Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (25 page)

Jihan turned and scowled back toward the fortress. How he wished he could escape. He had often fantasised about leaving Malcor for good on these early morning rides. With his training, he thought he could probably escape. He was an excellent fighter both unarmed and with weapons. What he lacked was a definite plan and the courage to defy his father. Devarr itself was out. Athlone owned the Chancellor, and the King was useless. He had thought to go to Japura at one time, but he had decided against it. He would be even more of an outcast there than he was here.

Maybe I should just ride away.

He had his sword, dagger, and bow. What else did he need? He could sleep rough and hunt for food. Why was it so hard to ride away? Maybe he liked the pain of living his life alone amongst so many people. If that was the case he would never escape. No! He wouldn’t accept that. Looking back the way he came, Jihan saw guardsmen approaching. He had only been gone a few candlemarks! Why couldn’t they leave him alone? He dismounted and waited for them to come to him rather than making it easy for them. There were three of them led by Luther.

As soon as they dismounted, Luther laughed. “Yer to come back.”

Jihan watched the loathsome man walk insolently toward him, and he made a decision—an irrevocable decision. This was the last day he would put up with their treatment of him.

“I’ll come back in a while Luther.”

“Your da said not to take no for an answer, boy. Get on your horse.”

Jihan stood deceptively relaxed with a hand close to his dagger. “You forget yourself Luther.”

“I ain’t forgot nothin’,” Luther growled and made a grab for him.

Jihan stepped clear and the sergeant stumbled to one knee. Luther’s two cronies watched impassively as their sergeant pulled a dagger.

“I’m gonna make you eat this boy.”

Jihan smiled and drew his sword. “You had better drop the knife Luther. Either that, or draw your sword. You are not taking me back, not this time.”

Luther drew his sword, but so did his friends. They spread out and attacked.

Calmly and without rush, Jihan dove to the side. Rolling back to his feet, he thrust and punched through cheap armour. The man grunted and fell sliding free of his sword. Luther was still determined to fight, but the other man had realised that the fun was over. He backed off and tried to reach his horse. Jihan couldn’t allow that. He ignored Luther to run after the cowardly guardsman.

“Yahhhh!” Jihan shouted to get his attention.

The guardsman turned to defend, and managed to parry twice before making the mistake of going high as Jihan repeated his low stroke. Jihan took the man in the groin then finished him with a strike that neatly decapitated him. Jihan felt rather than saw Luther strike. He fell face down and rolled completely on the defensive. On one knee he parried a blow meant to take his head, before managing to get back onto his feet. Going on the offensive again he struck to take Luther in the thigh, but the guardsman parried, and pain erupted in Jihan’s leg as it was sliced open. Jihan gasped in shock. He hadn’t seen it coming. Luther was grinning openly now that he had the upper hand. He pressed home the advantage and forced Jihan back, and back again.

Jihan desperately retreated trying to protect his bad leg, but Luther went for it again. Jihan tried to pull it back to safety, and stumbled. Lucky he did as Luther’s blade missed the sudden unplanned move and left him open. Jihan lunged awkwardly from his prone position to skewer Luther through the belly.

“AEiii!” Luther screamed and fell to his knee’s trying to stop his insides slopping out.

“Why did you push me?
Why!
” Jihan shouted.

Luther was too busy trying to gather up his guts to answer him.

Jihan limped forward with his dagger drawn. “Do you want the grace Luther?”

Luther couldn’t answer—the pain was too much. He nodded jerkily. Jihan limped forward and sent Luther to the God with a quick dagger thrust to the back of the neck and into the brain.

“May the God watch over, and comfort you at journey’s end,” Jihan said wiping the dagger on Luther’s leg.

Jihan limped over to the other guardsmen but both men were dead. He cut the sleeve from a shirt and used it to bind the wound in his leg. It was deep and had bled a good deal, but he could still use it. He thanked the God that Luther’s cut hadn’t been deeper and taken it. He didn’t have time to bury the bodies decently so he quickly cleaned his sword and mounted. Walking Jezy toward one of the other horses, he leaned forward to catch up its reins. Jihan rode from the scene of his first true battle.

