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| Home rides the warrior | |
| By Snodlander | ||||||||||||
| 25 February 2007 | ||||||||||||
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Back to the whimsy, I'm afraid. And if it is true we learn more from our bad work, this is going to make me a pigging genius. Rhun pulled gently on the reins then let them go slack. Newt stopped his steady walk, looked languorously round at his rider, then started to pick at the grass, bored. Up ahead the slope was intersected by a small rill. The rabbit-cropped grass was darker, greener as it marked the route of the small mountain stream. The ground there would be softer. It would leave unmissable evidence of their passage. Uphill the clouds scudded across the slope, masking anything more than a couple of hundred yards away. Downhill the tree line started, overflowing the valley as it dropped away out of sight. The wise choice would be to turn uphill, find a rocky place to cross the stream, or at least pass over it where the clouds would make it harder to see the tracks in the mud. On the other hand… Rhun was tired down deep in his bones. They had spent the best part of two weeks seeking the deserted high paths, skirting villages, hiding up, adding days to their journey home. The ever-present drizzle had soaked through to his skin, and the prospect of edging through the mist on a mountainside he didn’t know didn’t warm him. He looked at the grey, featureless clouds seemingly just out of reach. There was no way to judge the time of day, but he guessed it was early afternoon. They had seen no-one for days. There was no village near this barren hill. The biggest risk would be a wandering shepherd, but that was highly unlikely. Stuff it. He deserved a little rest, a little relief from the journey. He reined in Newt and turned him downhill. Two hours later Rhun was feeling better than he had for weeks. He was sat in front of a small fire, back against the huge battle saddle. On a makeshift spit was the gutted body of a rabbit, too slow for his hunting bow. The panniers were on the ground, his cloak stretched between them, steaming gently as the moisture trapped in the heavy wool evaporated. Newt was on the edge of the clearing, examining a stand of holly. Rhun didn’t tie Newt. He never wandered far, and would return to him at a call. He turned the rabbit on the stick as the fat started to hiss. It wouldn’t be long now, four days at most, before he came home again. His mother would cry, of course. He wished his father could have seen him come home, but then, if his father had been alive, Rhun would never have had to leave for the wars in the first place. The eldest male of fighting age in each house, that had been the King’s decree, and since his father’s death, that had been Rhun. A sound shattered his reverie. A stone rolling, or a clumsy foot slipping on the bracken. As casually as he could, Rhun looked at the holly bushes. Newt had followed his stomach’s urgings and had disappeared. That was a blessing, at least. His Grandfather’s battle bow lay in the pannier, unstrung. It took two men to string it. His hunting bow was still there though, propped against the saddle, the quiver beside it. Rhun rose slowly, stretching a huge yawn, then slowly turned. His back itched as he braced himself for the arrow he was sure would bury itself there. Trying to mask his actions from an observer behind him, he started to sort through the pannier, as if looking for something. He pushed the hunting bow to one side, leaving his hand on it as he casually brushed his other over the arrows. In a heartbeat Rhun spun round, notching an arrow onto the bowstring in one movement. He saw, only some fifty feet away, a figure jump back behind a tree. “Don’t be stupid” Rhun called. “I saw you. Come out and identify yourself.” There was a pause, as presumably the figure behind the tree debated with himself. Then he emerged. He was a wretch of a man. His clothes were rags, and crusted with filth. Even filthier was his skin. “Ho ho. You got me there, yes you did, young master. So fast. Whoosh! And you had the drop on me. So fast. Never seen that coming, I didn’t. Very good, very good. But you needn’t worry. Not about me. I never hurt no-one, not me. Look.” And he held his rags high, spinning round. “No sword, no knife. Not me. Harmless me. Yes I am. Just live up here all on my own, not