Knight's Prize (21 page)

This
time Rand planned to follow the travelers secretly and at a distance. First of
all, he suspected the brothers wouldn't appreciate his escort, taking it as an
insult. Second, Rand knew that two men were a much more tempting target than
three. And third, though he was loath to admit it, he needed every advantage to
battle The Shadow, including the advantage of surprise.

Waiting
was the hardest part. He allowed himself a yawn, only to have it cut off
abruptly as an owl swooped past his head, close enough to ruffle his hair.

He
abruptly froze. Perchance the owl had been frightened from its perch by an
outlaw in black. For several long moments, he heard his own pulse in his ears
as they strained at every rustle of leaves, every whisper of branches. But no
robber sprang from the trees.

'Twas
a full hour later when the sun and the Herdclays at last made their appearance.
The brothers tromped noisily down the path, still boasting about their success
of the night before. 'Twould be easy to follow them. They were so preoccupied,
listening to the sound of their own voices, that they'd never hear him.
Forsooth, the loud varlets made such an easy target, he was almost tempted to
rob them himself.

When
they neared the place where he'd encountered The Shadow before, Rand silently
drew his sword and scanned the trees, ready this time to catch the outlaw
unawares. But The Shadow didn't strike.

Nor
did he strike at the next curve in the path. Nor where the trail dipped as it
passed by a spring. Nor in the dense thicket of hazel where a robber could
easily hide.

Rand
had decided The Shadow must have overslept, missing a prime opportunity for
profit, when he heard an indignant yelp from one of the men.

He
stole forward, keeping out of sight, until he glimpsed a black wraith slip
between the brothers on the path ahead.

The
Shadow.

His
heart pounding with the thrill of the chase, Rand nonetheless forced himself to
patience. He ducked behind a pine, peering through the branches, as the outlaw
proceeded to confront the Herdclays.

Rand
had thought The Shadow impressive yesterday, but he was even more astonishing
today. The brothers put up an admirable fight for their winnings, attacking
with their swords in a coordinated effort from both sides of the robber. But
they were no match for The Shadow's quick maneuvering, his uncanny balance,
his unusual attacks and defenses, the way he seemed to bound off trees and
dance on air.

Rand
saw now why the Mochrie maids had been so smitten by the outlaw. And why the
folk of Rivenloch were in no hurry to capture the thief. He was truly amazing
to behold.

Forsooth,
so caught up was Rand, watching the brothers try in vain to prevent The Shadow's
attack, that he almost missed his chance to catch the villain.

Within
moments, The Shadow tossed one brother into the shrubs and laid the other out
flat on his belly, both without suffering a scratch. He tucked their cut purses
into some secret fold of his garb as he came down the path toward Rand.

Rand
needed to act now. Taking a silent breath, tightening his grip on his sword, he
prepared to waylay the thief.

Just
as he flexed his knees to spring, a thunk sounded in the trunk beside him,
distracting his eye for an instant. But that instant was everything.

In
the moment he glanced at the slim black knife, something hit his wrist hard,
loosening his grip on his sword. He managed to hold on to the weapon, but a second
impact caught the back of his legs, and he fell to his knees on the forest
floor while a flash of black passed before his eyes.

He
dared not slash blindly forward with his sword. He meant to capture The Shadow,
not slay him. Instead, he swung his left fist round, intent on striking
whatever part of the robber was within reach. Incredibly, he swung at empty
air.

The
nimble thief had leaped up to grab hold of a branch overhead, lifting his legs
to dodge Rand's blow. Now he swung backward, with the clear intent of kicking
Rand on his forward swing.

Rand
perceived the attack in time. He threw himself to the right, dropping his
sword, and turned swiftly to catch the robber about the legs. Then he gave a
hard yank, loosening the man's grip on the branch.

The
Shadow fell forward into the brush with Rand's arms still clamped around his
legs. For one victorious moment, Rand thought he'd done it. He'd
single-handedly captured the notoriously elusive outlaw.

But
the cursed thief was as slippery as a trout. Despite Rand's steely grip, The
Shadow managed to squirm and twist and wriggle free, his parting insult a swift
kick to Rand's chin.

Though
the impact was sudden, rocking Rand's head back, 'twas not a disabling blow.
Forsooth, Rand got the impression, as the castle folk had said, that the outlaw
wouldn't truly injure anyone.

But
that didn't mean he wasn't still a menace.

Rand
snapped up his discarded sword and prepared to engage the man again.

Undaunted
by his near capture, The Shadow sprang to his feet, standing on the path with
his legs flexed and his arms raised, ready for combat.

Rand,
torn between accomplishing his mission in the most expedient manner or
following the rules of chivalry, opted for chivalry. The Shadow was unarmed. In
all fairness, Rand couldn't use his blade against him. He cast aside the weapon
and made fists of his hands instead.

"Come
on, monkey," he goaded. "Fight like a man."

"Get
him!" one of the Herdclay brothers prodded.

"Aye,
make him pay!" the other chimed in.

Rand
gave them a cursory glance. 'Twas not chivalry that kept them from helping him,
he was sure. 'Twas a lack of courage.

He
looked back at The Shadow. As if he was enjoying himself immensely, the outlaw
cocked his head and beckoned Rand with his finger.

