Fool's Errand (27 page)

Duncan was grateful that the lad demonstrated trained self-control and paused his firing long enough to identify his target and realize it was Duncan.

“Be careful where you point that thing, lad. I’m coming to help not hurt. You don’t want to kill the only healer, do ya?”

Even in the direst circumstances, Duncan’s sense of humor poured out with his natural inclination to bring light to the darkness. Thatcher smiled and returned his focus to the fray and to the duel between the mighty warriors as Duncan pulled his
talith
over his head and began to speak to Gideon.

“It is a deep and vicious injury, Captain. I am going to have to remove the lance tip before I can use any healing
oth
on the wound. It’s going to bleed a lot, and it’s going to hurt even more. Steel yourself for I will have to act fast. There is not much time.”

“There is always time enough for prayer, my brother,” Gideon answered. “Sing a prayer for me from the
Book of Songs
before you begin. There are many songs of battle there and of victory. Sing a prayer for me, Duncan, and then use your gifts and knowledge, and let the will of the One Lord be done, be it my life or my death.”

Gideon’s eyes seemed unable to focus. Duncan knew the pain in the paladin’s shoulder must be intense, but the priest sensed his captain’s heart was wounded even deeper as he realized any hope of redemption for Xyer Garan was gone. Goldain or Xyer would die in this battle. Once a Qarahni warrior was filled with the lust of battle and the fury at betrayal, Duncan knew there was nothing that would stay the northerner’s hand. Gideon closed his eyes and his face bore the marks of praise and joy as Duncan began to sing one of the great songs of the One Lord and of victory.

Duncan had no time to pull out his
Great Book of Writings
, but the Durgak loved song and most high priests had committed the entire
Book of Songs
to memory. He was far from being that well-versed in his studies, but he did recall one of his favorite songs. Given Gideon’s grave condition, perhaps the paladin would forgive him for only singing the last half of this particular hymn.

The One Lord looks out from heaven

He sees every human being

From the place where He lives He watches

Everyone living on Chadash

He who fashioned the hearts of them all

And understands all they do

A king is not saved by the size of his army

A strong man not delivered by his great strength

To rely on a horse for safety is vain

Nor does its great power assure escape

But the One Lord's eyes watch over those who fear Him

Over those who wait for his grace

To rescue them from death

And keep them alive in famine

We are waiting for the One Lord

He is our help and shield.

For in Him our hearts rejoice

Because we trust in His holy name

May Your mercy, O One Lord, be over us

Because we put our hope in You

A smile overtook the face of the Parynlander. Duncan knew that look; it was the look of peace coming from a heart that knew the destiny that awaited it—dwelling with the One Lord forever once this life had passed. Duncan had no plans of letting his comrade pass into that peace just yet, however.

“Lad,” Duncan said to Thatcher, “put down that pea-shooter and help me hold him. When I pull out this lance point, he is going to likely lash out without realizing what he is doing. I can’t rightly heal him if he knocks me unconscious. I will kneel on his wounded arm to brace it for the extraction. You sit on his good arm and try to keep him still enough for me to start the
oth.
If it were Goldain, you might only serve as a weapon in his hand to bludgeon me with, but I think Captain Gideon has lost enough blood to be weak enough for the two of us to handle.”

The rogue scowled at the Durgak’s comment about his size, but nonetheless set his crossbow down and sat on Gideon’s right arm while Duncan knelt on his left.

Duncan muttered a quick prayer that the lance had not further splintered in the wound and that the natural taper of the tip would allow it to come out clean. With a great effort and merciful quickness, Duncan grabbed hold of the splintered lance point and wrenched it free from Gideon’s left shoulder.

Gideon jerked in agony at the shooting pain ripping through his body, but the tension in him only lasted a moment as he mercifully passed into unconsciousness. Blood shot from the exposed wound and Duncan prayed he could seal it before the paladin bled to death. He immediately pressed his hands to the wound to staunch the flow of blood and began chanting the prayer for the strongest healing
oth
he knew.

Thatcher stared in amazement as the flow of blood from Gideon’s chest rapidly slowed and then stopped. A soft glow surrounded Duncan’s hands. Moments later, he raised his hands from Gideon’s body, and the flesh below them was covered in blood but was otherwise whole. The paladin’s labored and weakened breathing steadied. He seemed to be resting peacefully with a sea of chaos swirling all around them.

“Are we done?” Thatcher asked.

“As done as we can be, lad. He is in the One Lord’s hands now. I have done all I can.”

Thatcher quickly grabbed his crossbow again just in time to take down two Orcs advancing toward them. They had taken a particular interest in the fallen captain and were scampering over to investigate.

“Nice shot, lad,” Duncan said with an accompanying pat on the boy’s shoulder. “Maybe that pea-shooter is a worthy toy to have after all.”

Things were getting hairy for Jeslyn. Bardrick was at least twenty-five yards away now, hewing and hacking his way ecstatically through the hoard on the ramp and working his way toward the Ogre commander. His distance from Jeslyn and their disabled wagon, combined with the fear of his ferocity evidenced in the Orcs near him, had many of the goblinoids giving Bardrick a wide berth and looking for easier targets behind him. Unfortunately one of the most conspicuous of these easier targets was Jeslyn.

