The other squires set heels to mounts and galloped off towards Calfey, sending panicking cows running and attracting abuse from the cowherds. Nywulf held Xus’s bridle and leaned over so he could speak quietly to me. “You’re good with that bow, Girton. So hang back and use it if anything happens.” Then he locked eyes with me. It was a fierce look and one that worried me as it felt as if he saw right past Girton ap Gwynr and into the boy below. “And watch out for Rufra; he is too trusting though he pretends otherwise.” With that he let go of the bridle and slapped Xus on the rear, sending me racing after the other mounts.
There was joy in the speed and the clear air as Xus cut his way through the apple trees. Shadows flashed around me—light, dark, light, dark—and the world was turned into a series of juddering images until I broke out of the apple forest and fields stretched ahead of me for ever and ever. To my right the other squires kicked up a cloud of dust and beyond them I could see a column of smoke that must be Calfey. To my left was Barnew’s Wood, where Aydor had been “attacked,” and running towards it was a figure being chased by a man carrying a sword. I saw the sparkle of a blade as he lifted it and cut down the figure running before him. On the wind I thought I heard a voice, Aydor’s, but I could not tell what he said. A moment later a Rider split off from the group of squires and made towards the swordsman—Rufra on his black mount.
In the back of my mind I heard my master’s voice. Many nights we had sat awake by a fire while she had drawn maps with a burned stick and explained what worked in war, how the tactics of battle could be used on the smaller scale of infiltration. How in the end all things were the same: big was small, small was big.
And I saw what was before me for a lie.
Calfey had little of value. Was this a feint to draw us away from the cows while another force hit the herders?
I spurred Xus on towards the main group.
Would Aydor listen to me?
No.
I glanced to my left, the swordsman had entered Barnew’s Wood and Rufra was riding hard after him.
Or could this be a trap for one of us?
Sayda Halfhand had gone, but any fool could wield a blade. Could this be a set-up for a move on Aydor?
Why was Rufra riding alone? Had he been ordered to take down the swordsman or was it his own idea? Surely he would never disobey Nywulf?
I heard a roar. The squires, also ignoring Nywulf’s orders, charged into the village of Calfey with their swords held high.
What was happening? Was this a raid, albeit a misguided one? Or a feint.
Or a trap for Rufra?
Why would anyone lay a trap for Rufra?
Was it a trap for Aydor?
If Aydor died, then I had no doubt my master and I would soon follow him.
But Barnew’s Wood? Was it only coincidence that was where Aydor’s ambush had been faked? Adran had hinted that she disliked Rufra. Had the pretend attack on Aydor given his mother ideas? No, she would be more subtle than to just repeat what had happened. Her son however?
Or Tomas?
I reigned Xus in and the warmount screeched in fury, fighting the bit in his eagerness to be part of the action.
Something was wrong.
For a moment I was torn, and then Rufra vanished into the dark space between the trees and a shiver ran through me. I leaned into Xus and with a shout of, “Ha! Xus, ha!” gave him his head. Free to run, he flew towards Barnew’s Wood like a bolt from a crossbow. We thundered past the body cut down by the bandit swordsman. It was a boy no older than I was.
At the edge of the wood I pulled Xus to a stop and the mount huffed and pawed the ground in response to my anxiety. Speed or stealth? Everything in me screamed speed but I made myself stop and think.
Breathe out.
No time for this!
Let the assassin work this through, not the boy.
Breathe in.
If it was a trap Rufra was likely to be outnumbered and lumbering in on Xus would only give me away. Then I would have to fight my way to him.
Breathe out.
He’ll be dead if you don’t act!
Think.
No time!
I slid from Xus’s saddle.
“Wait,” I told the mount and he bobbed his huge head before lowering it to chew on a bush. Unslinging my bow I half strung an arrow before moving into the undergrowth. Rufra had ridden up a slim path and the mud had been churned up by his mount’s claws. Not far down the path I found the swordsman, dead, his head cracked open by Rufra’s sword. After killing him, Rufra must have heard something else as he had continued into the wood, going more slowly, but still at some speed.
I found Imbalance’s body fifty steps further on. The animal’s neck had been broken by a line of wire stretched across the path, but his strange lopsided antlers had saved Rufra’s life. When the mount had struck the line, rather than stopping him abruptly and throwing the antlers back so the Rider was impaled on the tips, it had slewed Imbalance round, throwing Rufra into the undergrowth. I could see where he had rolled into the ferns. From there he had run to the left, going further into the wood. I found a crossbow bolt in Imbalance’s side and another buried in a tree.
Further on I found the body of a crossbowyer with her neck opened. I could read the fight in the land. Rufra had hidden behind a tree and waited for her to reload then charged her as she did. A second warrior had been with the crossbowyer, they and Rufra had fought here. From the depth of footprints this fighter was armoured. Another fighter had joined the first and Rufra had fled further into the wood.
I found blood on the leaves of a low-hanging branch and hoped it was not my friend’s.
Ten steps later I heard the sound of combat and, keeping low in the undergrowth, hurried towards it.
They fought in a clearing. A huge stone totem of the dead gods had fallen and ripped a hole in the canopy, creating an island of illumination in the dark wood. Bright shafts of light caught dust dancing in the air and glinted off the mismatched armour of six men surrounding another, who used jerky movements of his sword to ward off feigned attacks.
Rufra, definitely Rufra. And he was still alive, though a crossbow bolt stuck out from the plate metal of his right shoulder guard. He didn’t look wounded, but the bolt was stopping him raising his longsword. Even if he had been able to lift his arm properly he didn’t stand a chance against six.
The clang of metal on metal.
And a death.
A man holding a heavy two-handed mace launched an overhead attack at Rufra. The mace came down towards his head and Rufra danced to the side, dropped his useless longsword and thrust his stabsword into the man’s gut, giving it a twist before pulling back. As he fought to push the dying man away another of his attackers dashed in. They were not skilled warriors but they didn’t need to be; they had numbers. He brought down a spiked morningstar against Rufra’s helm and my friend fell, the fallen statue blocked my view of him. With a roar the morningstar wielder lifted his weapon, ready to bring it down in a killing blow.
I stood.
Raised the bow.
Drew it and let the arrow fly in one motion.
No thought. No conscious aiming.
The arrow took the man through the eye of his elaborate snarling facemask.