Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court (17 page)

The man they called the Ashen Knight.

THE ASHEN
KNIGHT

The Ashen Knight sat atop a pale gray horse that took on a ghostly glow in the fading light. The knight's armor matched the color of his horse and was clad with sharp spikes that protruded from his spaulders and gauntlets. Two winglike structures rose from the top of his helmet. His five companions were fierce, barbaric-looking men with wildly painted faces and some semblance of plated leather armor. Each of them brandished a gruesome sword.

Parson hurried to Eirwyn's left side. He clenched his hands repeatedly. The Ashen Knight removed his helmet and glared down at them through dark narrow eyes. A short black beard framed his mouth, which twisted into a sadistic laugh. An obviously disturbed spirit warped his otherwise handsome countenance. He and his men slowly sauntered their horses the last few strides into Eirwyn's temporary encampment.

“This is a fine catch indeed.” The Ashen Knight sat smugly on his steed and glared down at them through slitted eyes. He nodded to his men, who dismounted and positioned themselves in a semicircle around Eirwyn, Bentley, and Parson.

Bentley cast about for some way of getting Eirwyn to safety, but he was unarmed. Fleeing wasn't an option, for the river was at their backs and the Ashen Knight was blocking their path to the trees.

Eirwyn stood and stepped forward to face the intruders. “Leave us be,” she said with dignity, “or you will suffer the wrath of my father. He has an army of knights, and you will suffer for your ill intentions.”

The Ashen Knight dismounted and strode toward her, his pale armor clinking, head lowered in mock humility. “A thousand apologies, my lady. I certainly meant no offense. I didn't realize you were so important.” He lifted his gaze from the ground to Lady Eirwyn, and then in one swift move he slapped her hard across the face. She doubled over to her right.

Bentley reached out to steady her and looked up at the man, desperately wishing for a sharp sword at his side. The Ashen Knight's five henchmen drew theirs—three on Bentley and two on Parson.

The Ashen Knight's face began to contort into a look of loathing. “I will destroy your incompetent father and his weak knights.”

Eirwyn recovered herself and stood straight. She gazed directly at him. “Those who seek to destroy will always find their own destruction,” she said quietly, her chin high.

Fury simmered on the pale knight's countenance. He moved closer to Eirwyn as the three knights on Bentley stepped forward and pushed him back with the tips of their swords. Eirwyn tried to evade the Ashen Knight, but he reached up quickly and grabbed her throat with his right hand. He began to squeeze; she pulled at his hand but to no avail.

Parson made an unintelligible but fearsome noise and pushed one of the swords away to come to Eirwyn's aid, but the raider plunged his sword into the poor man's chest. Eirwyn, still caught in the Ashen Knight's grip, gave a strangled cry.

“Foolish peasant.” The Ashen Knight turned Eirwyn's neck so she could see the gruesome mountain raider withdraw his sword and watch
Parson fall to the ground on his side. Silent tears spilled from her eyes as she looked down at the crumpled form of her companion and protector.

Parson stirred, moaning incoherently. Bentley backed away from the swords at his chest and went to him. Gently he turned the large man on his back. Bentley had already seen too many wounds in his young life. Parson's would be fatal.

The Ashen Knight spoke only to Eirwyn. “I would love to crush your delicate neck this instant, but I have devised a much more entertaining death for you instead.” He turned her face back to his and leaned closely to her. “I have promised the Lucrums a maiden for their next sacrifice to the lake leviathan. They will be very pleased with my gift.” He laughed uproariously. The other men joined him.

Eirwyn's mouth was open as she strained for air, and the tears continued to flow down her cheeks. Parson wheezed. He looked up at Bentley with panicked eyes and then became still in his arms. Bentley's angered swelled. He laid Parsons large head back to the ground and jumped to his feet. “Stop!”

The Ashen Knight barely blinked. He looked over at Bentley with venomous eyes. “Kill him,” he commanded.

Bentley had only an instant to decide and act. Though fear was a factor, it was not what governed his actions. He knew that Eirwyn would be alive for at least a short time, and he could not help her if he were to suffer the same fate as Parson. He bolted away from the raiders along the river and then into the forest.

Hearing the Ashen Knight laugh loudly again, Bentley looked over his shoulder as he ran and saw the knight release his grip on Eirwyn's neck. He spun her around to see Bentley in his flight.

“There goes your gallant knight, leaving his damsel in the hands of brutish men! Do you see the cowardly actions of a peasant?” he scoffed. “You three—after him. Kill the rat; then rejoin us at the camp of the Lucrums.”