hurting no-one.” Rhun kept his bow drawn. “Clear off, old man. I don’t want company tonight.” The beggar looked hungrily at the rabbit. “That’s a lot of rabbit for just one person.” Rhun un-notched the arrow. He was harmless, unless you counted the risk of infection. “Just clear off, or I’ll see you off with a blade. I mean it.” The old man straightened. “No, I’ll see you off, you skinny streak of piss.” A sudden sick suspicion hit Rhun. From behind him he heard a voice. “Drop the bow, sonny, or you’re dead.” He turned slowly. There were three of them. One had an arrow notched and pointing at him. The other two had swords drawn. He had no choice. He let the bow and arrow drop to his feet. The one who had spoken walked forward, sword resting carelessly on his shoulder. He stopped on the other side of the saddle in front of Rhun. “There’s a good boy. Now take a step or two back for me.” Rhun slowly stepped back. Behind him the beggar rushed forward and grabbed the rabbit off of the fire. “He’s all alone. I watched him for five minutes. No-one else with him.” He paused and looked up at the leader. The leader nodded and the beggar ran off, tearing at the half-raw meat with yellow teeth. The swordsman ran a contemptuous eye over the saddles and panniers. “Stolen Daddy's cart horse, have we? Off to be a warrior so some girl in the village will talk to you, eh?” Rhun stayed silent. There was nothing he could do. The bowman still had his arrow drawn, pointing at him. “Where’s your noble steed, then, sonny boy?” Rhun unconsciously glanced towards the stand of holly, then immediately cursed himself. The bandit laughed. “Hew, go fetch this laddie’s horse, there’s a good fellow. We’ll need it to carry all this stuff.” The other swordsman grinned and walked off towards the holly. The leader continued to look casually over Rhun’s gear as though he were inspecting tat at a market stall. He picked up the great cavalry broadsword that had been handed down through his family since the first kings. “Can you even lift this, boy?” he laughed. “Where’d you steal this from, then?” “That is Arnwhen, The Foe-Slayer. It was given to me by my grandfather, so that I could defend the king!” It would have been better to keep quiet, he knew, but the anger boiled up inside him. His tormentor found this funnier still. “Oh yes? Off to fight a war, are we? Here? In the arse end of nowhere? Hiding, more like. Because you’re a coward, from a long line of cowards, aren’t you? Go on. Tell me you’re a coward and I might let you run away.” “The battle is over. We won, not that you’d know, a low-life robber hiding out in the hills.” The outlaw hefted his sword, and made to step over the saddle. “Yes? Well let’s see how brave you are when I’m twisting a blade in…” There was a scream from the direction of the holly and a moment later Hew the horse-collector ran from the cover and sprinted across the clearing. “Run” he screamed. The leader tried to grab him as he passed, but the man was in full flight, terror etched on his face. He disappeared out of sight along the path. The two remaining men fidgeted nervously. The leader glanced back at Rhun. “Who’s here with you? Eh?” Newt slowly lumbered from around the back of the holly. A large clump of bracken protruded from his mouth. He slowly looked around the clearing then gave a gaping yawn. He took another two steps forward. “Kill it” shouted the leader. The bowman turned towards Newt. Rhun jumped forward, scooped up his dropped bow and arrow, notched the arrow and let fly. Too fast. He had snatched at it, and the arrow flew uselessly a foot in front of the bandit bowman. But perhaps it had helped. As Rhun’s arrow passed him, he loosed his own arrow. It flew wide and struck a glancing blow on Newt’s flank. The animal gave a shudder of surprise and skipped forward. Rhun doubted that the arrow had even stung, but the effect was perfect. Both men turned and ran from the ‘charging’ beast. Rhun collected another arrow from his quiver, but it wasn’t needed. The two were out of sight, and probably wouldn’t stop running for an hour. Newt stopped in the centre of the clearing and nonchalantly chewed on his bracken. “Perfect timing, Newt. Perfect. I doubt they’ll be back, but we can’t take the risk. Come here, boy. No rest for us tonight.” And Rhun hoisted the great saddle onto the dragon’s back.
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