Arutha, seeing all three staring at him, spun. A black-cloaked figure had managed to approach the table silently while the brawl was in progress. He stood stiffly behind Arutha, a dagger in his right hand poised to strike. The man’s eyes stared forward and his mouth moved silently.
Arutha’s hand shot out, knocking aside the dagger, but his eyes studied the figure behind the black-clad man. The Hadati warrior Jimmy and Martin had seen at the gate was poised, sword ready for another blow. He had struck silently at the assassin from behind, preventing a successful attack on the Prince. As the dying man collapsed, the Hadati quickly put up his slender sword and said, “Come, there are others.”
Jimmy quickly examined the dead man and held up an ebon hawk on a chain. Arutha turned to Martin and said, “Martin! Nighthawks! Finish it!”
Martin nodded to his brother, then, with a wrenching movement that almost dislocated Longly’s shoulder, drove him to his knees. Longly looked upward at Martin, then closed his eyes in resignation as the Duke raised his right hand. Halting his strike, Martin said, “What use?” and shoved Longly forward.
The large man fell face downward on the floor and then sat up, rubbing at his painful shoulder. “Ha!” He laughed loudly. “You come back sometime, big hunter. You give Longly good thrashing, by gods!”
They raced out of the inn to the stables. The stableboy nearly fainted at the sight of all those armed men running toward him. Arutha said, “Where are our horses?” The boy pointed toward the rear of the stable.
Martin said, “They’ll not stand up to a long run tonight.”
Seeing other mounts, fresh and fed, Arutha said, “Who owns these?”
The boy said, “My master, sir. But they are to be sold at auction next week.”
Arutha signaled for the others to saddle the fresh mounts. The boy’s eyes teared as he said, “Please, sir, don’t kill me.”
Arutha said, “We’ll not kill you, boy.”
The boy cowered away while the animals were saddled. The Hadati took a saddle from what was obviously the inn’s supply of tack and made a sixth horse ready. Arutha mounted and tossed a pouch at the boy. “Here, tell your master to sell our mounts and make up the difference from what’s in the bag. Keep something for yourself.”
When all were ready, they rode from the stable, through the gates of the inn courtyard, and down a narrow street. If an alarm was going out, the city gates would soon be closed. A death in a bar brawl was a chancy thing. They could be pursued or not, depending upon which officer of the city watch was on duty that night, as much as for any other cause. Arutha decided to take no chances and they raced for the city’s western gate.
The city guards barely took notice when the six horsemen galloped past and disappeared down the highway toward the Free Cities. No alarm had been sounded.
Down the road they flew, until the lights of Ylith were a distant glow in the night behind them. Then Arutha gave the signal to rein in.
He turned to the Hadati. “We must speak.”
They dismounted and Martin led them to a small glade some distance from the road. As Jimmy tethered the horses, Arutha said, “Who are you?”
“I am Baru, called the Serpentslayer,” answered the Hadati.
Laurie said, “That is a name of power.” He explained to Arutha, “To earn his name, Baru killed a wyvern.”
Arutha looked at Martin, who inclined his head in respect. “To hunt dragonkind takes courage, strength of arm, and luck. Wyverns were first cousins to dragons. The difference was mainly of size. To face one was to face rage and talons, speed and fangs, twelve feet high at the shoulder.
The Hadati smiled for the first time. “You are a hunter, as your bow proclaims, Duke Martin.” At this Roald’s eyes widened. “Mostly, it takes luck.”
Roald stared at Martin. “Duke Martin . . .” He then looked at Arutha. “Then you’d be . . .”
The Hadati said, “He is Prince Arutha, son of Lord Borric and brother to our King. Did you not know?”
Roald sat back silently shaking his head in an emphatic no. He looked at Laurie. “This is the first time you've ever told only part of a story.”
Laurie said, “It’s a long one and even stranger than the other.” He said to Baru, “I see you are a northerner, but I do not know your clan.”
The Hadati fingered his plaid. “This signifies I am of Ordwinson’s family of the Iron Hills Clan. My people live near the place you city men call Lake of the Sky.”
“You Bloodquest?”
He indicated the rolled scarf about his forehead. “I quest. I am Wayfinder.”
Roald said, “He’s a sort of holy man . . . ah, Highness.”
Laurie said, “A consecrated warrior. The scarf contains the names of all his ancestors. They can have no rest until he finishes his mission. He’s taken a vow to complete the Bloodquest or die.”