He knew nothing. I cut his throat before he finished speaking and then made sure Rufra’s sword was covered in blood and returned to the man I had shot with my bow. I cut the arrow out of his eye and thrust the blade into the wound. Then placed Rufra’s bloodied longsword in my friend’s empty hand. If he lived I hoped his head wound would make his memories of the attack hazy. Faced with no other option he would have to believe he had fought off all of his attackers before giving in to unconsciousness.
That done I returned to Xus, mounted and concentrated on becoming Girton ap Gwynr again. As the adrenaline drained from me I realised how dangerous what I had done was. Though it felt as if I had trained for it all my life I had never fought without the knowledge my master was at my back, ready to defend me. And today I had fought five and the killing had been easy. I had been ruthless and it had shocked me, but I had also enjoyed it. I had never really thought of myself as a warrior before, only as an assassin, someone who slunk in silently, avoiding conflict whenever possible. When the shaking started I realised that somewhere, deep inside, I was as shocked by what I had done as the fictional Girton ap Gwynr would have been.
Chapter 20
I threw Xus into a run. Smoke rose above Calfey, and the wind brought with it the whoops of warriors and the screams of the dying. A scruffy mount with short antlers ran past me, dragging the corpse of its rider behind it and leaving a trail of red on the stones of the path. On the far side of the village I saw a group of six raiders being pursued by Tomas and his small squad, whipping their mounts and riding as fast as they could for the village. As the raiders approached Calfey, a volley of arrows brought their front three down and the second rank rode into them, their mounts falling and spilling raiders to the ground. Tomas brought his group to a halt and they dismounted to go about the work of finishing the wounded; they showed no mercy, and I heard them laughing as I drove Xus into the the village.
Calfey was small, only a few dozen houses surrounded by a fence of dried thorn bushes, and as I entered Xus lowered his antlers in response to the presence of death. Bodies lay everywhere, some in armour and some not; men and women ran hither and thither in panic. A child ran past, screaming, and I turned to find the raider he fled from, but instead saw Borniya, his bow drawn and aimed at the child.
As Xus and I came between them he grinned.
“Duck, mage-bent,” he shouted and loosed his arrow. I pulled on Xus’s rein, bringing him sliding to a stop as the arrow shot over my head. I had to fight to keep my balance in the saddle. At the moment I thought I was safe a mount side-swiped me. If Xus had not moved, swinging about to face the threat with his antlers down and a high-pitched hiss, my leg would have been smashed between the two animals. As it was I fell from his back into the mud. Xus stood at bay above me, trained to protect his rider he would not move. He spat and hissed at Borniya and Hallin as they circled me on their twin black mounts.
“You could have killed me,” I said, pulling myself up.
Borniya laughed.
“You’re a mage-bent country boy, not a Rider. You fell because that beast is too much for you.” Xus let out a low growl as Borniya and Hallin walked their mounts around us.
“A real Rider wouldn’t be baiting me when there are raiders to fight.”
“They’re dealt with, mage-bent,” said Borniya. “Now we’re just clearing up the dregs.” His mount continued to circle and I had to turn to follow him. Hallin rode opposite him, running his thumb along the back of the little knife he was so fond of hurting people with.
“Rufra is hurt,” I said.
“Dead?”
“No.”
“That’s unfortunate.” Hallin laughed. Behind them men, women and children were lined up against the lumpy mud and wicker walls of the village hall. Aydor was telling some of his troop to get their bows ready. Tomas stood off to one side, watching.
“You need to help Rufra,” I said. “Remember what Nywulf said about us—”
“We have to deal with the traitors first,” said Borniya. He pointed at the villagers lined up against the wall. Aydor was driving his mount backwards and forwards shouting, “Treason!” and “Death!” He was a fool with his blood up; the people against the walls were not warriors.
“They are only villagers,” I said.
“Villagers who were harbouring raiders.”
“They were being attacked by raiders, not harbouring them.”
“Or that is what they want us to think,” said Borniya. “Maybe it is what you want us to think also? Are you a traitor, Girton ap Gwynr? Dark Ungar knows, the heir would be pleased if you had an accident.” Behind him Hallin had put away his knife and was stringing an arrow to his bow. “Maybe you attacked Rufra in the wood?”
“No!”
“Most would believe it. There’s something of the yellower in you, you’re a bringer of misfortune. Especially to Kyril.” I saw in the eyes of these two boys, almost men, an implacable hatred I did not understand. Aydor I understood. He was weak, a bully and eager to throw his weight around because he knew I could not fight back, and in some way he saw my friendship with Rufra as a threat. But these two were different: I was sure they would kill me quite happily, partly to curry favour with Aydor but mostly because they would enjoy it. They were the sort of people my master delighted in ending. I reached for the blades at my hip and Borniya grinned.
“Got a bit of fight in you then, mage-bent?”
“What is happening here?”
The sudden interruption made me jump, and both Borniya and Hallin turned at the shout to see Aydor wheeling his mount and coming face to face with Nwyulf.
“These people are traitors—they attacked us,” said Aydor. “The penalty for treason is death.”
“Did you announce yourselves?”
“What?”
“Coil the Yellower’s piss,” hissed Nywulf. “Did you announce yourselves?”
“We carry the bonemount,” said Aydor.
Nywulf looked along the line of squires. “You carry the bonemount, Aydor; the rest carry nothing and these villagers are not soldiers, alert to the signs of who is who. One armoured man looks like any other to them. Do you think I told you not to enter the village for my own amusement?”
“Well,” began a squire. “Aydor said—”
“Aydor has made a mistake,” said Nywulf. “As you are all here, let us discuss tactical failures and …” His voice tailed off. “Where is Rufra?” He looked to me but Aydor replied: “He ran away.”
“Like a coward,” added Hallin.
“Heir, you ordered—” began Celot, but Aydor cut him off.
“Quiet, fool.”
“He’s in the wood,” I said, pulling myself up into Xus’s saddle. “He rode after a swordsman who cut a young boy down. I followed but lost him.”
Nywulf went pale and turned to Aydor and his squires. If I had been Aydor I would have been frightened. “Let these people go,” said Nywulf in a voice full of barely restrained anger. “You let one of your number ride off alone, Aydor? Did you not hear a word I said about working together?” Even Aydor had the good sense to look ashamed. “You are not fit to command sheep never mind men.” Nywulf turned to Celot. “You will take charge, find Rufra and bring him back to me.” Celot gave Nywulf a solemn salute and spurred his mount. Nywulf stared at the other squires. “Well? Why are you still here? Follow Celot.” They set off at a gallop.