Talon of the Silver Hawk (38 page)

At sundown, Tal picked up their trail again, and he followed it until darkness fell completely. He found as hospitable a place as he could in which to wait out the night, knowing that Raven was at least as uncomfortable as he was.

He awoke a little before sunrise and tried to warm up by moving his arms and legs. His neck and back were stiff, and his nose ran. He knew he was becoming sick from fatigue and hunger. He had seen nothing to eat since leaving the village. Knowing that lack of water was an even bigger threat than going hungry for a few days, Tal drank what was left in the waterskin, then set out looking to replenish it.

He studied the contours of the land and followed a downslope until he reached one of the plentiful streams that existed in these mountains. To his relief, a stand of blackberry bushes lined the banks, and he set to with a will. Most of the berries were not yet ripe, but the few that were provided him with enough of a repast to boost his spirits and hold off hunger fatigue for a while longer. He spent an hour filling his empty food pack with ripe berries. Still hungry, but feeling much better for the food and water, Tal set off after his quarry.

By midmorning, Tal felt something was wrong. From the distance between hoofprints, he could tell Raven and his
men were not in a hurry. Something gnawed at him as he looked down at the tracks.

He had passed a pile of horse dung half an hour back, and it was not yet dry; so he must be a very short time behind Raven. But something about the tracks bothered him.

He stopped and dismounted. Raven and his three remaining companions had taken the extra horses with him. Then it struck Tal. One of the horses was missing! He moved quickly to make sure he was correct. Yes, he was looking at four horses' prints, not five. And only three sets of hoofmarks were deep enough to show they carried riders.

Someone had slipped off along the way.

Tal leapt back onto his horse just as an arrow skimmed past him. He laid himself along the neck of his mount and shouted, startling the animal forward. He let her run into the trees; then he turned and waited.

Whoever had shot at him hadn't followed. Tal sat quietly with his hand upon the horse's neck, trying to keep the tired and cranky mare calm. He waited.

Time slowed. It might be that whoever had shot at him hadn't stayed around to see if any real damage had been done, but had instead fled back down the trail to alert Raven. Or he might be in the trees on the other side of the road, waiting to see if Tal emerged.

At last Tal grew tired of waiting, so he slipped off his horse, tied her to a bush, and headed off on a course which ran parallel to the road. He moved south, and at the narrowest point he could find, dashed across the road, then turned north. If Raven's ambusher had fled south, he'd see signs of it; but if he was still waiting for Tal to show himself, he'd be ahead.

Tal dodged silently through the trees. He kept his ears and eyes open for any hint of an attacker's whereabouts.

Then the man coughed. Tal froze: the sound came from not more than a dozen yards ahead. Tal knew that a sneeze or cough had killed more than one man. He waited, listening for any other sound to betray the man's location.

Tal moved slowly, one foot lightly placed on the ground, shifting his weight before picking up the other foot. He wanted no disturbed leaves or cracked twigs to give away his presence.

Then a smell assailed his senses. The breeze blew from the northwest, coming through a pass in the mountains, and suddenly Tal could smell the man's stench. He hadn't bathed in weeks, and he must have been in the middle of all the smoke yesterday, for his scent was acrid.

Tal strove harder to listen and to look, and then he saw the man.

He was pressed up against a tree, keeping his body close to the bole, holding another arrow ready and his eyes scanning the trail anxiously for any sign of Tal. Tal assumed the man had been told not to return unless he brought Tal's head.

Tal targeted the man and moved in an arc, until he had a certain killing shot. Then he said softly, “Put down your bow.''

The man froze. He didn't turn his body, but his head moved so that he could see Tal out of the corner of his eyes. He opened his hand and let the bow fall to the ground.

“Turn around, slowly,” said Tal.

He did so, until he was standing with his back to the tree. Tal aimed his arrow at the man's chest.

“Where's Raven?''

“South, maybe two miles, waiting for me to bring you in or for you to come riding into his next trap.''

“What's your name?''

“Killgore.”

“How long have you been with Raven?''

“Ten years.''

The bowstring twanged and suddenly the man named Killgore found himself pinned to the tree. His eyes went wide and he looked down a moment, then his head fell forward as his body went limp.

“Ten years means you were at my village, murderer,” Tal said quietly.

He left Killgore pinned to the tree and hurried back across the road to fetch his horse.

Now there were only three left, and Tal knew they were waiting for him two miles down the road.

Tal swore. It was a big meadow, and he understood instantly why Raven had chosen it. It was too large for Tal to hide in the trees and pick off anyone from cover.

Raven and his two remaining raiders sat their horses in the center of the field, hands casually resting on the horns of their saddles, waiting.

Either Tal would ride into view, and they'd continue on south, or he would appear, and they'd have an end to the chase, one way or the other. Tal weighed his options. He could hide in the trees until Raven gave up the wait and continued south, or went back north to see what had happened to Killgore. But he had only a bag full of berries and a skin of water, and he was extremely tired. He would only get weaker by waiting.

Raven was tired, too, no doubt, but he had two other swords with him.

Tal held the title of the world's finest swordsman, at least until the next tourney at the Masters' Court, but there were three of them, and they would be fighting from
horseback. Tal had no illusions that they'd consent to dismount and meet him one at a time.

