The Dark Knight (38 page)

“They are coming, my lady,” Oliver said, just loud enough for her to hear but not the approaching riders.

She bolted upright amidst the clinking of metal links and scanned the clearing near the road. Oliver and Armand were still playing dice. Rami had finished with the horses and had found a seat near the men. Had she
imagined Oliver’s warning? No, all three were looking toward the road to the east. Dante was still nowhere in sight.

A moment later she heard the sound of measured hoofbeats and then two of their own horses snorted and blew out their breath, likely in response to the scents of the new animals. At last she saw glimpses of the strangers, her view dappled by dozens of leafy branches.
One, two, three … four, five, six …
Oh, no.
Seven, eight
.

They were outnumbered. Badly. Her heart began to thunder inside her chest. Where was Dante?

“Greetings, travelers!” a man called out. He and his men positioned their horses in a semicircle around Oliver and Armand while Avalene studied the strangers from her hiding place. The nondescript clothing the men wore was likely chosen to help them blend in with the soldiers of the next lord who hired them; brown leather pants and vests with linen shirts that all looked in need of a good washing. The man who greeted them was dressed the same as the others, but he was obviously their leader. A breeze shifted the branches for a moment and she glimpsed a gray, grizzled jaw and a thick-lipped mouth drawn back in a smile that revealed rotted teeth. “Is something amiss that you have struck camp so early in the day? Can we be of any help to you, my friends?”

The sound of a thick Italian accent from Armand made her eyes widen. “No, kind men. We are good, thank you.”

There was a moment of silence before the mercenary responded. “You are foreigners?”

“Aye, Italians,” Armand answered in a friendly tone. She watched him gesture toward Oliver and Rami. “My
compagni
no speak your tongue. My pardon, I no speak so good either.”

The accent was so close to those of the Italians she
had encountered at Coleway that she would have sworn it was genuine. The mercenary believed it as well. “What are you doing in England?”

“My master married the English girl,” Armand said. “The fathers both merchants,
sì
? We go to the
padrone
in London.”

“Dirty outlanders,” one of the other mercenaries cut in, with a quiet curse.

“Where is your master and his English girl?” the first mercenary demanded. There was a new, dangerous edge to his voice. “We have business to discuss.”

“My master is with his wife,” Armand replied, with just the right note of uncertainty in his voice.

A sword appeared in the mercenary’s hand and pointed in the general direction where Avalene cowered behind the pile of baggage. “Get them now.”

Armand gestured toward her with one hand.
“E ’tempo di andare, Rami.”

She watched Rami pick his way through the saplings, his young face set in hard lines. He scrambled over the pile of baggage to crouch down next to her, and then drew the dagger he wore at his waist, his gaze locked on the mercenaries.

“We want no trouble,” Armand said in a placating tone, his hands held up with the palms facing outward toward the mercenaries. “You can be on your way, good sirs.”

“We will be on our way when we have what we came for,” the mercenary said. “While we are waiting for your master to put his pants back on, start saddling your horses and be sure to load your baggage.”

“You want us to go with you?” Armand asked innocently.

“You will not be going anywhere.” The mercenary gave an unpleasant laugh. “Cooperate, and we may
spare your lives. Definitely we will spare the life of your master’s wife. For a while. My scout says she is a fair piece.”

The man on the leader’s left grunted once, and then slowly slumped forward in his saddle. The leader stared at the man in stunned silence, even as Avalene heard several more grunts and three more men fell from their horses. All of the mercenaries were confused by the sudden and unexpected thinning of their ranks, looking from their comrades to Oliver and Armand who had not moved, and then back to their comrades again. Their bewilderment provided enough distraction for Oliver and Armand to draw their swords. She watched Armand easily block the first blow from the mercenaries’ leader.

Rami started forward from their hiding place, determined to join the fight, but Avalene gripped his arm and then shook her head when he turned toward her. Anger flared in his dark eyes, but immediately faded into frustrated acceptance. He moved closer to her, edging her away from the wall of baggage. She finally realized the boy was trying to place himself in front of her, a small, fierce tiger intent on protecting his mistress.

