Flight of the Nighthawks (9 page)

Zane had scuttled backward when released and now he rose and came to stand next to Tad. After a moment, he whispered, “He's not breathing.”

“I hope he's not,” said Tad.

“You killed him,” said Zane softly, in mixed admiration and shock.

“He would have killed us,” was Tad's reply.

“Hey!”

Both boys turned as one at the sound from below, as the second man trudged back up the wash. “Did you see them?”

Zane glanced at Tad, who nodded, and yelled back in a faux deep voice, “Up here!”

Zane's eyes grew wide, but Tad pointed upward, and put his hands together. Zane stepped into the stirrup Tad formed, and took the boost to reach the branch. “I'll draw him here,” said Tad. “You hit him!”

Zane said, “Then give me the branch, you fool!”

Tad was just on the verge of tossing it up to Zane when the second bandit came hurrying up the gully. He was out of breath but the instant he saw Tad standing over his fallen comrade holding the makeshift bludgeon, he pointed his sword and ran toward the boy.

Tad stood rooted in terror for an instant, then at the last he ducked as the bandit tried to cut his head from his shoulders. The blade struck the tree trunk and cut deep, like an axe. The blade was wedged deep and the bandit yanked to free it. Tad thrust upward into the man's face with the butt end of the dried branch, and the erstwhile club struck him square on the nose. “Damn!” shouted the man as he threw up his left arm, knocking aside the branch while he staggered back. Tad could see the man had some small cuts on his face and a few embedded splinters, but the blow did nothing more than annoy him.
Tad grabbed the hilt of the man's sword and yanked the blade free, then stood resolutely facing the bandit.

The man drew back his dagger. “If you know how to use it, y'welp, you'd best be about it, else I'll cut you from chin to crotch for what you did to Mathias.” He stepped forward, blade ready, as a pair of feet appeared directly over his head. Zane jumped from the branch above, one foot striking the side of the man's neck, the other landing on his shoulder. The boy's weight drove the bandit straight to his knees, and Tad could see the wide-eyed, startled expression on his face as his head twisted impossibly to one side, and he could hear the loud crack as his neck broke.

Zane again tumbled hard to the ground and lay there uttering a groan. Tad looked downward, first at the bandit who now lay at his feet, his head bent at an unnatural angle, his vacant eyes staring up at the night sky. He then looked at Zane, who lay on his back, also wide-eyed and motionless. Tad knelt next to his foster brother who took in a large gasp of air and softly said, “I think my back is broken.”

Tad said, “Are you serious?” with concern approaching panic in his voice.

“It hurts like it is,” said the shorter boy.

Tad stuck his thumbnail into his companion's leg and said, “Can you feel that?”

“Ow!” said Zane, sitting up. “That hurt.”

“Your back's not broken,” said Tad, standing and giving Zane a hand up as he did.

“How do you know?” said the ill-used boy.

“Jacob Stephenson told me that when Twomy Croom's father broke his back from that fall in their barn, the old man couldn't move his legs, couldn't even feel anything below the waist.”

“That's bad,” said Zane.

“Didn't matter,” offered Tad. “The old man died a day later.”

“Feels like I broke it,” said Zane in a weak bid for sympathy.

“Get the other sword,” said Tad.

Zane took the one next to the first man they had killed. Tad hefted the other and the taller boy said, “We should get back to the wagon.”

Zane said, “But Caleb said not to come back.”

Tad's blood was up and he almost shouted, “But he may need our help!”

“You think Caleb's all right?”

Fear and exultation mixed in equal measure as Tad said, “If we can kill two of these bastards, I'm sure Caleb was the equal of the other three.”

Zane didn't look convinced, but he followed his foster brother.

They moved cautiously up the hillside toward the road. It was now full night and the way was difficult as they navigated their way through the underbrush and thick boles. As they reached the verge of the road, they stopped and listened for any hint of the bandits. The sounds of the forest at night was all they heard. A light evening breeze rustled leaves and the sound of night birds echoed from some distance away. All appeared peaceful.

