The Saints of the Sword (30 page)

“Did they see us?”

Jahl didn’t know, but he didn’t think so. He could hear the approaching hooves of the horsemen drawing closer below. One was talking. Or was he complaining? His tone sounded frightened. Carefully Jahl raised his head and peered out over the ledge. Coming toward them were two men, one in front of the other. They were dressed in simple travelling clothes, but the one in the lead was armed. He was a thin man with gaunt features and a body that barely cast a shadow. It took a moment for Jahl to recognize him.

Shinn
.

Hastily, he waved Del closer. Del’s eyes widened when he recognized Leth’s infamous bodyguard.

“My God,” whispered Del. “We have him!”

Jahl was already drawing two arrows from his quiver. One he put between his teeth. The other he fitted against his bow, laying the weapon perpendicular to the ground so not to reveal themselves. So far, neither Shinn nor the other rider had noticed them. It was then that Jahl realized that Shinn’s companion wasn’t a soldier at all, but a boy. He was unarmed, a fact that made the idea of murdering him even less palatable.

“Who’s that?” asked Del. He too had spotted the boy.

“Don’t know,” whispered Jahl. “Goddamn it …”

He almost had Shinn in his sights. Remarkably, the bodyguard had come to an abrupt stop. Then he pulled his
bow. Jahl held his breath. He was about to draw back on his arrow when the boy rushed up to Shinn.

“What are you doing?” asked the boy. “What’s wrong?”

Jahl and Del exchanged troubled glances. There was more talk from the duo below. Shinn took an arrow from his quiver. The boy turned white with alarm. Jahl and Del waited in frustration, not knowing whether or not Shinn had somehow discovered them.

Then, amazingly, Shinn turned and rode back in the opposite direction. Jahl let out a silent breath. Once more he began drawing back his bowstring, but the angle had changed now. Shinn’s retreat had ruined his shot, and Jahl knew he would have to stand up to have any chance at taking the bodyguard down. He was about to rise when Shinn stopped once more. This time the Dorian raised his bow, flashing his young companion a murderous smile.

In that moment, Alazrian knew he would die. His mouth fell open but he didn’t scream, and he didn’t reach for his dagger or try to run from Shinn’s arrow. He was going to die in the Iron Mountains, and that was the ugly truth of it.

He watched as Shinn slowly raised his bow, watched in fascinated horror as a smile stretched across his face, and when the assassin nocked his arrow to his bow, Alazrian froze like a hunted deer.

“Nothing personal, boy,” said Shinn. “It’s the way your father wants it.”

“My father? Oh, God …”

It was unthinkable, and all Alazrian felt was the most awful embarrassment because he should have seen it coming. But he hadn’t seen it, and now he was going to die for his stupidity. Shinn pulled back his arrow, about to close an eye to aim.

“That’s it,” he joked. “Take it like a man.”

But he didn’t fire. His left eye closed for a moment, then opened again in stricken horror, focusing on something over Alazrian’s shoulder. Alazrian seized the moment. He jerked his horse to the side, bringing the beast about in a
violent turn that almost knocked him from the saddle. Someone was shouting. Alazrian turned to see Shinn, his face red with hatred, his fingers quickly plucking back the bowstring and firing at something overhead. Alazrian heard an arrow collide with the rocks above, then heard more shouting from back out in the run. He wanted to bolt for the main road, but Shinn was still in front of him blocking his path.

Whatever was in the rocks above, it was firing back at the Dorian.

Jahl Rob was on his feet, cursing his bad luck as he nocked another arrow. Shinn had seen him at the last moment, getting off a remarkable shot that had grazed the priest’s shoulder. Next to him, Del was working his own weapon, desperately trying to pin down the Dorian as he maneuvered expertly on horseback, dodging every shot with cobra-quickness and firing back one volley after another.

“God in heaven,” prayed Jahl, “let me kill this bastard!”

He loosed a bolt and watched it slam into Shinn’s shoulder, almost toppling him from his mount. But Shinn held on with inhuman strength, gripping the reins in his teeth and firing one more shot as his riding coat turned crimson. His arrow whistled past Jahl’s head, missing by inches. Jahl thought he was safe—then heard Del’s anguished wail. He turned to see Del fall backward, the bolt lodged in his throat.

“God!” Jahl cried, going to Del and picking him up in his arms. Del was gasping, clutching at the air with clawed fingers as wave after wave of blood bubbled up from his throat. Far below, Jahl heard more shouting and Shinn’s triumphant laugh. The Dorian was galloping away. They had lost him.

