The Silent Enemy (8 page)

Nermesa drew his weapon, but could find no quick path back to Arturus. He wondered if Gregorio and the others had likewise been attacked. It was best, Nermesa decided, to pray for Mitra to watch over them and for him not to hope for any aid.

Gauging the paths to his left and right, Nermesa headed down the latter. It looked the more likely to wrap around quickly and bring him back down to where Arturus desperately fought.

However, from behind him there suddenly came the rapid thud of hooves. Nermesa glanced over his shoulder just in time to see two riders urging their mounts up toward him. The animals ran along the path as if half mountain goat, closing on the Aquilonian with astonishing swiftness.

Aware that he could not outrun them, Nermesa shifted into a fighting stance. As the first rider neared, the knight met his blade. The two men traded blows . . . then a garbled shout from the second of Nermesa’s foes caused the first suddenly to withdraw.

Barely had that happened when something filled the sky above the Aquilonian. At first he took it for some massive bird, but then recognized it as a
net
. Fortunately, the heavy rain for once worked in Nermesa’s favor. The net did not fly as far as its thrower had no doubt hoped. The knight was able to back up just enough to avoid becoming enmeshed in it. The side landed on his sword arm, but a quick tug by Nermesa freed both his limb and his weapon.

As he did this, the Aquilonian took the opportunity to look back down to where Arturus had last been. Much to Nermesa’s dismay, though, Arturus was nowhere to be seen. Instead, two of the hooded figures below were now seeking purchase on the hillside, clearly trying to join the others. Nermesa could only assume Arturus had fallen, too.

The hooded form who had tossed the net now retrieved it while the second, still on horseback, maneuvered his animal so as to cut off Nermesa’s escape. Nermesa wondered why both men had not simply charged him rather than waste time with the net. Then he thought of Prospero, not slain along with his comrades, but rather
kidnapped
.

Did the villains now hope to do the same with him?

Nermesa’s heart sank, but not for himself. If these brigands had been waiting all this time—at tremendous risk to themselves, considering Poitain’s love and admiration for Sir Prospero—for a chance to capture someone else of importance, then that likely meant that their first victim was
dead
.

That was a fate surely intended eventually for a captured Nermesa once he proved of no more value to this sinister band.

Despite his fear that Prospero was slain, the knowledge that his adversaries wanted him alive encouraged the knight. He had no such qualms. Their hesitance he could use to his advantage.

The net-thrower readied for another toss. However, before he could, raise the net, the Aquilonian lunged at him. As expected, the hooded figure instantly dropped the net in favor of his sheathed sword.

But Nermesa scooped up one side of the abandoned net and used it almost like a shield. He draped it over his foe’s sword arm, then immediately thrust.

With grim satisfaction, the Black Dragon felt the blade sink into the figure’s midsection. As earlier surmised, the villains did not wear metal armor, only thick leather that had seams. To an expert hand such as Nermesa’s, those seams were as wide as valleys. Nermesa’s opponent dropped to the side, then rolled off the hill.

The Aquilonian immediately grabbed for the reins of the dead man’s horse, but the animal shied away. At the same time, the plodding of hooves warned Nermesa of not only the second rider, but the imminent approach of at least two more from the same direction.

Sheathing his sword, the knight made one last try for the reins. He managed to snag them with two fingers. Tightening his grip, Nermesa forced the animal to obey him.

As the Aquilonian mounted, lightning crackled in the sky. If anything, the rain grew even heavier. The sheer force of it nearly pummeled Nermesa from the horse.

The only benefit of the increasingly harsh elements was the fact that his adversaries were also now encumbered by their long cloaks. He saw one struggle with the voluminous garment, the figure forced to slow down in the process. The others constantly had to swing their sword arms to the side to keep their weapons clear.

Nermesa urged the recalcitrant horse forward. Its hooves clattered on the slick, rocky surface as it headed down the path. Now that he was mounted, Nermesa hoped to reach Gregorio and the others and warn them.

