Skinny sauntered up the rutted roadway toward the newcomer. ‘Good place to water your horse,’ he said, in a voice dripping with a bad imitation of goodwill.
Evidently the handsome stranger thought so too; Jimmy could see him frown, and touch his bow. Evidently he wasn’t used to being on horseback—the longbow was a footman’s weapon—and a bit uncertain with it.
A better rider than I am, but not by much, Jimmy thought.
‘I’ll pass by, friend, if it’s all the same to you,’ the young man said. He had a rustic accent a lot like Lorrie’s.
Am I always to be rescuing farmers’ children? Jimmy thought with irritation along with a healthy hint of fear.
Taking on two grown men, and experienced killers if he’d ever seen any, was no joke—no alley scuffle, either. He couldn’t count on being better at running and hiding in the woods than either of the mercenaries.
What to do, what to do?
Skinny didn’t appear to have any doubts. He waited by the side of the road until the traveller was by him, then darted in with a yell and grabbed for the young man’s ankle, plainly intending to heave him out of the saddle, leaving him stunned and helpless on the ground.
The young man kicked instead, and Skinny staggered back with another yell, clutching at his face. The traveller clapped his heels to his horse and went through the water at a plunging gallop.
‘No, you fool!’ Rox yelled, as Skinny pulled the short thick bow from its case on his saddle and drew a shaft to the ear.
The big man’s shout went to wordless rage as Skinny loosed, nocked another shaft, drew and loosed again. The first arrow passed so close to the blond rider that Jimmy thought it had struck him. Then he was close by, and Jimmy could see that it had—just along the lobe of one ear, the razor edge of the head slicing it open into the sort of wound that bled freely but didn’t slow you. The second went into the cantle of the saddle with a thunk!
‘You kill six hundred gold and I’ll kill you!’ Rox bellowed.
He pulled something of his own from his saddlebow, then began whirling it around his head; Jimmy had just enough time to recognize three smooth pear-shaped iron weights connected by strong cords before it turned into a blur over the big man’s head. He cast it when the young rider was twenty yards away and moving fast; cast it at the horse, not the horseman.
It moved fast too, whirling through the air like a horizontal disk. The young man’s horse gave a terrified shrieking whinny and crashed kicking to the ground; where it lay writhing and struggling with the weight wound around its hind legs at the hock. The golden-haired bowman lay immobile for a moment, then began to stir. Rox and Skinny bellowed triumph, drawing their swords and dashing through the ford towards the fallen horse and youth.
I could just steal their horses, Jimmy thought. No, let’s get close and see what we can do.
None of them were looking at the roadside woods, and the growth there was thicker; because the edge got more sunlight, Coe had told him. Jimmy trotted quietly along, trailing the two mercenaries by a few paces, close enough to hear their eager breathing and curses.
By the time they reached the spot both man and horse were back on their feet; the horse had evidently kicked the bola free, for the iron weights lay scattered in the deep dust of the roadway. The blond youth was still woozy, his side and shoulder spattered with the drops that rained from his slit earlobe. He tried to get his bow off his shoulder, but by then the two mercenaries were close, and he tossed it aside rather than trying to nock a shaft, drawing his long knife instead.
‘You tried to kill me!’ he cried—as much in surprise as indignation, Jimmy thought.
‘Na, na, yer worth too much alive,’ Skinny said, grinning and showing bad teeth. ‘Put the slicer down and come peaceful, and y’ll not get hurt.’
The two bravos parted to go around the blond youth’s horse; they advanced with professional caution, swords up. The youth backed away, moving his knife between the two; it was ten inches in the blade and good sharp steel, but theirs were each three times longer, and they had leather jerkins and arm-guards to boot.
You haven’t got a prayer, farm boy, Jimmy thought regretfully. He looked around and found a couple of nicely fist-sized rocks. Have to do something to alter the odds.
The same calculation seemed to occur to the blond youth. With a shout, he leapt forward to attack Skinny, trying to drive him aside. If he got past him he might be able to get to the ford and leap on one of the mercenaries’ horses.
Skinny grinned, feinted, and then swept the sword around. The flat of it slammed into the youth’s knife-hand, and the blade spun away, its honed edge glinting in the sunlight. A second later Skinny screamed; with admirable presence of mind, the youth had kicked him in the crotch. He staggered backwards, clutching at himself.
‘Hey!’ Jimmy shouted, pelting forward.