A man’s strangled cry and the sounds of swords clanging together took her attention back to the road. The man making the awful sounds held his neck with both hands as blood poured from a wound, and then he fell backward from his horse and she could no longer see him. Oliver’s sword slashed out and cut the throat of the horse nearest him, and the animal went down with a scream. Its rider was dead before the horse’s head touched the ground.

At the same time, Armand still had his hands full blocking sword blows from the leader of the mercenaries, his own blade ringing out in a steady rhythm against
the enemy’s. Avalene had witnessed plenty of sword fights on the practice fields at Coleway over the years, and actual sword fights when arguments between soldiers or knights turned deadly. This match looked even at first, but then Armand did not take advantage of an opening so obvious that she had to bite her lip to keep from calling out to him. Was Armand overmatched? She studied his movements, the way he feinted when he should attack. It finally dawned on her that Armand was simply keeping his opponent occupied, wearing him down, inflicting a few small cuts but nothing that would prove fatal. Dante must have given orders to keep their leader alive.

And then she got her first glimpse of Dante just as another mercenary began to move in on Armand’s unprotected side. He came from the tall grasses on the other side of the road, moving quickly as he approached one of the mercenaries on his blind side. Her breath caught in her throat when he gathered speed and then in a deft move, he leapt at his prey. Actually, he practically scaled the side of the man’s horse in two agile steps, the momentum making him level with the mercenary just long enough to bury his sword in the man’s chest, and then two more steps backward returned him to the ground, the movement helping pull his blade free of the mercenary who tumbled from his saddle. She did not have time to draw a startled breath before Dante was on the ground again. He made a quick assessment of Armand’s fight, and then vaulted onto the leader’s horse so he was seated behind the man. He clamped one arm in a vise around the leader’s sword arm and then placed the blade of his own sword at the enemy’s throat.

Dante’s voice was deadly quiet. “I believe we have business to discuss.”

The sword dropped from the leader’s hand and fell
harmlessly to the ground, then he lifted his other hand so both were raised in surrender. “We intended no harm!”

Oliver and Armand came to stand in front of the horse and she realized with a start that all of the other mercenaries were dead.

Dante made a sound of impatience. “Who sent you?”

“N-no one,” the man stuttered, and then a torrent of words poured from him. “We are in the hire of Lord Althrop, on our way to Wiltshire to fulfill his forty days’ service to his liege, the Earl of Hereford. We only stopped to see why you were camped so early in the day. We thought you needed our help.”

The story was believable, to a point. Every nobleman and knight owed his liege lord forty days of military service. The wealthy lords who did not relish warfare hired mercenaries to serve in their stead. The higher the rank of the nobleman, the higher the number of mercenaries were owed to take his place. Apparently the earl had agreed that Althrop’s service was worth that of eight mounted soldiers. There was nothing unusual about the number. Still, the story did not explain why they had intended to rob them.

“Althrop lacks the coin to send mercenaries to Hereford,” Dante said, “and the earl and his army have been in Brecon for close to a year.” The mercenary grimaced in pain when Dante wrenched his arm. “Tell me the truth this time.”

“Althrop said he would hire us, but when we reached his manor he turned us away. ’Tis the truth!” the mercenary insisted. “The journey to Althrop took all our coin. We
were
making our way to Wiltshire, hoping to hire our swords along the way. We only stopped—”

“Most of these horses and their tack are not those of common soldiers,” Dante broke in. “The saddles are trimmed with silver, the horses bred for hunting rather
than war. Did you leave their owners alive, or did you murder them as you intended to murder us?”

Answering that question would implicate him in theft and murder, or another denial could further anger his captor. The mercenary wisely remained silent. Dante pushed the man sideways until he fell from his horse and landed in a heap on the ground. Armand’s sword replaced Dante’s at his throat.