But from ahead there suddenly materialized several wraith-like forms on horseback. Nermesa counted at least four more cloaked and hooded assassins. They now had him trapped.

The knight looked around. A narrow passage between two jagged rocks offered the only possible escape. Nermesa tugged hard on the reins. Stumbling, his steed veered toward the gap.

The fit was narrow and the path uneven. The Aquilonian was jostled around as the horse struggled its way through. Clatter behind him warned Nermesa that some of his adversaries followed close.

The path widened . . . then dipped dramatically. Nermesa found himself plunging forward, the horse fighting to keep its balance as both descended.

A hoof caught on a rock in the path.

With a panicked whinny, the horse tumbled.

Nermesa threw himself from the saddle. He landed hard, but not so hard as his unfortunate mount. The horse flipped onto its back, and its shrill scream gave evidence enough of bones no doubt breaking. The animal rolled over and over, its hooves once coming within less than a foot of the knight’s head before the horse tumbled on.

Nermesa scrambled in among the rocks just before the first rider came into sight. The hooded figure also battled for control of his horse, achieving much more success than the Aquilonian. Another rider followed immediately after, his mount also keeping its footing. Nermesa did not recall Zingarans being adept with equines, but this lot surely was.

Taking advantage of their focus on the path, the knight shoved deeper into the rocks. He could certainly not take all the men on. To do so would be to suffer the same fate as Sir Prospero likely had. Nermesa’s best hope was to try to lose them in the storm, then find help.

As he fought through the jagged landscape, Nermesa wondered again how long the band had been waiting for just this moment. Some spy must have warned them of the party’s approach. Nermesa could only assume that the villains had been hiding out all this time among the blue peaks of Poitain, coming down now only to seek more captives to torture for information.

How they had evaded discovery for so long was anyone’s guess, but perhaps one of the towers was run by a corrupt commander. Poitain was surely not without its criminals, those who cared more for gold than they did their own realm.

Lightning flashed. Somewhere nearby, a horse whinnied. Nermesa drew his sword again.

A shadowy form rode by. Nermesa heard the figure grunt something unintelligible. The anger in his tone was very clear, though. The Aquilonian remained perfectly still as the rider took a look around, then finally moved on.

The moment that the area was clear again, the knight worked on descending. The chase had forced him in a direction nearly opposite to that in which he wanted to journey. He would now need to waste precious minutes just to work his way back to where he wanted to be.

He squeezed through a break in one man-sized boulder, his breastplate scraping against the rock. Nermesa gave thanks that he was not quite so encumbered as a Poitainian knight. How they managed to maneuver so fluidly in their full plate was beyond him. He marveled that Prospero had given his pursuers such a hard time clad so, but then, Prospero was known for his epic deeds. Nermesa could only hope that in this particular case he could somehow emulate the legendary knight.

The storm continued both to benefit and bedevil him. It kept him hidden from his adversaries, but at times put him in positions almost as precarious. More than once, his boots slipped on the wet rocks. At one ledge, Nermesa nearly tumbled off into a small but very jagged ravine.

Fortunately, the path finally seemed to turn in his favor. The ground ahead gradually flattened out. In the distance, Nermesa saw some sort of flickering light. Hoping that it might originate from Gregorio’s men, he doubled his pace—

And nearly ran straight into the horse and rider coming out from another gap.

Startled, the gray horse reared. The rider fought to regain control, giving the Aquilonian the opportunity to come around at him.

The man swung wildly at Nermesa, in his anxiousness nearly taking the Aquilonian’s head off. The knight crouched, then lunged. His blade bit into the hooded figure’s thigh.

“You damned—” the rider began, then slashed furiously at his quarry. The advantage of height enabled him to force Nermesa away. He then tugged on the reins, turning his mount toward the Aquilonian with the clear intent of trying to herd him back. Clearly, the rider had finally recalled that Nermesa was still wanted alive.

Utilizing that advantage again, the Black Dragon rushed up to the horse. As he expected, the rider kept the animal from rising and kicking at the Aquilonian. That, in turn, enabled Nermesa to get on his adversary’s other side and away from the sword.

