Fistandantilus Reborn - Douglas Niles [91]
“D’you think we should head back to Loreloch, or at least meet Red at the bridge?”
The archer barked a dry laugh. “Boss said to wait until tonight. I’m not thinkin’ I’d like to cross him.”
“Yeah. Well-“
The snap of a dry twig was like a crack of thunder in Danyal’s ears, a sound that overwhelmed everything else. It had come from behind him, near where the lad had last seen Foryth.
“What was that?” The bowman instantly had an arrow nocked, his weapon drawn as he peered into the thick woods. “Go check it out!”
“Me?” The squatting man was at first indignant. Then he looked at the other’s weapon as he drew his own short sword, apparently reaching the obvious conclusion: His companion could cover him with an arrow, while his blade would only be useful at close quarters.
Rising to his feet, the swordsman advanced past the other side of the large tree trunk behind which Danyal crouched. Scarcely daring to breathe, the lad peered between the branches, saw the bowman moving closer to gain a clear shot past his companion’s shoulder.
“Who’s there?” demanded the swordsman, slashing at a few branches in an attempt to open up his view. “Don’t make me come in there after you!”
“Tsk.”
Suddenly Foryth Teel came into sight, stepping between two trees with his stout stick clenched in his hands. Danyal couldn’t see much, but he was aware that the historian was trembling, staring at the bandit with wide eyes.
“Why don’t you just drop that little club,” suggested the swordsman with a grim chuckle. “Else I’ll have to cut yer hands off first.”
The historian lunged away with an abrupt movement, drawing a shout of alarm from the sword-wielding bandit.
“Hey!” Steel flashed as the man charged after Foryth, only to fall with a thud, then utter a shriek of pain. Emilo Haversack rolled free, his blade bright crimson as he bounced to his feet.
“Why, you little-” The archer lunged forward, ready to shoot, but he never released his arrow or finished his threat. As he darted past the tree, Danyal charged from his shelter with a yell of rage. He was so close to the bowman that he could smell the stink of his filthy clothes, and without pausing to think, he aimed for the spot where the ragged vest was laced with a few torn strips of leather.
The heavy knife stuck hard in the bandit’s chest as the man whirled away, shocked by the sudden attack. His elbow cracked Danyal in the chin, and the lad staggered, feeling his hand slip from the hilt of his only weapon. He tumbled onto his back and waited for the arrow that would pin him to the ground.
But instead, the bowmen dropped his weapon from nerveless fingers.
Both hands flailed at his chest, trying unsuccessfully to gain a grip on the weapon that, Danyal now saw, had plunged in very deeply.
A thick paralysis held the lad in place as he watched the man slump, saw the beady eyes grow dim and unfocused. Only when the bandit flopped heavily to the ground did Danyal release his breath, realizing that he was trembling all over and far too weak to stand.
“We make a good team,” Emilo said, helping Foryth Teel to his feet from where the historian had fallen in his clumsy attempt at flight.
And then, seeing the handshake between the kender and the man, Danyal realized that it hadn’t been clumsiness; it had been a plan! Foryth had acted as a diversion, giving the kender a chance to attack the much larger swordsman by surprise. The lad himself had then taken advantage of a similar chance when the archer had come to the aid of his companion.
“We do,” Dan agreed.
He approached the man he had killed, feeling curiously empty. It made him squeamish to pull the knife from the fatal wound, and he gagged, almost vomiting when he saw the amount of blood that came welling from the puncture after the weapon had been removed. But when he turned away, drew a ragged breath, and thought of Mirabeth, he felt calmness returning.
“There’s one more, the one named Red, waiting at a bridge,” he reported, then added to Foryth, “And they’re taking Mirabeth to a place you’ll