Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [71]
Instead, he imagined the bandit leader attacking, consuming him.
“His wound was infected,” declared Kelryn. “He was doomed, and he was slowing the rest of us down. I merely gave the order to hasten the inevitable.”
Zack was busy cleaning his blade on the dead man’s cloak. His one eye gleamed as he cackled at Danyal. “And I am the inevitable!”
Shrinking back against the wall, Danyal tried to vanish into the shadows. He was startled to realize that he was shaking, and his mind echoed relentlessly with the horrid gulping slurp that had been Gnar’s dying sound. Creeping as far back as he could, Dan tried to will himself to disappear. Memories of the bandits’ stories, of the murder of Sir Harold, of spitting his baby on a sword, of the awful things they had done to his wife, chilled the lad. He found himself remembering the girl he had heard about and hoped that she was safe.
Foryth Teel, the lad was not surprised to see, busied himself copying down some notes. The historian had certainly seen the grim scene enacted before them, but his face gave no clue to any distress that he might have been feeling.
Trying to disappear into his corner, Danyal let his hands settle protectively over his belt buckle. He pulled on his shirt, insuring that the material drooped over the metal bracket. He had left behind his fishing pole and creel when he was captured, and the bandits had taken his knife, but he was determined to keep secret the existence of the silver heirloom.
Some time later Zack came toward them. Danyal was certain they were going to be killed, but Foryth merely held up his hands, allowing the man to cut the leather thong that had bound the historian to the stake.
Hesitantly Danyal did the same, recoiling as the butcher wheezed a waft of putrid breath in his face.
The lad’s tether was cut, and soon he and Foryth were standing, flexing their muscles, allowing circulation to reach into the previously deadened parts of their bodies. Their hands remained tightly bound together at the wrists, but at least they could move around, stretching their legs and working the kinks out of their backs.
“Hurry up there,” snapped Kelryn Darewind, striding farther into the cave to address his two captives. “We’ve got to get started. It’ll take us all night to get to our next shelter, and I want to be inside by the dawn.”
Danyal thought the bandit leader seemed jumpy and anxious; he looked over his shoulder for a moment, then stared intently into the shadows at the edges of the cave.
“Tsk – it’ll take a minute just to be able to move again,” Foryth said, limping forward, leaning against the cave wall to help him balance. Kelryn glared at the man, and Danyal had a glimmer of terrible fear.
“I’ll give you a hand,” the lad offered, stepping to the historian’s other side and taking his arm. Together, still hobbling, they made their way to the entrance of the cave.
Two of the bandits had already dragged Gnar’s corpse away, but the place where he had died was marked by a great smear of blood, and Danyal found his eyes drawn to the place with magnetic inevitability.
“Lot of blood in a man – or boy, for that matter!” hissed Zack, his breath hot in Danyal’s ear as the murderer cackled gleefully.
“Let’s go!” snapped Kelryn, and Zack flipped an angry look at his leader before leading the party out of the cave.
Fortunately Foryth had restored the feeling to his legs by the time they reached the rutted road. Under the pale light of a half-full Solinari, they started northward again, climbing along the edge of one of the steep-sided valleys that cut into the heights of the Kharolis Mountains.
For several hours, they marched in grim silence. The bandits seemed surly and suspicious, cursing at the unexpected sound of a clattering stone or softly griping at each other about inconsequential matters. Danyal kept quiet, wishing he could just be forgotten, left to himself in this rugged wilderness.
Kelryn, who had been leading the band, eventually ambled to the side of the road and waited for the two captives to reach