They ventured onto the road and looked in both directions. “Where's the wagon?” whispered Tad.

Zane shrugged, the gesture lost on his companion, so he said, “I don't know. I don't know if this is where we were, or if we were that way”—he pointed down the road to his left—“or the other.”

Then they heard a horse's snort and the rattle of traces coming from the left. They had climbed back to the road farther to the east than they had thought. The boys hurried along the edge of the road, ready to dart back into the trees should they encounter bandits.

In the gloom they barely saw the first body, sprawled on the far side of the road. It was the bandit who had first accosted them. Farther down the road the wagon was stationary on the other side of the road while the two horses attempted to crop whatever they could from the underbrush. Another bandit lay dead as they reached the end of the wagon.

The boys circled around and saw two figures, the last bandit, the one with the crossbow, lying dead next to the wagon's left front wheel, and another figure slumped down beside him, back against the wheel of the wagon.

Caleb sat upright, but was unconscious, his body held in place
by the wagon wheel and the dead bowman's corpse. Tad knelt next to him and said, “He's breathing!”

Zane pulled the corpse of the last bandit aside, and Caleb fell over sideways. Tad examined him and found a deep gash in his side where a crossbow bolt had found its mark, as well as several sword cuts. “We've got to do something!”

Zane said, “Strip that man's shirt,” as he pointed to the nearest bandit. “Cut bandages.”

Tad did as Zane said and pulled out Caleb's huge hunting knife, using it to cut bandages from the man's filthy shirt. Zane hurried to inspect the other two corpses and returned with two more swords and a small purse. “They must have robbed before,” said Zane.

Throwing an impatient look at Zane, Tad said, “You think?”

“I mean recently,” said Zane, holding up the purse. “It's got some coins in it.”

“Well, we had better get Caleb into the wagon, because I don't know how long he's going to make it without help.”

Both boys picked up the injured man and deposited him in the back of the wagon. Tad said, “You stay back there with him. I'll drive.”

Neither boy was an experienced teamster, but both had spelled Caleb on their journey, and Zane admitted Tad was a better driver. The horses reluctantly left their forage and headed down the road. “How far did he say that village was?” asked Tad.

“I don't remember,” said Zane. “But hurry. I don't think we have much time.” Tad pulled to the right and got the horses pointed down the road, and with a flick of the reins and a shout got them moving. With another flick and a louder shout, he got them up to a brisk trot, the fastest he could manage in the darkness without running themselves off the dark road.

Caleb lay motionless, his head resting on a bundle of empty sacks, as Zane tried his best to halt the bleeding. Softly, Zane whispered, “Don't die!”

Tad silently echoed his foster brother's request as he urged the horses down the dark and foreboding road.

 

The ride through the forest seemed to take forever. The boys alternated between an almost panic-stricken terror and a determined optimism that everything would turn out for the best.

They had no sense of time, as the minutes passed by and the road passed under the hooves of the horses. The animals had not been rested for hours before the ambush, and they were panting. The one on the left seemed to be favoring his left hind leg, but Tad ignored it; he'd kill both horses in their traces if it would save Caleb.

Both boys liked the tall, quiet hunter, as they thought of him. They knew he was related to the owners of Stardock, though the exact nature of the relationship was vague to them. They also knew that their mother was in love with Caleb and that he cared deeply for her. Resentful of his attentions at first, they had both come to appreciate how happy his visits made her. Tad's deepest fear was having to return to Stardock and see the look on his mother's face should he have to tell her of Caleb's death.

Suddenly they were in the village. Tad realized that he had been so focused on what he would have to tell his mother and that Zane had been tending Caleb so closely, neither had noticed they had left the forest and were passing by farms for some time now. The large moon was up and in the shimmering light of its reflected glow they could see the village of Yar-rin. A few huts lined the roadway into the village square, and three large buildings dominated. One was the mill, on the far side of square, and the other two appeared to be a shop or some sort, and an inn. The inn showed a sign with a sleeping rooster ignoring a sunrise. Remembering Caleb's instructions, Tad pulled up before the inn and went to bang hard on the bolted door.