Jihan rode hard for the first few candlemarks, and then stopped to change mounts. He knew the traitor would send guardsmen after him, but what he didn’t know was how many and what their orders would be. If their orders were not to harm him, he could easily escape just by waving his sword and threatening them. It was far more likely that they were ordered to stop him. That was trickier. A good bowman could drop a man at a hundred and fifty yards, sometimes more if the wind was right. He had to maintain a good lead and stay out of direct line of sight—hence the woods. The trees here were not numerous, but they did provide enough cover to prevent a bowman from hitting him in the back. Jihan decided against trying to ambush his pursuers. It could so easily go wrong. He would only stop and fight if he had no other option. As he rode through the woods, he felt optimistic about his chances of avoiding that.

Candlemarks later, Jihan stopped briefly at the edge of the forest and scanned for tracks on the highroad. It hadn’t been used recently and that worried Jihan more than a little. He would much prefer his enemies to be in front rather than behind. Making a decision, Jihan crossed the road and started riding cross-country. Athione was a long ride from Malcor by road. It would take him even longer cross-country, but he couldn’t take the chance of being caught in the open. The area he travelling through was unpopulated and it was obvious why. It comprised of rocky hills interspersed with scrub. Water would be scarce, and he had just the one water bag. As the day eased into evening, Jihan began looking for a place to stop. It was a risk to be sure, but he couldn’t afford to lame the horses. He chose a rocky hill in the distance and reached it just as true night fell.

Jihan unsaddled Jezy and his remount. Both horses were happy enough for now munching on the scrub. They would need water tomorrow at the latest, but they could manage for now on the little he gave them. He shook the water bag. It was three quarters full. He didn’t drink.

Settling down to watch his back trail, Jihan tried not to dwell on the men he had killed, but it was hard. He had ridden against brigands twice before. The first time, the fight was over before he could even draw his sword. The second time, he had fought and wounded a man, but he couldn’t kill him. Jihan had disarmed him easily and he was little more than a boy. Athlone had made him watch the hanging. He could still see the look of horror on the boy’s face as they brought out the rope. Hanging was a bad way to die.

Jihan didn’t regret Luther’s death. The sergeant had more than deserved it for his treatment of Jihan and others in the fortress. Jihan’s first real run in with Luther had been over his treatment of one of the serving girls. Lorena was a quiet girl. Some said she was a little soft in the head, but Jihan didn’t know if that was true. She rarely spoke to anyone. She did her work and kept out of the way—a good idea Jihan had always thought and one he tried to emulate. Capturing his father’s notice had always been something to avoid in Jihan’s experience. Lorena had somehow caught Luther’s fancy, but Lorena either didn’t notice or didn’t want to. Either way, Jihan had caught Luther trying to lift the terrified girl’s skirts in an out of the way corridor of the fortress one night. It had been a pleasure to beat Luther within an inch of his life for that. Luther of course had transferred his obsession from Lorena to Jihan and had made it his duty to hound him through the fortress and elsewhere whenever he could get away with it. He had never allowed himself to be caught alone with Jihan again and always brought some friends along. Jihan knew that he should have killed Luther all those years ago. It would have saved him a lot of grief. It was a mistake that he would never make again. Mercy and honour went hand in hand, but so did justice. Luther’s death
was
justice. Jihan was certain Lorena would agree.

It was the cowardly guardsman in the clearing that troubled Jihan. If he hadn’t killed the man the hunters would have found him immediately. He simply had to kill him, or ride back to Malcor to receive his punishment. It was cold comfort that he’d given the man a chance to fight. Jihan shifted and glanced upward. There was only a sliver of moon tonight, but his eyes were well accustomed to the dark. The night was still. If the hunters were out there he could not see them. Jihan found himself nodding off. He tried to force himself awake by continually changing his focus.

It didn’t work.

Jihan awoke when Jezy lipped his face. “Fugghh! Your breath stinks!”

