal in the chin, and the lad staggered, feeling his hand slip from the hilt of his only weapon. He tumbled onto his back and waited for the arrow that would pin him to the ground.
But instead, the bowmen dropped his weapon from nerveless fingers. Both hands flailed at his chest, trying unsuccessfully to gain a grip on the weapon that, Danyal now saw, had plunged in very deeply.
A thick paralysis held the lad in place as he watched the man slump, saw the beady eyes grow dim and unfocused. Only when the bandit flopped heavily to the ground did Danyal release his breath, realizing that he was trembling all over and far too weak to stand.
“We make a good team,” Emilo said, helping Foryth Teel to his feet from where the historian had fallen in his clumsy attempt at flight.
And then, seeing the handshake between the kender and the man, Danyal realized that it hadn’t been clumsiness; it had been a plan! Foryth had acted as a diversion, giving the kender a chance to attack the much larger swordsman by surprise. The lad himself had then taken advantage of a similar chance when the archer had come to the aid of his companion.
“We do,” Dan agreed.
He approached the man he had killed, feeling curiously empty. It made him squeamish to pull the knife from the fatal wound, and he gagged, almost vomiting when he saw the amount of blood that came welling from the puncture after the weapon had been removed. But when he turned away, drew a ragged breath, and thought of Mirabeth, he felt calmness returning.
“There’s one more, the one named Red, waiting at a bridge,” he reported, then added to Foryth, “And they’re taking Mirabeth to a place you’ll be interested in: Loreloch.”
Chapter 32
Loreloch
Second Palast, Reapember
374 AC
The trio found the bandit named Red snoring loudly on the soft bank beside the next bridge. The man didn’t stir as Danyal, Emilo, and Foryth Teel approached to within a few feet. When the breeze shifted, the companions caught the scent of brandy and quickly guessed why the heavyset swordsman slumbered so soundly.
“We should just kill him, shouldn’t we?” asked Danyal, cursing his own reluctance as he looked at the defenseless man. He told himself that if it had been Zack or Kelryn, he would have had no trouble making a lethal thrust. Whether that was true or not, he couldn’t say, but he knew that he could never stick the cruel knife into this drunken man.
“Er …” Foryth was also clearly hesitant. “Perhaps we should just ignore him and go on by. He may never even know that we’ve been past here.” The historian pointed along the road that extended beyond the far side of the bridge. “Loreloch is that way, according to my map. Why don’t we just move on?”
“Seems risky to leave him here,” Emilo suggested. “Though I really don’t know about stuff like that. Still, we don’t want him coming along behind us.”
Danyal was about to argue further when they heard a clatter of stones behind them. Whirling, he saw the shape of a large black horse coming forward at a fast trot.
“Nightmare!” he cried, irrationally delighted by the appearance of the great horse. At the same time, Red stirred with a snort. Sitting up, the man blinked at the plunging animal as the mare swept toward the bridge. The three companions dropped behind the bank on the far side of the road as the bandit staggered to his knees, gaping in astonishment.
“By the gods, it’s the demon horse!” Red shouted, lurching to his feet. The horse pounded closer, looming black and large as she thundered toward the bridge. The great hooves smashed on the roadway, and Dan felt each thud reverberate through the ground.
Red spun around, apparently without even noticing the three figures on the other side of the road. With a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder, the man took off running.
Nightmare thundered onto the small bridge, snorting contemptuously at the trio of companions. Danyal scrambled to his feet in a rush and made a lunge for the horse’s halter, but before he had taken two steps, the animal sprang into a gallop and bolted away, the sound of the hoofbeats soon fading in the distance.
“Where did she come from?” Dan asked, staring after the horse in frustration. He felt a bleak sense of abandonment, made even more painful by the thought of Mirabeth’s captivity. He had no doubt that the lass would have been able to bring the mare to an easy halt.
“Her timing was good.” Emilo made the more practical observation.
Foryth Teel was looking at the map in his book again. “And it seems that Red is running away from Loreloch. I don’t suppose he’ll be in a hurry to go home after abandoning his post.”
“And Nightmare’s going toward Loreloch. Maybe we’ll catch up to her,” Dan said, without a lot of hope.
They settled upon the direction, following the vague map in the book that only
the historian seemed able to comprehend. With grim determination, the trio of would-be rescuers set out across the mountainside, staying uphill from the rutted mountain road. Alert to danger, they tried to move swiftly without exposing themselves unnecessarily to observation.
Now the three of them actually presented a rough approximation of a fierce and dangerous band. Danyal still had the big knife, and he had taken the short bow and a quiver of arrows from the man he had stabbed. He had been no slouch at shooting rabbits in the woods around Waterton, and he felt quite certain that he could deliver an arrow with accuracy at a far more dangerous target.
Foryth Teel had claimed the short sword from the bandit who no longer had need of such practical tools. Slinging the weapon at his waist, he had at first tripped over the scabbard frequently. By the second day, however, he had at least learned to walk with the blade handy, and he could draw it in a maneuver that was terribly impressive to look at, even if it might have been of questionable use in an actual fight.
They kept to the rocky ridges above the roadway instead of taking the smooth but easily observed track. Twice they camped on windswept slopes, not daring to build a fire that would have left them vulnerable to discovery.
At the first of these camps, Emilo shared the rest of Mirabeth’s story—at least, as much of it as she had told the kender and that he could remember.
She had been the daughter of the bold Knight of Solamnia, Sir Harold the White. This was a man who had made peace in this portion of Kharolis his personal business. Eventually he had become too great a thorn in the side of Kelryn Darewind, and the bandit lord had exacted revenge in a brutal and murderous attack against the knight’s house.
“I should have guessed it!” Danyal said. “Kelryn Darewind’s men were coming back from those murders when we first ran into them!”
After slaughtering her family, Kelryn had made it clear that he was determined to find and kill the lone surviving daughter of the family. She had been found, by Emilo, as she had said: miserable and alone in the wilderness. Knowing the bandits were about, they had seized on the idea of the disguise, and together they had made the wax ear tips. Emilo had helped her to fashion her long hair into the topknots favored by kender, and Mirabeth herself had known enough about makeup to trace the thin age lines around her eyes and mouth.
Fistandantilus Reborn Page 21
