The Wandering Knight (2 page)

Gerald scowled. "He is a lord of Knightreach, and you should speak respectfully of him."

Mazael looked at Gerald.

The boy sighed. "But my father does share your opinion of him. Though why does Reccard want to kill you?"

"He tried to take me captive," said Mazael, "not realizing that my brother hates me, and would probably pay Reccard to kill me, not to ransom me." 

Gerald blinked. "That explains why you were leaving Knightport." He was clever, for the son of a high lord. "How did you get away?"

Mazael grinned. "I like to fight."

"I see," said Gerald. "So this Waller villain took my father captive at Reccard's bidding?"

"No," said Mazael. "Waller is chief of his own gang. He and Reccard hate each other."

Which, if Reccard sent more men after Mazael, might prove useful.

"Come along," said Mazael. "The sooner we find your father, the better."

He walked his horse from the road, into the woods, and Gerald followed.

###

Waller's bandits lurked in a narrow gully between two stony hills. 

It was the perfect place for bandits to build themselves a nest. The gully was secluded and narrow, nearly invisible from a distance. The bandits had constructed a stockade across the gully’s entrance, masking it with piled rocks and branches. 

Perched a nearby hill, Mazael saw over the stockade. Inside the gully lay a half-dozen ruined wagons, no doubt taken from robbed merchants. A score of ragged men in leather armor stood within the stockade, surrounding a middle-aged man in a fine blue cloak, his expression one of disdainful scorn.

"Your father, boy," murmured Mazael. He crouched behind a lichen-spotted boulder, gazing down into the gully. The bandits had set only one sentry, a bored-looking man perched atop the stockade. 

So far the man hadn’t noticed them.

"Aye, Sir Mazael," said Gerald. 

"That's Waller," said Mazael, looking a stout man, his head crowned with a shock of fiery red hair. "He's got more men than I thought. We're not fighting our way in, even at night."

"Was that your plan?" said Gerald. "Just to cut your way in and free my father?" 

Mazael shrugged. "More or less."

"I should have continued to Knightport," said Gerald, "and gotten Lord Randerly's aid in lieu of this foolishness."

"Foolishness?" said Mazael, annoyed. "Had you gone to Knightport, Reccard or one of the other bandit chiefs would have grabbed you off the streets."

"Lord Randerly would have aided me," insisted Gerald. "It is his duty as a vassal of the House of Roland. His oaths bind him."

"Oaths?" said Mazael. "Oaths are words and nothing more. Are you that big of a fool, boy? Do you think you can march into Knightport and command Lord Randerly to act? Or perhaps you'll stride down there and bid the bandits to release your father in the name of his own authority? Yes, that should work." Mazael remembered his older brother Mitor, arrogant and pompous, using his status as the heir to Castle Cravenlock as a club. 

"A better plan, certainly," said Gerald, "than marching down there and getting ourselves killed. Or are you such a braggart, sir, than you can take twenty men on your own?"

"Gods," said Mazael, "but you have a smart mouth. I ought to loosen your teeth and teach you some respect."

A hint of fear went over Gerald's face, and Mazael felt a stab of guilt. The boy was lost and alone, yet he had kept his wits about him. Mazael's brother Mitor or his sister Rachel would have fallen apart in the face of such danger. 

"No need for us to fight each other," said Gerald, voice wary, "when there are so many foes below." 

"Well spoken," said Mazael. He thought for a moment. "Come. Perhaps an opportunity will present itself." 

He led the way back down the hill, weaving his way around the pine trees. 

"What sort of opportunity?" said Gerald. "Perhaps we can negotiate with the bandits for a ransom."

Mazael snorted. "Aye, then they'll kill me and take you captive. No. Hasn't anyone taught you to fight? You don't surrender at the first setback. A good commander always seizes a favorable opportunity."

"When have you led men in battle?" said Gerald.

"Oh, here and there," said Mazael. "Fighting for some petty lord or another. Commanding men in battle isn't so different than fighting. In swordplay, you set your footing and your stance, in battle you array men on the terrain...and then one man is dead and the other still lives."  

"Have you ever led an entire army?" said Gerald, curiosity on his young face.

