Part 8 (1/2)
... a soldier.
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the 'pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation, Even in the cannon's mouth.
a”William Shakespeare.
Barak came awake at a touch, flinging away the blankets, reaching for his sworda”
”Easy.” Ahira's voice was a harsh whisper. ”It's only me.”
He set the sword back on the gra.s.s and tightened his cotton loincloth around his hips. That had been enough to sleep in, on a warm night.
He looked around. Within the circle of wooden boxes, everyone else was asleep, sprawled out under their blankets like a collection of corpsesa”except for Andy-Andy, who was huddled under hers in a fetal position, s.h.i.+vering in her sleep. Barak shrugged. It was her own fault: Not only had she turned down his suggestion that they share each other's warmth, but she had stubbornly ignored his reminder to make certain she kept at least two-thirds of her covering underneath her. The ground stole a body's warmth more readily than even the chilliest air.
Rubbing his eyes, he glared up at the dwarf, not able to make out his expression in the dim starlight. ”My turn to go on watch? Already?”
”No.” Ahira beckoned him to his feet. ”Look down the hill, down toward the city,”
Barak drew air into his lungs and stared off into the distance. Nothing. A few lights twinkling in the city, stars s.h.i.+mmering over the sea, but that was all.
Wonderful. Our leader is jumping at shadows. ”So?”
”You don't see anything on the road?”
Below them, the road was a black ribbon on a black background. ”Don't be silly. You do?”
”I... I thought I saw a shape, like somebody fallena”there it is. Can't you see it? It's glowing like aa””
”Glowing?” He stared. Nothing. Oh. ”I don't see in the infrared, remember?”
”Sorrya”wait.” The dwarf pointed. ”But you can see that, can't you?”
Barak followed the other's gesture. Farther down the road, lanterns twinkled like fireflies. Threea”no, four of them. They were too far off, too dim for Barak to make out the shapes holding them, but... ”I do see the lanterns. But why are they outa”''
”OhmyG.o.d. The shape on the roada”it's Hakim,” The dwarf spun around. ”Everybody, up. Now.'”
Barak stooped to pick up his scabbarded sword. Best to keep it in its dark sheath, lest the bright steel reflect light, announcing his presence. He cast a longing look at his leather armor, heaped next to his blankets on the gra.s.s. ”I'd better take it.”
”Like h.e.l.l you will. No time.”
”No, I didn't mean the armor. I meant I'll get him, bring him back. Your legs are too short to run fast.” Four of them, eh? He would have to take out two quickly, before they became aware of his presence. And even two-on-one would be a chancy shot. ”Get your crossbow, follow me.”
Ahira's face was still unreadable. He hesitated. Then: ”Go.”
Barak sprinted away. Behind him, Ahira called to the others. ”Get up, d.a.m.n you all.”
Barak reached Hakim when the soldiers were still a few hundred yards away, the flicker of their lanterns announcing their coming. ”Walter!” He reached out a hand and felt at the thief's neck. Good; there was a pulse. He slipped his hand down, his fingers coming away sticky. There was a knife in the thiefs shoulder, dripping blood.
He rubbed his hand on his thigh. Where the h.e.l.l was Lightfingers? No time to worry about that now. He could try to move Hakim off the road, but that might be too dangerous. There could be other wounds; moving him might kill him.
He smiled. Besides, there was some business to take care of first.
Slipping silently into the bushes beside the road, he loosened his sword in its sheath. Well, Karl, now we find out if you have it.
Karl? Noa”Barak. Karl Cullinane hadn't raised a hand in anger since the third grade. Karl wouldn't squash a spider; he'd lift it on a piece of paper and fling it out of a window instead.
Karl was a peasant, Barak a warrior. So it had to be Barak, not Karl.
And to a warrior, everything is a challenge, or a reward. But he had to decide what the challenge was. Merely chasing them away wouldn't do; perhaps they could dig up reinforcements. He had to take out four soldiersa”no euphemisms, kill thema”and he had to do it without getting hurt himself. Doria had none too many healing spells left; Walter might need all of them.
”Arno, I think I see him,” the closest of the soldiers said in curiously accented Erendra, then broke into a trot. Chainmail and a shortsword, plus his lanterna”Barak could save him for later. But the lantern, dangling from a polea”that had to go quickly, before anyone spotted him crouching in the bushes.
Barak felt around the ground. His fingers located a jagged rock, half the size of his fist. He hefted it experimentally, and threw.
The lantern shattered, drenching the soldier in flames. He dropped his sword and screamed, his skin crackling.
The screams were like a signal to the other three; they dropped their lantern poles, the nearest two drawing their swords, the other, probably the leader, bringing up his crossbow. Its tip weaved, uncertainly.
The wind brought a stench of burning flesh to Barak's nostrils. He slipped his sword from its scabbard, keeping the blade low, next to the ground.
”Where?”
”I don't seea””
”It's the thiefa”he's shamming.” The leader's crossbow leveled itself at Hakim's crumpled form.
Barak gripped his sword and charged out of the bushes, directly at the leader, a growl forcing itself from his throat.
The crossbow wavered as Barak closed, breaking stride to kick one of the swordsmen sprawling, ducking under the other's wild swing. Too bad. You want to live too much. The leader's drill was obvious: Kill one enemy, ignore the other one charging you.
He smacked the flat of his sword against the side of the crossbow, sending it spinning away in the dark, the bolt discharging harmlessly to his left.
The leader's eyes grew wide; he reached for his sword as Barak's backswing caught him at the base of the neck, the swordtip cleaving his throat effortlessly, dark blood fountaining.
The heavyset man clapped both hands to his throat, trying to hold the wound closed, his cry of pain only a gurgle as a dark torrent poured out through his fingers.
Barak spun around, leaving him at his back. No time to finish him off, not yet. When it's one-on-many, you can't worry about killing a disabled enemy when there are still unhurt ones around.
The one he had kicked away was gone, vanished in the dark, his sword lying still on the ground. Where is he? Never mind--worry about him when you've killed the other.
The small dark man in front of him smiled, crouching, his sword in his right hand, a long, curved dagger in his left. ”Many thanks for the promotion, friend,” he said in Erendra, stepping lightly forward, his sword weaving like an eager cobra. ”I never liked Arno anyway.”
No time for chatter, there was still one man unaccounted for. Barak slashed, the blade of his sword parallel to the ground.
The soldier slid to one side, easily deflecting Barak's sword with the flat of his dagger. Before Barak could bring his sword back into line to parry, the slim rapier had nicked at his biceps. It stung, terribly.
”Not used to two-swords, eh?” He lunged, in full extension.