Kings of Clonmel (10 page)

She leaned forward, kissed him lightly on the lips and slipped away, waving her hand in a farewell gesture behind her. She skipped down the steps. It was such an excellent day, she thought.

Will watched her go. Then he turned, gathered his thoughts and knocked on the door to the Baron’s anteroom.

THE FIRST HINT OF DAYLIGHT WAS SHOWING OVER THE TOP OF the bluff. Off to the right and left, it was already touching the treetops where the mass of the steep hill didn’t cast a long shadow. That suited Halt’s purpose ideally. When the sun finally broke clear of the top of the bluff, it would be in the eyes of the men at the bottom of the hill, adding to their uncertainty.

Colly was dozing uncomfortably as Halt released the thumb and toe cuffs, wrinkling his nose once more as he came close to the man’s feet. Then he stepped back and nudged him with the toe of his boot, his hand ready on the hilt of his saxe knife.

As Colly woke, realization dawned in his eyes that his hands and feet were free. He tried to rise quickly, but the stiff, cramped muscles in his arms and legs defeated him. He cried out in pain and rolled onto his side, making helpless little scrabbling movements.

“It’ll take a few minutes for those muscles to loosen up,” Halt told him. “So don’t try anything foolish. In the meantime, slip off your jacket.”

Colly, lying on his side, looked up at him. “My jacket?”

Halt raised an eyebrow impatiently.

“Your ears aren’t cramped,” he said. “ Take off the jacket.”

Slowly, Colly worked himself into a sitting position and unbuttoned his thigh-length over-jacket. He tossed it to one side, then looked questioningly at Halt. The Ranger nodded.

“So far so good. Now put on the cloak beside you.”

For the first time, Colly noticed that Halt’s camouflage cloak was lying on the ground near him. Clumsily, he threw it around his shoulders and fastened it in place. He had obviously decided that there was no future in asking questions. And besides, he was beginning to understand what Halt had in mind.

“Now let’s get you on your feet,” Halt said. He gripped one of Colly’s forearms and hauled him upright. For a second or two, Colly stood unmoving, testing the feeling in his arms and legs. Then, rather predictably, he tried to throw a punch at Halt. Halt ducked under the wild blow. Stepping in and pivoting his upper body, he hit Colly with a palm strike to the jaw, sending him sprawling again.

“Don’t try that again,” he said. There was no anger in his voice. Just a calm certainty that he could handle anything Colly attempted. While the Outsider clambered shakily to his feet, Halt slid on the thick woolen jacket he had discarded. His nose twitched again at the combined smells of grease, sweat and dirt.

“This is nearly as bad as your socks,” he muttered.

Stooping, he picked up Colly’s narrow-brimmed felt hat and placed it on his own head.

“Move around a little,” he told his prisoner.“Shake your arms and legs to get the blood flowing. I want you in top form when you start up the hill.”

Colly’s jaw set in a stubborn line as he tried once more for defiance. “I ain’t running up that hill,” he said.

Halt shrugged. “ Then die here. They’re the only two choices you have.”

For the second time, Colly looked into those dark eyes and saw no sign of pity or compromise. And for the second time, his gaze dropped from the other man’s. He began to shake his arms and legs, grimacing with pain as blood flowed back into his muscles. While he did so, Halt retrieved his longbow and quiver, slinging the latter around his shoulders with one easy movement.

After a few minutes, when he judged that the man’s movements had become easier, Halt motioned for him to stop. He beckoned him toward the uphill side of the rock outcrop that sheltered them from sight.

“All right, here’s what’s going to happen. When I give you the word, you’re going to start running up the hill.” He saw a momentary gleam of cunning in Colly’s eyes, which the outlaw tried unsuccessfully to conceal.

“If you try anything else, I’ll put an arrow through the fleshy part of your calf. Not enough to stop you running, but enough to cause a great amount of pain. Are we clear?”

Colly nodded, his brief moment of defiance fading away.

“Good. Now I’m going to stand here waving and yelling. When you hear me start, run harder.”

“They’ll think I’m you,” Colly said, indicating the tree line at the bottom of the hill where his companions lay in wait. Halt nodded.