He brought the point of his own weapon up to the figure’s waist. “Surrender!”

Despite common sense dictating that he obey Nermesa’s demand, the hooded man attempted to twist around in the saddle and attack. Nermesa had no choice but to thrust.

His blade sank deep, the blood spilling from the wound immediately washed away by the torrential rain.

Nermesa started to reach for the dying man, but some sixth sense made him look over the neck of the horse. There, to his frustration, three more assailants were emerging from the rocky hills.

Cursing, Nermesa pulled his sword free and left the bleeding villain gasping for life atop his mount. The Aquilonian ran toward the hills. Despite the fact that he had wanted to reach the plains, at this moment, they afforded him no protection, nowhere to hide. Nermesa was no coward, but likewise was he no fool. There was nothing to be gained from standing against such numbers . . . nothing to be gained by
him
, at least.

The other riders paid their dying comrade no mind, Nermesa evidently of much greater value. The Aquilonian slipped through the winding trail, for the time being vanishing from sight of the sinister band.

His path grew more treacherous again as the knight was forced to ascend a particularly jagged area. Nermesa had to watch each step. Fortunately, if the others wished to follow, they would have to leave their mounts behind.

His foot abruptly slipped.

Nermesa attempted to compensate, but failed. With his free hand, he grabbed for a better hold. The wet stone proved as smooth as ice.

He fell.

Past experience had taught him how to immediately fold himself up in order to lessen the chances of a broken bone or some other injury. Nermesa’s garments and armor gave him some protection, but at the same time made each hit jarring.

His sword went sliding past him. As he tumbled, the Aquilonian struck the rocks flanking him again and again.

Suddenly, the area on his left opened up. Unable to right himself in time, Nermesa fell through a hole—

Darkness enveloped him. He collided with more rock. Nermesa momentarily lost consciousness.

When he regained it, it was to find himself unable to see a thing. His body lay half-pinned in a tight area. It took several anxious seconds to work himself up enough in order to free his arms. With effort, the Black Dragon rose.

Water dribbled in from above him. Beyond the hole, he could only see a gray haze. Nermesa estimated the distance up to be some ten or twelve feet.

He quickly shifted position, at the same time seeking some handhold. The rock here was not quite so wet, and Nermesa judged that it would not be too difficult to climb out.

His foot kicked something that momentarily rattled. Fumbling around, Nermesa discovered that his sword had fallen in with him. While grateful to Mitra that it had done so, the knight was glad that it had not accidentally impaled him in the process.

Nermesa was just about to begin his climb when he heard a voice. What it said, he could not say, but the fury was evident in the tone. Planting himself against the deepest part of the tiny chamber, Nermesa clutched his sword and waited.

There was a sound that might have been thunder or the rattle of hooves on the rock. A few loose stones clattered down from above, perhaps washed off by the storm or kicked up by a boot. Nermesa was well aware that if they discovered him, he could do little to prevent his capture.

The voices drew nearer, their words drowned out by the savage weather. At one point, they seemed almost on top of his location.

Then, as he continued to hold his breath, the sounds of pursuit retreated. Nermesa did not relax, well aware that they could just as suddenly return. He leaned back as best he could, the lip of the hole giving him some respite from the rain, and waited.

Somewhere along the way, Nermesa’s exhaustion caught up to him, and he drifted off. It was not a comforting slumber, and more than once Bolontes’ son would stir just long enough to register his surroundings before falling asleep again.

Then, his subconscious slowly noticed the lack of any more rain dribbling down. Nermesa slowly stirred to life, his bones and muscles initially protesting vehemently.

When Nermesa looked up, it was to see nothing but darkness. Frowning, he listened for any hint of his pursuers. After several minutes, the Aquilonian, sword sheathed, started up.

The way proved a bit more slippery than Nermesa had imagined, but by pressing his back against the other edge of the chamber, he finally managed to get high enough to grasp for the opening. Even then, it took him several attempts to locate a place where his grip was secure.