“These saddles do not belong to mercenaries of your caliber, nor do these horses,” Dante said. “If they were provided for you to complete this mission, then you were sent here by one of my enemies. If they were stolen, then you and your men simply had the misfortune to choose the wrong victims. Which is it?”

“I …” The mercenary’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “W-we stole the horses from Althrop three days ago. We waited in the forest until Althrop rode to the hunt with his men, and then we robbed them.”

“Are they dead?” Dante asked, in a voice that was more curious than judgmental.

The mercenary looked from Dante to Armand, and then back again. He gave a slow nod.

Dante’s answering nod was for Armand.

Before the mercenary knew what that signal meant, before he could draw a breath of protest, Armand’s sword drew back and then swiftly returned to the mercenary’s neck with deadly vengeance. As quickly as the fight had started, it was suddenly over. Avalene turned away from the sight and concentrated on taking deep breaths until she felt Rami stir in front of her.

“Wait,” she called out, as she put her hand on his sleeve. “Help me out of this armor.”

Rami cocked his head to one side, his brows drawn together.

She plucked at the chain mail, and then pantomimed
pulling it over her head. “I cannot move in this thing. Help me out of it, please.”

She doubted Rami understood her words, but he understood the request. He gathered handfuls of the chain mail at the shoulders and began to pull until she was freed.
“Migliore?”

“Sì, grazie.”

Rami nodded, then vaulted over the baggage while Avalene followed at a slower pace. Dante met her before she had worked her way through the saplings. He looped one arm around her waist and turned her back toward the elm.

“Why don’t you wait here while we repack the horses,” he said. “We shall be gone from here in little time.”

“I can help load the horses,” she protested. She needed to do something to keep her mind off the massacre she had just witnessed. She leaned down and picked up one of the smaller saddlebags. “We can be gone from here much quicker if I help.”

He placed both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him, then leaned down so they were looking eye to eye. “You do not want to see what is in the road.”

“The dead mercenaries?” she asked. “I already saw everything that happened.”

Dante turned his head to look toward the road. The gory body of the leader was clearly visible. He sighed. “I had hoped you would not watch.”

“I had hoped to be of more help,” she quipped, thankful beyond words that none of the mercenary’s blood was on Dante. “Let me help now.”

He studied her face for a long moment, and then nodded. “Take the bags to Oliver.”

She tried not to gawk at the fallen men, but found it was impossible not to look at them. They were everywhere. The smell of blood and gore was nearly overwhelming.
Breathing through her mouth helped a little, but her stomach made many frightening turns. Still, she returned for more baggage again and again, determined not to appear weak. Her stomach gave another queasy lurch and she covered her mouth with one hand until the spell passed.

After that close call she kept her eyes on the ground directly in front of her until the horses were ready and she was in her saddle. Rami hobbled the mercenaries’ horses that had survived; someone would come along eventually and care for them. The men were left where they fell. It seemed wrong to leave the dead without even covering them or saying a prayer, but she did not bother to ask if they should tend to the bodies. She knew the answer before she asked the question. The Segraves were still in pursuit and they had already lost too much time. She said a silent prayer for the mercenaries’ souls, but she could not find it in her heart to forgive them the greed that led to their deaths.

They rode through the pass as the afternoon shadows lengthened and she breathed a little easier when the road widened again. Everyone rode in silence, although she found Dante’s brooding gaze upon her whenever she looked at him. She did not want to talk about the mercenaries or what had happened, so she quickly looked away each time their eyes met. He did not question her.

It was almost dark when Armand pointed toward a village nestled in a wooded valley. “Wycombe ahead, my lord.”

She could see a mill and its waterwheel along the banks of a river, and could just make out the thatched roofs of the houses in the shadows of dusk. She had heard of this village from merchants and travelers who stopped at Coleway. Wycombe was a market town on the banks of the River Wye, less than a day’s ride from
London. The knowledge that they would be in the city by this time tomorrow cheered her considerably. She also knew there would be an inn at Wycombe, but there was no reason to hope they would make use of the inn. Still, her spirits fell when Armand rode past the lane that led to the village and they all continued forward.