“That’s the general idea.”

“So they’ll chase me up the hill,” Colly said.

This time, Halt shook his head. “Not if you jump off into the river. They’ll go down and around the base of the hill to the riverbank to go after you. Which will leave the way clear for me.”

“What if I don’t jump?” Colly asked.

“But you will jump. You’ll notice there’s no worthwhile cover at the top of the bluff.”

Colly looked again. The stranger was right. There were no trees or rocks at the top of the bluff, just long grass, but not long enough to cover him. He swallowed nervously.

“If you stop at the top of the bluff, I’ll put an arrow ten centimeters above your head. Just to show you I can.”

Colly frowned, a little puzzled. Then Halt continued.

“Then, five seconds after that, I’ll put an arrow twenty centimeters
below
your head. Got that?”

Colly glanced down nervously. He nodded his understanding.

“Got it,” he said. His throat was dry, and the words came out as a hoarse whisper. He watched as Halt drew an arrow from the quiver and, in one movement, nocked it to the string of his massive longbow.

“So, let’s get ready. I’m told a nice morning run is good for the health.” He paused, then added with a hard edge, “And a nice swim is even better.”

Colly’s eyes flicked from Halt to the open ground above them, then down to the tree line where his companions were still concealed.

“I meant what I said,” Halt told him.“And just so you know I can hit what I aim at, do you see that rotten tree stump, about forty meters up the hill?”

Colly peered in the direction Halt had indicated and made out an old blackened tree stump about a meter high. It was the only standing remnant of a tree that had been struck by lightning some years ago. The rest of the tree, gradually being devoured by rot, lay angled down the hill below it. He nodded.

“I see it. What about it?”

“When you draw level with it, I’m going to put an arrow in it. See where there’s the beginning of an old branch jutting out to the right?”

Again Colly nodded. The remains of the branch were only just visible at this distance.

“That’s where the arrow’s going to hit. If I miss the mark, you might think you have a chance to start running back downhill.”

Colly opened his mouth to say something when Halt forestalled him.

“But I won’t miss. And remember, you’re a lot bigger than that branch.”

Colly swallowed again. His throat was very dry. “Can I have some water?” he asked. Anything to put off the moment when he started uphill. He knew what Halt had said he was going to do. But he couldn’t help wondering if the Ranger wouldn’t simply shoot him down once he reached the top of the bluff. After all, that would cause his companions to come running uphill after him, leaving the way clear for Halt to make his escape downhill.

Halt gave him that cold little smile again.“Of course,” he said.“All you want. Just as soon as you hit the river. Now get going.”

Still Colly hesitated. Halt flexed the bowstring experimentally. There was no practical purpose in the movement, other than to draw Colly’s attention to the broad-headed arrow nocked on the string. Halt frowned as the Outsider still hesitated. The sun had lifted above the edge of the bluff now, and it was at its most dazzling for the men below.

“GO!” he shouted suddenly, making a lunging motion toward Colly at the same time.

The loud noise and sudden threatening movement galvanized his prisoner into action. Colly broke from cover and began to run up the hill, his legs pumping, the camouflage cloak billowing out behind him. Halt let him get twenty meters away, then stepped out of cover himself, waving and shouting to the unseen men he knew would be watching from below.

“He’s getting away!” he yelled. “He’s getting away! After him!”

He heard shouting from the trees and the sudden surprised yelping of the dogs as they were roused by their handlers. A few men appeared from the shadows of the trees and hesitated uncertainly, watching the man in the Ranger’s cloak as he ran. Then more of the watchers broke cover.

“He’s getting away! Get after him!” Halt yelled. He turned and glanced uphill. Colly was almost at the tree stump. Halt stepped back behind a rock to conceal his actions from the men below. Casually, he brought the bow to full draw and released, in one smooth motion. At a forty-meter range, even shooting uphill, he had to allow only a minimum amount for drop. The arrow hissed away from the bow.