Rand
prided himself on being a quick study. Though he had limited experience
battling The Shadow, already he'd begun to note the man's fighting style. He
was crafty and swift, using clever dodges and inflicting blows with the
accuracy of a well-fired arrow. And he used his feet. His
feet.
'Twas
a curious way to spar indeed.

But
Rand had the definite advantage of size and strength. If he could manage to
land just one powerful blow, he'd send the outlaw to oblivion long enough to
shackle him.

With
that in mind, Rand lunged forward and threw a hefty punch at the man's head.

But
where his head was one moment, 'twas not the next. Worse, as his fist flew past
The Shadow's head, the man somehow seized Rand's arm and shoved him even
farther, using his own momentum to push him off-balance.

By
the time he staggered around, The Shadow stood braced for action again.

"Come
on, man!" one of the Herdclays yelled. "Show him what you're made
of."

"Send
that black Devil back to Hell!"

Rand
ground his teeth. When he was done with The Shadow, he'd enjoy taking on the cowardly
brothers as well.

Rand
eyed his opponent, trying to discern the best approach. Growing up a bastard in
a noble household had taught him skills beyond those learned by most knights.
He knew how to fight with his fists, how to wrestle, how to use crude weapons
no honorable knight would touch.

With
a menacing growl, he hurtled forward, intending to tackle the robber.
Half-expecting the man to step aside at the last instant, he spread his arms
wide, like a fisherman casting a broad net.

To
his surprise, The Shadow didn't step aside. Instead, he took the initial impact
of Rand's tackle, then rolled suddenly backward upon the ground, taking Rand
with him. The man planted his feet in Rand's stomach as they tumbled together,
and Rand felt his legs fly up in the air and his head dive toward the earth. In
self-defense, he curled into a ball. When he hit the ground, instead of
breaking his neck, he landed with a bone-jarring roll along his spine.

He
thought The Shadow would escape through the woods then, just as he had the day
before. Mayhap the outlaw would even toss another silver coin to him, thanks
for the bout. For one ludicrous moment, Rand wondered if he could retire from
his mercenary work and make a living sparring with The Shadow every few days.
Then he rattled the thought out of his head and rose to reevaluate the
situation.

The
Shadow had stood his ground rather than flee. He must be enjoying the skirmish.

But
for Rand, 'twas a serious matter. His livelihood depended upon his reputation.
He couldn't afford to fail in this endeavor. Too many lords knew of his
mission. If he succeeded, he might be called upon again for his services. But
if he failed...

He
thrust the idea straight out of his head. He couldn't afford to fail.

It
seemed The Shadow's greatest skill was using Rand's own strength against him.
So he'd give him none of that strength. Indeed, he'd prod the outlaw into
attacking him first this time.

He
weaved his head about and threw a few light punches, luring The Shadow close.

When
the robber's attack at last came, 'twas not from his fist, but from his cursed
foot. Rand reared back his head in time to dodge the full impact, but The
Shadow had already seized the advantage, advancing on him, backing him up along
the path.

Rand
blocked a few blows from his attacker, blows that were not made with his fists,
but with his open hands. Curiously, they were just as driving and powerful.

Finally,
the robber repeated his kick again, and this time Rand was ready for it. He
jerked his head out of range, but using both hands, he seized The Shadow's
foot, trapping him in midkick.

He
might have been able to simply lift the outlaw up at that point, he was so
light, dangle the man from his ankle while he used his other hand to retrieve
the shackles from his belt.

But
The Shadow had another strategy in mind. The moment Rand lifted, the thief's
other leg scissored up and over, flipping him backward in the air and giving
Rand a solid whack on the jaw as he tore free of his grip.

Rand,
acting on blind instinct, lunged forward to make a last desperate grab at his
prey. Whatever his arm contacted, it knocked the thief off-balance in midflip.
When The Shadow came down, his knee struck the edge of a sharp rock on the
trail.

Rand
winced in empathy. 'Twould make a nasty bruise if it hadn't cracked the
fellow's kneecap. But Rand wasn't about to lose his advantage. He dove forward,
trying to catch the injured varlet in a restraining embrace.

But
the instant Rand's fingertips brushed black cloth, the thief, as if his wound
was of no consequence, bounded up into the trees again, clambering from limb to
limb until he disappeared in the woods.

"Oh,
fine," one of the brothers complained.

"No
thanks to you," the other muttered at Rand.

"
'Twasn't
your
coin,
after all."

On
his hands and knees on the trail, within a hairbreadth of catching his prey,
only to lose him in the wink of an eye, Rand had little temper and less
patience.

He
narrowed grim eyes at the brothers, and growled, "I suggest you leave
before I knock your empty heads together."

He
was right. They were cowards. With indignant haste, they turned tail and hied
down the path.

When
they'd gone, Rand rocked back onto his heels. But just as he was about to lever
himself to his feet, something caught his eye.

A
fresh drop of bright blood adorned the rock where the outlaw had struck his
knee.

He
reached forward to touch it with a fingertip, then rubbed the slick substance
between his finger and thumb.

The
Shadow
had
been
injured in his fall, despite his spry departure. That meant his identity should
be easy to uncover. All Rand had to do was find out which of the men at the
gaming table currently suffered from a limp.

Chapter
13