"Ha! No, never," said Mazael. "What sort of fool would want that kind of responsibility? No, a good fight, a warm meal, and an eager woman...that is all I want."

"But a lord defends and protects his people," said Gerald. "There is more to life than fighting and food and...and women." 

"You're eleven," said Mazael. "How the devil would you know? There...down!"

He shoved Gerald, and the boy went sprawling. Mazael glimpsed a cloaked figure standing behind a tree, a short bow in hand. Mazael dodged, and an arrow thrummed past his head. The archer fumbled for his belt, and Mazael sprinted forward, sword in hand.

"Wait," said the archer, a gaunt man with a close-cropped gray beard. "Wait!"

Mazael drew back his sword for the kill.

"If you strike, I'll shout and bring Waller's men down on your head!" said the archer.

That was enough to make Mazael hesitate.

"You're one of Reccard's men, aren't you?" he said.

"Aye," said the archer, "but not by choice. Name's Alfric, and I'm a potter. That bastard Reccard bought the lien on my shop. Said if I shot you, he'd forgive my debt." Alfric swallowed. "You’re going to kill me? Well, for the gods' sake, get on with..."

"Shut up," said Mazael. Gerald walked to his side. "Why is Reccard trying to so hard to kill me? I was leaving Knightport."

Alfric shrugged. "You know too much about him. He's afraid you'll turn him over to old Lord Randerly. You're a knight and the brother of a powerful lord, and Lord Randerly will believe you over anything Reccard says."

"Ridiculous," said Mazael. "I was leaving Knightport. Go back and tell..."

He blinked as a thought occurred to him.

Reccard and Waller hated each other.

And here was an opportunity. 

"Actually," said Mazael, lowering his sword. "We might have a way to free you of Reccard," he glanced at Gerald, "and to release your father at the same time."

"I'm listening," said Alfric.

###

A few moments later Mazael followed Alfric to a clearing in the woods.

Reccard himself waited there, wearing the robe of an official in Lord Randerly’s service, a wide smile on his face. 

A dozen men stood around him, clubs and short swords in hand. 

Mazael walked behind Alfric, hands tied behind his back, his sword resting in Alfric’s belt. 

“Well,” said Reccard. “Well, well. Alfric. You surprise me. How did this happen?”

Alfric shrugged. “Dumb luck. Your friend here had a little too much to drink. I found him in the woods sleeping it off. So I cracked him over the head, took his sword, and tied him up. The hardest part was waiting for him to awaken. Might have hit him a bit too hard, I fear.”

Reccard chuckled. “Ha! The mighty knight, vanquished by a potter. Perhaps the jongleurs will make a song of it.”

Reccard’s men laughed. Alfric put his hand on Mazael’s shoulder and steered him forward. 

“Why the devil are you chasing me?” said Mazael. “What did I do to you?”

“You killed one of my lads,” said Reccard. 

“You were trying to kill me,” said Mazael.

Reccard shrugged. “If you just had the good grace to get kidnapped, it wouldn’t have mattered.” He laughed. “Besides, you crossed me, and I can’t have that. No one crosses Reccard the Fist and gets away with it.” He drew a dagger. “I won’t get much profit from selling your sword and armor, true, but I’ll keep your head in a jar of honey and show it to anyone foolish enough to think about crossing me.”

He strode towards Mazael, the dagger in hand.

It was time to act.

Mazael waited until the last minute, and then tugged at his arms. Alfric’s loose knots came undone, and Mazael punched Alfric in the stomach. But Mazael pulled the punch, and Alfric made a great show of doubling over, wheezing. 

“He’s loose!” croaked Alfric. “Gods, he’s loose. He’s…”

Mazael ripped his sword from Alfric’s belt as Reccard came to an alarmed halt. He stabbed at Reccard’s face, but the smaller man jumped aside. Mazael’s boot lashed out and caught Reccard in the left knee. The customs collector went sprawling in the dirt, pine needles clinging to the sleeves of his robe. 

Mazael laughed. “Is that the best you can do? Pathetic. No wonder Waller hired me to kill you.”

“Waller?” said Reccard, spitting the name like a curse. “Kill him! You fools! What are you waiting for? Kill him now!”

The thugs surged forward with a yell, and Mazael sprinted into the woods.

Towards Waller’s hideout.