Then he remembered and cursed himself for a fool. It was after dawn! He guessed the sun had been up at least a candlemark. Jihan quickly saddled the horses and remounted. It was pure idiocy to sleep when being hunted, but he’d been lucky. Constantly looking back as he rode, he saw no sign of pursuit. He rode for two or three candlemarks before stopping and giving both horses water. They were clearly not happy with the amount. The closest well was at a small village called Brai. It would take him the rest of the day to get there. Taking a sip to tide him over until midday, Jihan mounted his spare horse and continued on.

The day progressed with Jihan continually scanning the horizon all round. He was completely alone, but he didn’t trust that. He kept looking—especially behind. The rocky hills became less frequent as he progressed. They started petering out as midday arrived. Open land was good and bad for Jihan’s nerves. Good, in that he could see for a league or more. Bad, in that his pursuers would see him just as easily. He kept his eyes moving constantly searching for pursuit but there was nothing in sight. Where were they? They might have ridden by in the night, or even be on the wrong track, but he couldn’t take the chance.

As the light faded toward evening, Jihan slowed his progress even more so as to enter the village at night. He dismounted and approached the first houses on foot. He walked quietly, ready to fight if need be, but everything was quiet—too quiet. He paused and tried to penetrate the night, but the darkness was complete. Most of the houses had their shutters closed and the little light leaking through the cracks didn’t help. He listened, but couldn’t... no wait. He could hear something. There was singing and laughter coming from ahead.

Jihan relaxed a little. It didn’t mean he was out of danger, but it was a good sign. It was unlikely that the villagers would be singing so gaily if the traitor’s cronies were here. Jihan listened and grinned at what he heard. It was an old drinking song. The lyrics were being badly mangled by someone deep in his cups.

Jihan moved forward and stopped again at the edge of the square. The horses had scented the water and were eager to drink. He held them back to scan the open space. To reach the well and the horse trough, he had to walk a hundred yards in the open. The well was in the exact centre of the village and the square. The light was a little better here away from the shadows of the narrow streets. Why did he hesitate? Everything looked peaceful, yet Jihan felt... uneasy. He retrieved his bow and hung his quiver over his shoulder. Better to feel a fool than be unarmed when he needed his bow.

Jihan walked the horses the last few hundred yards to the well with an itch between his shoulder blades. Something was wrong—he could feel it. Both horses eagerly dipped their heads to drink from the water trough while he drew fresh water from the well. He kept his bow close to hand.

Jihan glanced around at the lighted windows trying to imagine the families sitting down to dinner. He shook the thought away. He was hungry enough without tormenting himself. The inn was to his left—the villagers were still enjoying the drunken sot’s bawdy song. After drinking, Jihan filled his water bag all the while wishing he had two of them. If he survived this journey, he would never ride anywhere with only one again. He drank deeply and topped the water bag off.

Thock!

Jihan fell flat behind the trough. An arrow was quivering from the well handle. He stared at it trying not to imagine what could have happened had he still been standing there.

“That was just a warning boy!” A voice called out of the darkness. “Your pa wants ye back. I don’t want to kill ye lad, but I will if ye don’t drop that bow!”

Jihan searched the darkness. The voice was coming from a small house across the way. It seemed the same as the other houses except the shutters were dark. Not one beam of light came from there.

“Are you going to kill me in the middle of the village? I don’t think the folk here will approve!” Jihan shouted, and scooted along to a better position behind the trough.

The singer and his audience within the inn fell silent.

“You should know better than that lad! They won’t get involved for the likes of you!”

The voice was unfamiliar but Jihan rarely talked to Athlone’s cronies. He rarely spoke to anyone but his father, and only to him when he absolutely had to. Crawling to the other end of the trough, Jihan peered around the corner.

Thock!

Jihan ducked back. The arrow hadn’t been intended to hit him. He would be dead if it had been. He frowned at the shaft where it stood up from the trough. The angle of the shaft was different. Sighting along the arrow, Jihan found an alley beside the darkened house. He wished he had a clan bow here. He grimaced. While he was wishing, he should wish for a clansman to use it for him! His longbow could not be used from a kneeling position, but the clans used a different design—one not used anywhere else as far as he knew.

Jihan bit his lip. Should he take the chance or not? He made his decision and knocked an arrow to the string. He rose and fired in one movement.