Almost at the tree stump, Colly heard the arrow split the air to his left, then smack into the rotten branch of the stump, which disintegrated into a shower of splinters under the impact. Even though the Ranger had warned him what would happen, Colly couldn’t believe that anyone could manage the shot that he’d just seen. He shied sideways, away from the stump, in a reflex action and redoubled his efforts, driving his legs as hard as he could.

Now the Outsiders were moving out of the trees in greater numbers. Some of them were starting up the hill after Colly. But there was no real urgency in them so far. They knew there was nowhere for the running man to go. The tracking dogs were yelping furiously, restrained on their long leashes by their handlers. Halt counted about a dozen men. At least, he thought gratefully, they hadn’t loosed another of the war dogs.

He glanced back at Colly, now laboring against the steep slope of the last few meters of the hill. He knew the man would hesitate at the bluff. It was inconceivable that he wouldn’t. He had another arrow on the string and his eyes narrowed as he judged speed and distance and estimated his arrow’s flight time. Colly was a few paces from the edge of the bluff when Halt drew the arrow back until he felt his right forefinger touch lightly against the corner of his mouth, sighted and released.

The arrow sped uphill in a shallow arc.

Colly was staggering, his breath coming in ragged gasps, as he reached the bluff. Below him, still in shadow, the water of the river was a black sheet. There was no way he could tell if it was deep enough for him to jump, and, as Halt had predicted, he hesitated, looking back down the hill to the figure by the rocks.

A second after he had stopped, he heard a whistling sound and actually felt the passage of the arrow as it passed a few centimeters above his head. Just as the Ranger had said it would.

His sides were aching with the effort of the mad uphill run. His chest was heaving, and he doubled over, trying for breath. He saw the Ranger’s right arm go up as he drew another arrow from the quiver over his shoulder. Very deliberately, the Ranger nocked the arrow and raised the bow again, bringing the string back to full draw.

Colly could feel a burning sensation in his chest. The point where Halt had said the next arrow would go. He remembered the smashing impact of the first arrow on the tree stump and the sudden lurch of terror as the second arrow had passed within a handbreadth of his head. All this flashed through his mind in a second as he watched the figure below him, and he knew that he had only one chance to survive.

He jumped. He howled with fear all the way down, then smashed into the surface of the river in an enormous explosion of spray. He sank deep under the surface but there was no sign of the bottom. In fact, the river at this point was at least fifteen meters deep. Then, with an enormous sense of relief that he had survived the drop, he began to claw his way back up. His left knee had been twisted and wrenched by the impact with the water, and a lance of pain shot through him as he kicked for the surface. He cried out, swallowed water and remembered too late to keep his mouth shut. His head broke the surface and he gasped for air, coughing and spluttering, swimming sideways to ease the pain in his knee as he stroked weakly for the bank.

On the hillside, the pursuers had stopped as the cloaked figure hurled himself off the bluff. They were familiar with the territory and knew the river lay below. Now they paused, but a voice from above directed them.

“He’s in the river! Cut round the bottom of the hill and head him off!”

Several of the quicker-witted among them saw the gesticulating figure, whom they took to be the scout sent out during the night. He was waving them back and to one side, and they realized the sense of what he was saying. There was no point continuing to the top unless they wanted to jump after their quarry. Back down the hill and round to the riverbank was the quickest way.

“Come on!” shouted a burly dog handler. “Get to the riverbank!”

He gestured for his dogs to lead, and he ran, following them. All it took was one man to start the movement and the others followed. Halt watched with satisfaction as the knot of men plunged back downhill, angling off to the left to reach the riverbank below the bluff.

As the last of them disappeared from view, Halt clicked his fingers twice. Abelard stepped clear of the rocks where they had sheltered through the night. He swung easily up onto his horse’s back. Abelard twisted his head to look accusingly at his master, taking in the greasy woolen jacket that had belonged to Colly.

“I know,” Halt said resignedly. “But his socks were even worse.”

He set Abelard to a lope and they moved quickly down the hill. As they reached the cover of the trees, Halt did a strange thing. Instead of turning east, toward Redmont, he swung Abelard’s head northwest, back to the fishing village. Again, Abelard turned his head to look inquiringly at his master. Halt patted the shaggy mane reassuringly.