Devan Chronicles Series: Books 1-3 (26 page)

Thunk!

“Ughh!”

Diving down to avoid any return, Jihan was grimly satisfied to hear the cry of pain. That was one less at least. He knew there were at least two, but how many more than that he couldn’t know until they loosed at him. It would be too late then.

“Pssst!”

Jihan glanced around for the source of the noise. Next to the inn on the ground near the wall he could see an indistinct face—a boy of perhaps fifteen years if he was any judge.

“Look to your left... no your other left dim wit! See him, on the roof?”

Yes, dim wit your other left.

Jihan shook his head. He turned from the left and looked up and to the right. He could just see a man in silhouette crouched behind a chimney. It would be a long shot for his bow, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He knocked another arrow, and waited for the man to get bored enough to move.

Time passed. When the opportunity arrived, Jihan rose and fired.

“AEiii!”

“Oomph!” Jihan grunted with the impact and fell sprawling onto his back.

Panting in time with the throbbing pain in his side, Jihan snapped the arrow off short. By the God it hurt! It had hit him in the side, about a hand-span above his sash. His armour had saved him from a killing blow, but the arrow had still penetrated. It hurt like a hot poker in his side. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, but he would need to get it out quickly. Drawing his bow would be agony.

“I saw you hit boy, give it up! Your da only wants you home! He loves you Jihan!”

“You bastard!” Jihan screamed in anger. “My father is a traitor, and that makes you one as far as I’m concerned!”

The pain diminished as Jihan’s anger built. He was trying to see every direction at once. He looked back to where he’d seen the boy, but he was gone. Very wise. Jihan shifted toward the end of the trough thinking to grab Jezy.

Thock! Thock! Thock!

He jumped up and went for the horses, hoping to get between them before the bowmen could fire again.

Thunk!

“Oomph!” Jihan grunted and spun around. He was hit in the thigh, but he managed to get between the horses. There were four bowmen not three! That made six in all. How many did the traitor send?

Jihan snapped the arrow in his thigh, and grabbed the reins of both animals. He limped toward the inn shielded by the horses. When he reached it he half ran half fell through the doors landing on his belly on the floor. His bow skittered away from his hand as pain flared in his side. He had landed on the broken arrow stub and driven it further in. Panting in time with the pain, Jihan willed away the darkness at the edges of his vision. If he passed out now he was a dead man. Slowly the pain began to subside, and the darkness receded. The first face he saw belonged to his young helper.

Girl!

She was about fifteen or sixteen. She was staring intently at him as if trying to tell him something, but she uttered not a sound. Something was wrong. No one spoke, but the girl’s eyes skittered away toward the corner behind him and then back. Jihan quickly drew his dagger while shielding the movement by getting to his feet.

Jihan spun on his good leg and let the blade fly.

“Ughh!” The guardsman grunted and fell face down.

Jihan let out a sigh of relief when he realised he hadn’t killed a villager by mistake. He didn’t recognise the man, but he was wearing the cheap rubbish Athlone called armour and always supplied to his men. His dagger had plunged into the man at the base of his throat. He should be disgusted with so lucky a hit. He had thought the man would be taller. The villagers started babbling their story as he bent to retrieve the dagger, but Jihan was more interested in keeping his blood off the floor where much of it already stained the wood. He clamped a hand to his side, and the blood slowed to a trickle.

“Later my friends,” Jihan said holding up a hand. “There are at least three more by my count. Does anyone know where they’re hiding?”

“There’s one in my ma’s house across the street,” his helper said.

“She weren’t ye ma girl. Ye be a foundling.”

“Leave over, Ricol,” another villager said. “The girl has enough to do with her ma being dead without hearing that.”

There was a general murmur of agreement, and the girl looked gratefully at her protector.

“Point it out girl,” Jihan said gruffly. She moved close and pointed. Jihan sighted along her arm. It was the darkened house he had first heard the voice coming from. “What about the other two?” He said retrieving his bow from where it lay under a table. It looked undamaged to his expert eye. He readied an arrow, but left the string slack.