The young Rajiki archer was down to her last two arrows when half a dozen Orcs began advancing rapidly toward her. She doubted, even if she could have lined them up perfectly, that her short bow could have made two consecutive three-in-one kill shots. She had practiced such trick shooting, as had every Rajiki hunter hopeful, but ideal trick shots on a target range was a far cry from the moving chaos of a live battle. Whatever else was about to happen, she knew the first two closing on the wagon would learn the deadly bite of Rajiki arrows.

Jeslyn loosed her last two shafts at the two closest enemies—one into the eye of the first Orc and the other into bare chest of the second. Hopefully whatever passed for an Orcish heart was located in the same place as an Adami one. She was not disappointed as both foes dropped instantly to the ground never to move again. She was in for it now though. Four Orcs were still closing in, and she was out of arrows.

Jeslyn drew a small knife from her belt. It was the kind carried by all Rajiki hunters and used for skinning game. She knew how to use this blade to peel the hides off dead Orcs carefully enough to make the world’s ugliest coats out of them. It would be another thing altogether to use this weapon to fight. This was not something she had practiced. With a bow in hand and arrows in her quiver, she was as confident as any member of the company was. Now, however, with only a skinning knife between her and four trained Orc fighters, her confidence waivered.

Most Rajiki hunters carried strong, reinforced bows with blades attached to the tops and bottoms of the bow arms. The same weapon that made them deadly at a distance could become a double-bladed sword in close combat. Hers, however, was just a practice bow and might be useful for spanking a disobedient child but would not last two moments against the steel blades of the Orcs. For all her bravado, she was in trouble. She felt her heart pound in her chest and her breaths grow shallow. For the first time she could remember, she was afraid.

Suddenly, from the mouth of the ramp came charging Reyas, the trooper who had been assigned to protect her.

“Looks like there is something to do here after all, little miss.”

He brought his sword down on the back of the skull of one of the Orcs felling him with a single blow. The others stopped advancing on the wagon and spun to face this new threat. Three to one odds was a lot to ask of even a veteran trooper, and Reyas was still quite young.

He fought bravely, hacking and thrusting with his sword and using the
main gauche
in his left hand to parry and block. The troops Tropham had brought were duelists, all specialized in the sword and-dagger-fighting style. They were fast, and all wore light chain armor to allow maximum movement and reduce fatigue in an extended fight. These duelists were trained for one-on-one duels, counting on outmaneuvering and outlasting opponents. Fighting three-to-one was too much for the brave trooper.

He managed to drop another of the Orcs with a quick parry and thrust, but as he delivered the deadly puncture to the Orc’s chest, the others attacked him simultaneously and managed to inflict a gaping wound on his upper left thigh and a wicked gash to his right side. Reyas fell to the ground and the two remaining Orcs cleaved at the downed trooper until he was covered in bloody slashes and ceased trying to struggle to his feet to fulfill his order to defend Jeslyn.

“Reyas!” Jeslyn screamed and forgot all about the danger to herself.

She leapt, knife in hand, from the crippled wagon and rushed toward the two Orcs hacking at the downed trooper. They spun, alert and expecting an attack from some howling amazon warrior but bellowed in amusement at the skinny-limbed, freckle-faced girl charging them holding a small skinning knife in a most unsure manner.

“Hah,” One scoffed in guttural and heavily accented Adami. “How desperate must the ‘dami army be if they are sending their children against us? Da’ Blue M’stic was right. Vict’ry come soon.”

Their amusement was short lived as, from Jeslyn’s left, came a blur of forest green, charging up and silencing one Orc with a thin, curved sword cutting deep into its throat. The other turned to face the verdant-clad menace only to have that same well-wielded scimitar draw a deep gash across its belly. As the dying Orc hit its knees, it saw its entrails spill out higgledy-piggledy upon the ground. The green-cloaked Kylor spun and shot an encouraging smile toward the young archer.

“Looked like you might have needed a hand, Jes.”

The girl was in no mood for a witty reply. She rushed to the fallen trooper, Reyas, and put her hands on either side of his face. He was critically wounded but somehow still clinging to life.

“Don’t you leave me, trooper,” she screamed to the half-conscious Reyas. “You promised to protect me, and this fight ain’t done yet. You can’t die until I or Captain Tropham gives you permission. You hear me?”

A half-hearted smirk came to Reyas’s mouth.

“Kid, I think the mayor of Aton-Ri can hear you. Could you yell at me a little quieter?”

With that, Jeslyn, her face streaked with tears, looked up and saw that toward the front of the caravan, about thirty yards away, Duncan had finished ministering to Captain Gideon. The girl yelled at the top of her lungs.

“Duncan, please hurry! We need you.”

Duncan’s head snapped around at the sound of his shouted name, and with a whisper of encouragement to Thatcher to guard their captain well, he took off running toward Jeslyn and the fallen trooper. As he ran, however, he watched with horror as another half-dozen goblinoids broke away from the battle at the bottom of the ramp and rushed toward Kylor and Jeslyn. They clearly had learned that once one of the caravaneers was isolated, get a group and take them down fast. Jeslyn’s cry for help had sounded like a homing beacon to the opportunistic Orcs.