Bentley saw two of the Lucrum raiders immediately begin their pursuit on foot while the third ran to collect the horses. Eirwyn had fallen to her knees near Parson, weeping bitterly. The Ashen Knight turned about and mounted his horse.

“Tie her up and get her on that animal.” He pointed for his remaining two men to unhitch the wagon horse.

The nightmarish scene was quickly obscured with each tree Bentley passed. His mind raced along with his feet, weighing his options as he ran. Although he was unprotected, outnumbered, and without a sword, he did have one slight advantage. His pursuers had no inkling that he was a skilled swordsman. What he needed to do was disarm one of the three.

He continued his flight as fast as his legs would carry him. The mountain raiders’ armor encumbered them somewhat, so Bentley was able to outdistance them.

Ahead, the terrain dropped off suddenly into a shallow ravine that gently sloped up on the other side but ran left and right for as far as Bentley could see. He jumped into the ravine and turned immediately to the left, crouching as he ran so his pursuers could not see which direction he had chosen. He was grateful to realize the ravine curved gently instead of running straight; soon he could no longer see the point where he had entered it.

Bentley followed its path until he calculated that the mountain raiders had also reached the ravine. He found a thick dead branch nearly as long as a poleax and grabbed it. Then he crawled out of the ravine, taking care not to make a sound. He found a thicket of brush and dived into it just as he heard the neigh of a horse a short distance away.

“Have you found him?” he heard the mounted raider call from far to his right.

“Not yet,” a voice called from the ravine just to Bentley's left. “He's got to be in this accursed ditch!”

Good. They'd done just what he'd hoped. The first two had pursued him down the ravine, one in each direction. Their companion with the horses was following behind.

Bentley could hear the nearest raider's footsteps on the twigs and grass in the ravine, and he maneuvered himself about the thicket to keep out of sight until the man passed by. He heard the mounted raider with the horses coming closer. He found a large tree to hide behind and waited. He readied his makeshift weapon.

The three horses were snorting, and Bentley was grateful he had chosen the right tree. There would only be one chance. He saw the head of the man's horse break his plane of view, and he made his move.

“Where are—” the man began to say.

Bentley stepped from behind the tree, swinging the stick with all of his force at the torso of the mounted raider. The man yelled, dropped the reins of the horses in tow, and put his hand up to deflect the stick, but it was too late. Bentley's blow landed powerfully on the raider's shoulder and neck. The man fell backward onto the hind section of his horse, who shied and reared. Bentley quickly grabbed the raider from the back and slammed him to the ground with a thud that dazed him even more. The three horses spooked and ran into the forest.

There was not much time, for the noise of the skirmish would quickly bring the other two raiders. Bentley planted his left knee into the man's neck and reached for his sword. He withdrew it from its scabbard and, with a quick downward thrust, ended the fight. Bentley now stood armed with a weapon that felt good in his hand. It had been months since he had even held a sword, and though he wished for the perfect balance and edge of his own, this would do.

The nearest raider in the ravine had crawled out and was now just a few paces away. “Roz, over here!” he shouted as he saw his fallen comrade, then Bentley. Not waiting for the reinforcement, he launched himself into attack. Bentley thwarted multiple cuts and deflected a poorly
timed thrust that opened the man up to a deadly counterthrust. The man dropped his sword and stared at Bentley in disbelief. Then he fell to the forest floor.

Bentley turned about just in time to see the blade of the third raider arcing toward him from the left. The man yelled as he put all his strength into what could very well be a deathblow, for Bentley had no armor to hinder the edge of the raider's blade.

Bentley brought his sword to bear, but the deadly sword crashed into his and continued on into his left shoulder. The raider finished the slice by pulling his sword inward, and Bentley felt his flesh split open. He rolled with the slicing motion of the blade and fell to the ground. As he hit the ground, he continued his roll toward the raider, bringing his sword around in a backward slice that cut through the man's right leg. He too fell to the ground, and each man scrambled to recover before the other.

Bentley was first to his feet and executed a final slice, which put his third adversary down. Only then did he look at his shoulder. Blood oozed down his arm from the deep cut. But the blade had only partially penetrated his muscle, and though the wound was painful, it was not as serious as it might have been.

Bentley took a deep breath and allowed the rush of the fights to leave him. He stood wounded in the midst of three fallen raiders and feared for the fate of his newfound love. There was no time to waste, yet the horses of the fallen raiders were nowhere to be seen.

He needed Silverwood.