“Not sure,” the girl said frowning at the blood dripping onto the floor. Her hands twitched forward of their own accord but stopped before touching him.

“Girl? What of the others?” Jihan reminded her sharply.

“One of them kept to the stables the whole time. He might be still there. The other one could be any place.”

Jihan shifted the weight off his right leg. The arrow had struck him on top of Luther’s cut and it was paining him. He grimaced as the muscle flexed, but the pain eased with less weight on the leg. He stared out into the night trying to think what to do for the best. He might take the one in the stables by sneaking out the back—if the missing one wasn’t waiting for him that is. The one in the girl’s house though was tricky. Apart from the alley next to it, there was no cover.

Rubbing his injured thigh while trying to make a decision, Jihan ran out of time. The sound of galloping horses announced his foolishness to all.

Jihan hobbled outside as fast as he could and saw his enemies escaping. He grunted in pain as he drew his bow. The man to the right was marginally closer. He slowed his breathing and loosed his arrow. The shot was long, but the man slumped forward and fell. The constant pain in Jihan’s side said he had no chance of drawing again. He looked impotently on as the man’s friends rode on without slowing. He knew that he would be seeing them again. In a strange way his father’s intolerance of failure would work in his favour for once. The assassins wouldn’t dare return to Malcor without proof of his death. He had only to kill those two and he would be free.

Only! You’ve killed seven men in the last two days!

Jihan stared into the night. It was strange how you could justify anything, in the name of freedom.

Jihan awoke in Ahnao’s bed and wondered how long it had been. He had to tell Keverin of Athlone’s treachery. He tried to sit up, but the pain in his side was incredible. He collapsed back to the bed groaning.

Oh yes, the arrow.

He pulled the covers down noting his clothes were gone, but the sight of clean white bandaging made him frown. He didn’t recall Ahnao bandaging him, but then he didn’t remember her removing the arrows either. He rolled over weakly and managed to get his feet over the side of the bed. His clothes and armour lay neatly piled on a small rickety looking chair in the corner. The bandage on his thigh suddenly blossomed with a red flower as his blood soaked through. His exertions had reopened the wound. When he checked his side he found nothing but pristine white bandage. He ignored the blood and pulled his trousers on. When he tried to bend forward for his boots, he couldn’t do it. Steadying himself with a hand against the wall, he went in search of help.

Ahnao’s house was small—only two rooms, but it was well kept. A table with two chairs sat in the centre of the room, and various things sat on shelves around the walls. On the stove in the corner was a pan with something bubbling within it. A delicious aroma rose from there, and set Jihan’s belly to grumbling.

“Why are you up?” Ahnao said from where she stood in the doorway. She was carrying a bucket of water.

“I needed help to dress. I have to leave.” Jihan hobbled forward unsteadily and tried to relieve her of the burden she carried, but she wouldn’t let him.

Ahnao scowled and banged the bucket down. Water sloshed onto the floor, but she took no notice. “Don’t be more of a fool than you already are, Jihan! You nearly died. Five days ain’t long enough!”

“
What?
” Jihan roared, but Ahnao’s flinch made him guiltily lower his voice. “What do you mean
five
days?”

Ahnao hefted the bucket and closed the door. Jihan waited impatiently as she poured the water into a jug and placed it on the table. He moved to sit in one of the chairs. His leg was paining him again.

Ahnao bustled about the room laying the table with her only two plates and cups. All were plain fired clay. Nothing matched. She was obviously reluctant to talk until she finished her work, so Jihan watched her in silence. He had never met anyone like her. She was a peasant and one with little except this house and the things it contained, but there was something about her. Her skirt was made of brown wool, and the hem was rough. It didn’t reach the ground as it should. Occasional flashes of pale leg made Jihan shift his eyes quickly away. Ahnao had grown taller since it was made and was unable to let the hem down further. The wool was much too hot for this weather, but she probably didn’t have another dress. Her blouse was made of white cotton. There were wooden toggles running down the centre between small breasts that pressed against the fabric.

Jihan hardened at the sight and hastily looked away.

