Sebastian Darke: Prince of Fools (7 page)

They trudged on for hour after hour and eventually the flat ground gave way to gently rolling hills of grassland that seemed to sway rhythmically in the breeze. Around midday they crested a ridge and noticed something below them in the distance – a thick column of grey smoke rising into the sky – and as they moved steadily nearer, they could just discern what looked like a line of wagons. There was some kind of commotion going on around them that was raising a thick cloud of dust. Cornelius pulled an ancient-looking telescope from his belt and lifted it to his eye. He studied the scene for a moment, then drew in a short, sharp breath.

'Shadlog's teeth!' he exclaimed. He thrust the telescope back, pulled down the visor of his helmet and drew his sword.

'Come on, Sebastian,' he said. 'Somebody's in trouble!'

'But . . . the caravan . . .'

'It will follow on by itself quite happily. Grab your sword and follow me!'

And he set off at a run, moving at incredible speed for one so small. Sebastian stared after him for a moment, then unsheathed his own sword. He jumped down from the caravan.

T hope you don't think you're leaving me on my own,' protested Max.

'You'll be fine. I can't let Cornelius go into danger unaided, can I?'

'Why not? He's trained at that kind of thing. You on the other hand . . .'

But Sebastian didn't hear the rest of Max's sentence as he took off after Cornelius, his long thin legs covering the ground at a sprinter's pace. Within a few moments he had caught up with the manling and could have easily overtaken him – but he slowed a little to stay alongside. Now he could clearly see the line of wagons he was running towards; and that they were being attacked by a troop of ragged men riding equines.

'Brigands!' roared Cornelius. 'Attacking what looks like a respectable supply column. They'll take no prisoners!'

Sebastian put his head down and concentrated on running. They had quite a distance to cover and part of him didn't really want to get there, because that would mean fighting. He remembered what Max had said about how being able to use a sword was quite a different matter to lopping some?one's head off. But it was too late to back down. The next time he looked up, he seemed to be uncomfortably close to the action. Now he could see everything.

The soldiers who had been accompanying the supply column – handsomely equipped men wearing red plumed helmets and bronzed breastplates – had gathered themselves into a protective circle around one rather opulent carriage and were selling their lives dearly to defend it. The two fine equines that had pulled the carriage lay dead, pin-cushioned with arrows, and many of the guards were suffering a similar fate, the ground already littered with their dead. As Sebastian watched, more of them fell victim to the rain of arrows that the Brigands kept firing into them as they rode round and round their victims, yelling like madmen.

'That's not very fair!' yelled Sebastian.

'Welcome to the real world,' Cornelius shouted back at him. 'Don't worry, we'll soon even up the score.'

As the two newcomers approached the action, one of the Brigands, a huge bearded man sitting astride a grey equine, noticed their approach and broke away from his companions to attack Cornelius. He came thundering towards the little warrior at high speed, a huge battle-axe raised to slice him in two. Sebastian felt like shutting his eyes but somehow couldn't. Just as he was thinking that it had been nice knowing Cornelius, the manling performed an extraordinary manoeuvre, rolling forward and slipping beneath the flying hooves of the equine. Then he launched himself upwards, slashing with the blade of his sword into the creature's exposed belly. The equine lost its footing and went tumbling headlong into the dirt, flinging its rider head over heels.

Cornelius didn't hesitate but plunged onwards with a blood-curdling cry as more riders broke away from the fight to approach him. Sebastian couldn't watch any more because

he saw that one rider had spotted him and was racing to the attack. Sebastian swallowed hard and tightened his two-handed grip on his father's sword, telling himself that if he must die here, then he should do it well and not show fear, even though he was quaking inside.

The Brigand came galloping towards him, his ugly face painted with stripes of what looked suspiciously like blood. He was laughing and swinging a huge sword above his head. The equine's hooves seemed to shake the very ground that Sebastian was standing on. He desperately tried to remember the advice his father had given him about situations like this:

Let your opponent make the first move but anticipate it. Once you have evaded his blow, make your move and don't hesitate for a second!

The Brigand came alongside him and leaned over in the saddle to take a swipe. As he lashed out, Sebastian swayed sideways and the tip of the sword hissed a deadly arc a few inches from his right ear; then he swung back and slashed with his own blade, feeling it bite clean through the rider's chain-mail vest at his waist. The equine raced on, but as Sebastian turned to look, the rider tipped sideways in his saddle and went crashing heavily into the dirt. He lay there, writhing in agony, blood seeping through his vest.