“Jahl …” breathed Del desperately. “Alain …”

“Don’t talk,” Jahl ordered. He pressed his fingers around the arrow’s shaft, trying to stem the tide of blood, but each time Del breathed the wound bloomed anew, swimming around Jahl’s fingers and soaking his lap as he cradled Del’s head. Del was doomed, so Jahl didn’t shout
for help. He merely brushed the hair away from Del’s eyes, holding him gently until he took his last breath.

Down in the gully, Alazrian watched in shock as Shinn galloped away. The Dorian bodyguard had taken an arrow in the shoulder and was bleeding badly, yet he rode away with a terrible laugh. Alazrian, still on horseback, fought to still his racing fear. He was alive, a stroke of luck he couldn’t believe, but whoever had shot Shinn was still on the cliff above, and more men were shouting out in the run, the sounds of battle ringing through the mountains. Alazrian looked around, unsure what he might find. He steered Flier toward the middle of the path, coming out into the open so he could see better. He couldn’t go after Shinn. That was impossible now. He had lost his only protection and couldn’t even go home again. He was stranded. The best he could do now was hope that his attackers were Triin, and might somehow take him to Richius Vantran.

Resolved to face whatever might be awaiting him, Alazrian waved his arms up at the cliff.

“Hello!” he shouted. “Don’t fire, please! I surrender!”

There was no reply from the ledge.

“I surrender!” Alazrian repeated. “Please answer. Are you Triin?”

Then a figure appeared at the edge of the cliff, a man in a black, blood-spattered cape. He wasn’t Triin but he was frightful looking, and when he stared down at Alazrian there was nothing but hatred in his eyes.

“I am Jahl Rob,” he thundered. “And you, boy, shall know my wrath!”

D
el was dead. For Jahl Rob, that was the only thing that mattered. When he looked down from his mountain perch, he didn’t see a frightened boy; he saw an accomplice to murder.

“Don’t you move!” he barked. “Or by heaven I will kill you!”

The boy stammered a response. He’d gone white with terror at the sound of the approaching horses, and soon Ricken and Parry were closing around him. Jahl waved at his companions from the ledge. His shoulder still bled from the grazing wound Shinn had given him, but he ignored the throbbing pain.

“Up here,” he called. Then, his voice breaking, “Del’s dead.”

Ricken went ashen. “Oh, no …” He turned to the boy. “Who are you?”

“What about the others?” Jahl demanded. “Did you get them?”

“All but Shinn,” said Parry. He too glared at the stranger. “You hear that, boy? Your companions are dead.”

Dead. Jahl sighed in relief. That was some good news at least. But Shinn had escaped, and Jahl doubted the Dorian’s wound would slow him much. Now they had been discovered. Worse, Del was gone. How in heaven would he tell Alain?

“Ricken, get up here,” he ordered. “I need help with Del. Parry, keep an eye on the boy.”

Parry closed in on the intruder, drawing his sword while Ricken dismounted to scale the ledge. Soon Taylour appeared, too, looking bewildered and edgy. They both circled the boy, threatening him with their blades. Jahl watched as the youngster looked around, confused and afraid. He kept his hands up, not daring to speak. Nor did the others question him, either. Parry and Taylour simply watched him, waiting for Jahl to finish his gory business on the ledge. Jahl turned and knelt down next to Del. He reached out and gently closed Del’s eyelids.

“Go with God, my friend,” he said. He mouthed a little prayer asking God to open the gates of heaven for a truly valiant angel. The anger that had absorbed him ebbed a little, and in its place came an awful grief. Del had been a good friend. He’d been brave and devoted, a true champion of Aramoor. Now he was dead, like his brother Dinadin.

“Oh, no,” said Ricken. He had mounted the ledge and seen Del. Like Jahl, he knelt down next to him, reaching out to touch his forehead. “Shinn?” he asked angrily.

Jahl nodded. “I don’t want to leave him here, Ricken. His horse is down below. Let’s take him back to the stronghold and bury him there.”

Ricken agreed, then noticed Jahl’s wound. “Jahl, you’re hurt. Let me look at it.”

“It’s nothing,” Jahl insisted. “It can wait till we get back to the stronghold.”

“No, it can’t,” snapped Ricken. He reached out for Jahl’s shoulder, probing the tender flesh with a finger and peeling back the torn part of his shirt. The cape had done a good job of protecting the skin, but Jahl could see now that a deep slice cut through his shoulder, still oozing blood. He winced. The pain was stronger now.