What kind of man looked at a woman so, especially when she was unaware of his regard? Certainly not a man with honour. Jihan forced himself to keep his eyes on mundane things, but he did indeed have to force himself, and that made him angry. He was nothing like his father! By the God, how he detested that man. Athlone would stare at the serving women constantly, as if imagining them without clothes. The small smile of pleasure that came upon him at such times disgusted Jihan. Anything remotely similar in his own actions appalled and distressed him. His mother was whom he wished to emulate—except in one thing. If ever he had the chance to kill Athlone and survive, he would take it.

“There. If you eat all that you will get better quicker.”

Ahnao’s voice failed to bring Jihan back from his murderous plans. He frowned. It wouldn’t be honourable to murder the evil bastard, but he could challenge him. Yes, that was the way. A fair fight sword to sword would see Athlone kneeling before the God as quick as quick could be. Jihan was determined to challenge Athlone as soon as the thing with the sorcerers was done with.

“Are you listening to me?” Ahnao growled.

Jihan blinked and found himself looking at Ahnao’s chest where she stood a pace in front of him. She was angry with him. She stood with fists on hips scowling fiercely. Jihan quickly fixed his eyes upon her face and kept them there. How could he, a man still half dead from his wounds, find his interest awakened by seeing a pretty girl? Ahnao was
very
pretty, but still!

Searching for something to say, Jihan noticed that Ahnao’s plate was empty. “I don’t like to eat alone, Ahnao.”

She waved that away. “I’ll eat later.”

That sounded false to him. Jihan glanced at the pan where it cooled to one side. It was empty. He shook his head, and poured half of his stew onto her plate not listening as she protested that she wasn’t hungry.

“Sit and eat girl,” he said gruffly.

Ahnao grumped but sat opposite and began eating. Jihan matched her bite for bite and enjoyed the food, though there didn’t seem to be much meat in it. Not surprising really. Peasants would be unable to afford meat more than a few times a tenday. They would make what they had last. Between bites of the delicious stew, Jihan asked what had been happening.

“You slept for five days. I took care of you after I pulled the arrows out. I thought you would die for sure, but...” she shrugged again.

Jihan stared at her in an appalled silence. This was disaster! The traitor’s men would be reluctant to go back to Malcor without evidence of his death, but this late they would be wondering if they had lost him. They might take the chance and go back for more men. Worse, one might go back. He could have enemies ahead
and
behind.

“I have to leave, now, today!”

“You can’t do that!” Ahnao gasped. “You can barely stand, yer fool!”

Jihan clenched a fist and pounded the table, she was right! “I have to, Ahnao. It’s not just my life at risk. I can’t let my father’s guardsmen catch me here. I have to warn Lord Keverin what he plans to do!”

“You can’t... just wait for a few days.”

A few days might be too long to wait, but not waiting might be just as bad if he was caught in the open by his father’s guardsmen. He wavered between going and not going but finally he nodded.

“Two days.”

Ahnao looked relieved.

* * *

“I said you can’t come with me!” Jihan said desperately. Ahnao must have ridden all night to catch him.

“You said two days. You lied to me!”

Jihan winced. “I didn’t lie to you... not exactly. When I said two days I meant to follow through, but the more I thought about the danger the more I realised I couldn’t wait. I’m sorry.”

Ahnao was a very determined girl. Leaving home and riding after a stranger she hardly knew took courage. It was obvious she was not used to riding such distances, but she made no complaint. She shifted in the saddle and self-consciously pulled her skirts down to cover her legs. A moment later, her horse shifted and the hem raised up to expose them again. Jihan tried to keep his eyes on Ahnao’s face—not a hardship under other circumstances, but he could not help noticing how smooth her legs looked. He would like to touch them. At that realisation, he snarled silently. He was in fear of her life, of both their lives. It was no time to be thinking of love play! They were in danger. He had to keep that firmly in mind.

“I’m sorry Ahnao. I’m grateful for what you did for me—very grateful, but it’s too dangerous for you to stay with me.”

“I ain’t going
with
you. I just happen to be going the same way is all. I’m on my way to the fortress to ask for work.”

“Don’t give me that! You followed me.”