Sebastian felt a sudden rush of exhilaration go through him. He'd done it! He'd faced a Brigand in mortal combat and emerged victorious! He opened his mouth to give a shout of triumph, but in that instant something heavy slammed into his back, driving the breath out of his lungs. He went sprawling to the ground, in total confusion, rolled over several times and came to rest lying on his back, his sword no longer in his hand. He looked up and saw a huge, barrel-chested Brigand approaching him, giving him a gap-toothed grin. He was brandishing the heavy club with which he had just struck Sebastian, and it was clear from the way he swaggered closer that he had every intention of using it again.

Sebastian looked desperately around for his sword and saw it lying a short distance away. If he could just clear his thoughts enough to make a dive for it – but the Brigand was shaking his ugly, bearded head.

'Forget it, Elf-man. It's not going to happen,' he said. He came closer, the club raised to strike.

Sebastian lay there, only vaguely aware of a strange thundering that seemed to shake the very ground beneath him. He steeled himself for the killing blow and offered up a quick prayer that his father would be there to meet him in the next world. But the blow never came.

Instead, a huge horned head lurched into view, striking the Brigand full in his chest and sending him tumbling across the ground like a broken doll.

'Max!' Sebastian looked up delightedly, but such was the impetus of the caravan that the buffalope could not stop, and he went racing crazily past, the wheels missing Sebastian by inches. The stunned Brigand was just struggling back to his feet when Max and the caravan trampled him flat and thundered on into the thick of the battle, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. Sebastian shook his head and got back to his feet. He retrieved his sword and ran after the caravan into the dust cloud.

Suddenly he was immersed in a strange half-lit chaos of fighting, struggling men. A Brigand with a huge horned helmet came lurching at him out of the dust and Sebastian reacted instinctively, slashing at the man's helmet with his sword. He felt the impact of the blow all along the length of his arm and the man dropped backwards out of sight. Sebastian stood there, staring at his sword in amazement.

'Ha, ha, that's the spirit, lad!' roared a voice down by his hip, and he saw Cornelius go running past. He was spattered with blood and dirt, but looked as though he was having the time of his life. 'I think I've dealt with all their archers. Now, come with me. Must be something pretty valuable in that carriage!'

Sebastian followed the little warrior without question and found himself a short distance away from the opulent carriage. The last of the guards had just fallen to the swords of the Brigands and now one of them, a huge, bare-chested, shaven-headed man with a goatee beard, was triumphantly reaching out to pull aside the satin curtains that covered the doorway. As he did so, a large clay pot came flying out of the gloom and hit him full in the face, knocking him backwards to the floor. He lay there stunned for a moment, then grunted in surprise as first Cornelius and then Sebastian used his chest as a convenient springboard to launch themselves up onto the wooden steps of the carriage. They turned at bay, their swords raised to defend the curtained doorway, and found themselves confronted by a half-circle of scowling, armed-to-the-teeth warriors.

There was a long and terrible silence as the Brigands gathered themselves for the onslaught.

This is it,
thought Sebastian.
We can't fight them all. We're done for.

The silence continued for what seemed an age. Cornelius looked slowly around at the half-circle of savages, letting them see the determination in his eyes. Then he spoke in a commanding tone.

'Brigands, hear my words! I, Captain Cornelius Drummel, have killed many of your number today, and be sure that I will kill every one of you who tries to put a foot upon this step.'

'Archers!' shouted one of the Brigands. 'Come forward and shoot these two idiots!'

There was another silence while everyone waited for an archer to appear, but it quickly became apparent that one wasn't going to show up.

'I took the precaution of killing all your archers,' Cornelius told them. T find them such a nuisance in a situation like this. And before you waste time looking for a bow, let me assure you that I always cut through the strings. I don't believe in unfair advantages.'

There were worried murmurs at this news. The Brigands were looking this way and that, assuring themselves that it was true. They really didn't have a single archer left.

'My advice to you gentlemen,' said Cornelius, 'would be to take what booty you can salvage from the rest of these wagons and leave, while your heads still sit firmly upon your shoulders.'

Now there was a murmur of conversation amongst the Brigands. Then one of them, a squat, red-bearded man with plaited hair and crudely executed body tattoos, shouted back.

'Those are big words from such a little, little man!'

There was some laughter at this remark but it faded quickly when Cornelius made his reply.

'Little I may be, but by Shadlog's bones, I'm man enough to cut off your ugly head without raising a sweat.'