“Hurts,” he gasped.

“I’m sure. Take that cape off. Let’s at least get you cleaned up.”

“Damn it,” hissed Jahl. He began removing his cape, carefully pulling it over his throbbing shoulder. “We don’t have any water.”

Ricken cursed, then suddenly remembered the boy down below. “I’ll bet our little stranger has some water with him,” he said. He went to the edge and called down, “You boy! Have you got any water?”

Jahl heard the boy call back a shaky “Yes.”

“Taylour, bring it up here. Jahl’s been hurt.”

Jahl stripped to the waist, then with his dagger began cutting bandages from his soiled shirt. As Taylour climbed to meet them Ricken gave Jahl a mischievous grin.

“Our captive looks like a scared rabbit,” he whispered. “Not much threat from him, I don’t think.”

“Who the hell is he?” Jahl growled. The pain from his wound was making him irritable, and he was glad to hear the boy was uncomfortable, too. “He’s just a kid. What’s he doing with Shinn?”

Ricken obviously had no answers, so he didn’t even take a guess. He just waited for Taylour to arrive with the water, then took the skin and doused Jahl’s wound. Jahl grit his teeth, surprised that such a small wound could hurt so much. While Ricken worked, Taylour hovered over Del’s body, stricken by the sight. Jahl kept thinking of poor Alain.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, pulling away from Ricken. “Let’s get it wrapped so we can get out of here.”

He picked up one of the bandages and handed it to Ricken, lifting his arm so that his companion could wrap the wound. Ricken repeated the process three more times. Then, finally satisfied with his handiwork, he sat back and inspected the wound.

“That should do,” he pronounced. “Just don’t ride too hard. When we get back I’ll want to wash it again and get some fresh bandages on it. Get your cape. Taylour and I will carry Del down.”

Jahl got up and slung the cape over his shoulders. “Put Del on his horse and get ready to ride. I’ll go see our friend.”

At the bottom of the ledge, Parry guarded their young prisoner with a drawn sword. The boy had dismounted and was standing beside his horse, and when he saw Jahl slide down the rocks to approach him, he bit his lip and
took a step backward. Jahl stalked after him. Behind him, Ricken and Taylour were dragging Del’s dead body down the slope. Jahl jerked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the corpse.

“You see that?” he asked the boy. “That’s a friend of mine. He’s dead now, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” the boy protested. “It was Shinn!”

“Yes, and what the hell were you doing with Shinn? You want to tell me?” Jahl came very close, scrutinizing the boy. With his white hair and thin features he was peculiar looking, and almost familiar. Jahl was about to ask his name when a realization hit him.

“Oh, Lord,” said Parry, coming at once to the same conclusion. “You’re Leth’s son!”

The boy held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t be afraid, please. I’m alone. There was nobody else with us.”

“
Are
you Leth’s son?” Jahl demanded. “Are you Alazrian?”

“Yes,” admitted the boy. He squared his shoulders and returned Jahl’s glare. “And I’m not afraid of you, Jahl Rob. I know you. You’re an outlaw.”

Jahl laughed. “An outlaw? Yes, that’s what you would call me, isn’t it? Well, let me tell you something, Alazrian Leth. You should be afraid of me. Because if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I will slit your throat from ear to ear.”

The boldness drained from the boy’s face. “What do you want from me?”

“I want answers,” snapped Jahl. He took a step closer to Alazrian. “You’re going to tell me what you’re doing here. But first you’re going to come with me.”

Jahl turned and strode away from the boy, ordering his men to mount up. “Get on your horses,” he shouted. “We’re heading home. You ride with us, Alazrian Leth. And if you even try to escape …”

He let the threat hang in the air. They all took to their mounts and Jahl Rob led the sad procession back to the stronghold. Just behind him was the horse burdened with Del’s body flanked by Parry and Ricken. Behind them rode
Alazrian, with the sharp-eyed Taylour on his heels. It was a long ride back to the stronghold, but Jahl didn’t mind. It gave him time to think, to consider the best way to face Alain and to decide what to do about their young captive. Elrad Leth would certainly send troops into the mountains after his son, wouldn’t he? Jahl considered the possibility. Why then had Shinn tried to kill the boy? There were a thousand questions and no answers, and Jahl hoped Alazrian would cooperate. Otherwise …

No
, he told himself, half laughing. He would never hurt the boy. Whatever the young Leth’s role was in all this, Jahl knew he would have to discover it diplomatically, and hope that the boy’s appearance didn’t mean disaster.