After a minute a voice from above sounded as a window was thrown open. “What is it?” shouted an angry landlord as he thrust his head out the window.

“Are you McGrudder? We need help!” shouted Tad.

“Wait a minute,” said the man as he withdrew his head.

A moment later the door opened and a large man in a nightshirt appeared in the doorway holding a lantern. “Now, who's ‘we' and
what sort of
‘
help'—” His question died on his lips as he saw Zane kneeling next to the prone figure in the wagon bed. He held the lantern close and said, “Gods of mercy!”

Looking at the two boys, both obviously exhausted and filthy, he said, “Help me get him inside.”

Tad jumped up next to Zane and they both got one of Caleb's arms over their shoulder, then got him upright. The innkeeper came to the end of the wagon and said, “Give him to me.”

They allowed Caleb to fall slowly over the large man's shoulder, and ignoring the blood that was soaking into his nightshirt, the landlord took the wounded man inside. “Elizabeth!” he shouted as he entered the inn. “Get up, woman!”

A few moments later a plump but still attractive older woman appeared on the stairs, as the landlord put Caleb on a table. “It's Caleb,” said the man.

“Are you McGrudder?” asked Tad.

“That I am, and this is my inn, the Sleeping Rooster. And who might you two be, and how did my friend come to this sorry state?”

The woman quickly began examining the wounds and said, “He's lost a lot of blood, Henry.”

“I can see that, woman. Do what you can.”

“Tad and I are from Stardock,” said Zane, and he quickly outlined the tale of their ambush.

“Damn road agents,” said McGrudder. “Had a Keshian patrol from Yadom out looking for them a couple of weeks back.”

“Well, they're all dead now,” said Tad.

“All of them?”

“Five men,” said Zane. “Tad and I killed two of them, Caleb the other three.”

“You killed two?” asked McGrudder, then he fell silent as the boys nodded.

When he said nothing for a few moments, Tad offered, “We were lucky.”

“Indeed,” said McGrudder.

The woman called Elizabeth said, “Henry, I don't think I can do anything to save him. He's too far gone.”

“Damn,” said the innkeeper. “Margaret!” he roared.

Within a minute a young girl, about the same age as the boys, appeared from a door in the rear of the common room. “Get dressed and hurry down to the witch's hut.”

The girl's eyes got wide. “The witch!”

“Do it!” the landlord shouted. “We've got a dying man here.”

The girl's face went pale, and she vanished back through the door. A few minutes later she reappeared wearing a simple gray homespun dress and a pair of leather shoes. Turning to Zane, McGrudder said, “Take the lantern and go with her. The old witch won't talk to strangers, but she knows Margaret.” To Margaret, he said, “She'll not want to come, but when she tells you to be away, say this and no more, ‘McGrudder says it's time to repay a debt.' She'll come then.”

Zane followed the obviously agitated girl out the door and across the small village square. This side of the village was upslope from a small stream and devoid of farms. The few huts bordering on the square were quickly left behind and they plunged into a thick copse of trees.

Zane hurried to keep up with the girl, who seemed determined to get this over as quickly as possible. After a couple of minutes of silence, he said, “My name is Zane.”

“Shut up!” said the girl.

Zane felt his cheeks burn but said nothing. He had no idea why she was being rude to him, but decided that was something best explored when things weren't so confused.

They came to a small game path and followed it, until they came near the edge of the stream. A flat clearing jutted into the stream, forming a small bend in the stream. The surface was rock covered by recently dried mud. Zane wondered why the hut that sat snug in the middle of the clearing hadn't been washed away by the recent flooding.

The hut was constructed of sticks covered with mud, with a thatch roof and a rude stone chimney in back. It looked barely large enough to contain one person. A leather curtain served as a door and what looked to be a small opening high up on the left appeared to be the only window.

The girl stopped a few yards from the hut and shouted, “Hello, old woman!”

Instantly a voice answered, “What do you want, girl?”