He took a deep breath. It was time to end this.

He picked up his short bow, put an arrow between his teeth and another in his bow hand. Urging his mount forward with his legs and with one hand on the reins, Tal rode into view.

The three mercenaries saw him and without fuss drew their weapons. Tal felt a sudden rush of hope. None of them appeared to have a bow.

Thanking the gods that Rondar had been a good riding instructor, Tal shouted and brought his mount to a gallop. He rode straight at the three men, keeping his eye on Raven, who sat in the center.

Raven didn't move, but his two companions did, spurring their mounts in a circling move, so that Tal would have to turn his back on someone. Tal released the reins, letting them fall across his horse's neck as he stood up in the saddle, gripping the horse hard with his knees.

He drew the first arrow and let fly. The rider on Tal's right ducked, as he had expected, so he had aimed low. The arrow struck him in the thigh, up near the hip joint. The man screamed as he fell from the saddle. It was not a killing wound, but he wouldn't be up fighting any time soon.

Tal used his leg pressure to veer away from Raven and the other man while he nocked his second arrow. The rider who had circled to Tal's left was by then right behind him, riding straight at his back.

Still standing high in the saddle, Tal twisted to his right and brought his mount around in a circle. He turned his body as far as he could until he was almost facing backward. He could see the surprise in the second man's eyes as he let loose his arrow.

The man took the arrow right in the joint between his
neck and shoulder, which was unprotected by his chain-mail shirt. He came out of his saddle, rolling over backward and dropping behind his horse. He was obviously dead before he struck the ground.

Raven charged.

He could not afford to give Tal the chance to reach around behind and draw another arrow, having seen what he was capable of and having no doubt he would die if he didn't close instantly.

Tal threw away his bow and drew his sword, turning to meet the charge at the last moment. Raven's horse slammed into Tal's, and the mare almost fell. As it was, she stumbled sideways from the blow.

Tal reined her around hard, his sword slashing through the air at the point where he hoped Raven's head would be. He realized his error and tried to pull up. The effort was a moment too late; pain ripped across his left shoulder, as Raven's sword point sliced through the skin, scraping across the shoulder bone.

Tal grimaced in pain but kept his wits about him. He urged his horse on, resisting the urge to clutch at his left shoulder with his right hand, instead bringing his sword overhead to block another blow from Raven.

Tal blinked away tears and forced the pain in his shoulder to fade, for it was clear that on horseback, Raven was the more practiced swordsman. Still, bladework was bladework, and Tal knew he had never been in a more important fight.

Rondar had drilled into him how to control his horse with one or no hands, relying on his legs to instruct the animal, so he tried to make the horse an extension of his own body and tried to think as if the horse's legs were his own.

He blocked out the pain in his left shoulder, although he knew that had Raven's blow been mere inches lower,
he'd be a dead man. The wound would have severed tendons or even cut off the arm entirely, and the blood loss would have doomed him. As it was, the superficial cut was soaking his shirt with blood at the shoulder, but he would live if he could end this fight quickly.

Tal worked his horse around to keep Raven on his right, lest he risk further injury to his damaged arm. Raven attempted to use his horse to bully Tal's and perhaps throw its rider. He moved right in next to Tal and Tal saw his enemy up close for the first time since he had sacked Village Kulaam.

The once neatly trimmed beard was ragged and unkempt, and the man's angular face was haggard and worn. Raven's skin had a grey complexion, and his dark, deep-set eyes were rimmed with red, with deep circles of darkness below.

Yet there was an iron will in his face that told Tal that Raven was as dangerous a man as he would ever meet. A man didn't rise to run as ruthless a company as Raven had without such a will. Tal knew he had to match that will with his own. It didn't matter if he stayed alive; Raven must die. He must atone for the wrong visited on Tal's people.

They circled and traded blows, steel ringing on steel, but neither man gained the advantage. Raven was more deft at moving his horse, but within striking range, Tal was the better swordsman.

For long minutes they rode around one another thus, trading blows and parries, with neither gaining the upper hand. Raven tried three times to charge Tal, but both horses were on the verge of exhaustion, and the third time, Raven retreated with a slash across his cheek. Blood flowed down the right side of his face, and now Tal saw something else. The determination in Raven's face was gone! He seemed suddenly to be a man fearful of dying.

Tal charged. He shouted at the top of his lungs, and rose up in his stirrups, slashing downward with all his strength. Raven's years of mounted swordplay served him well, for what Tal didn't expect was that instead of turning away, sword raised to take Tal's blow, Raven leaned forward, hanging by his left hand from the saddle, to slash at Tal's right leg.

Tal felt the pain as Raven's blade cut deep into his calf muscle, and the leg collapsed. His own momentum from the downward slash carried him headfirst off his horse.

Tal tucked his shoulder and tried to roll, but the impact stunned him. His fatigued and frantic mount trotted away, leaving Tal lying unprotected on the ground. The mercenary captain turned his animal and urged it on for one more attack, intending to trample Tal underfoot.

Tal rolled, barely avoiding the animal's hooves, and felt Raven's sword pass over him, missing him by bare inches, for the mercenary captain had not leaned over far enough in order to deliver the death blow.