He only hoped Gerald could follow directions.

###

Gerald Roland straightened his tabard, took a deep breath, and marched to face the concealed stockade.

The bandit on guard atop the stockade blinked in surprise and reached for his bow. Gerald hope the foolish churl didn’t shoot him.

“I am Gerald of House Roland, the youngest son of Lord Malden of House Roland!” shouted Gerald. “In the name of my father, I demand that the rogue Waller come forth and parley at once!” 

The sentry disappeared behind the stockade, and a moment later a fat man in leather armor appeared atop the wall, his face as red as his hair.

“So what do we have here?” said Waller, grinning. “A little lord come to ransom his father?” He leaned over the stockade and spoke in the slow, patronizing voice men sometimes used with children. “Did you bring the shiny gold?”

“Nothing of the sort,” said Gerald, putting all the scorn he could manage into his voice. “In the name of the Lord of Knightcastle, I demand that you release my father at once.”

Waller bawled out a laugh. “You do, now do you? Just why should I do that?”

“Because,” said Gerald, “if you do not, you will be slain.”

Waller laughed again. “You know what I think, boy? I think you got away when we took your father. I think you’re trying to scare us.” His smile widened. “And I think the ransom just doubled. I doubt your mother wants her pompous windbag of a husband back. But she might want her precious little boy. And if she doesn’t want to pay…why, she might change her tune when we send her your ears in box.” He looked behind the wall. “You two! Take him!”

“One last chance!” said Gerald. “Surrender my father or perish!”

Waller sneered. “Stupid boy. You can’t kill us.”

“I can’t,” said Gerald, remembering what Mazael had told him to say. “But the men I hired can. Reccard the Fist and his lads would like to find you, wouldn’t they?”

Waller scowled. “What? How do you know Reccard?”

Gerald sprinted into the woods. 

“Get back here!” roared Waller. “Damn it! You and you! All of you! Find that boy and bring him to me. Now! Now!” 

Gerald heard the stockade’s gate open, heard the shouts of furious men. 

He ran as fast as he could.

Gods, but he hoped Sir Mazael knew what he was doing!

###

Mazael sprinted through the trees, pine needles scraping beneath his boots. An arrow shot over his shoulder and embedded itself in a tree trunk. Reccard and his men were gaining. Unless Mazael found a hiding place or favorable terrain, they were going to overtake him…

He saw a flash of blue in the trees, grinned, and changed direction. 

Gerald Roland burst into sight, running as fast as he could manage, a mob of enraged bandits of his heels. Waller himself ran at their head, moving much faster than Mazael had expected from so fat a man.

“Gerald!” shouted Mazael. “To me!”

Gerald pivoted, running for Mazael.

Mazael turned and ran at Reccard’s charging men, waving his sword over his head and screaming like a madman. Reccard’s bandits skidded to halt, and Reccard himself frowned in puzzlement.

Behind him, three men with bows took aim.

And then Gerald reached Mazael, Waller’s gang lumbering after him.

For a shocked instant both bandit chiefs glared at each other.

“Waller!” shouted Reccard. “You damned whoreson! This is your doing!” 

“At them, lads!” bellowed Waller. “The lordling’s hired them to kill us!”

“What?” said Reccard. “You idiot, we…”

But it was too late. Waller’s men howled like madmen and flung themselves at Reccard’s bandits. In a moment the forest had become a battleground, men shouting and fighting with clubs and daggers and fists. Mazael wheeled, killed one of Reccard’s men, cut down one of Waller’s, and then tore free from the melee, a wide-eyed Gerald running at his side. 

Mazael shot a glance over his shoulder. For the moment, the two bandit gangs were fixed on each other.

“Come on,” said Mazael. “We haven’t much time.”

###

A few moments later Mazael walked through the stockade and into Waller’s nest. The place reeked of rotting food and privy trenches, and battered wagons and empty barrels stood everywhere. Two nervous-looking bandits with clubs stood in the center of the camp, guarding a barrel.

Malden Roland, Lord of Knightcastle, sat upon the barrel, his expression one of aloof disdain. He had blue eyes and gray-streaked blond hair, and wore gleaming boots, fine clothing, and a sky-blue cloak adorned with the Roland greathelm sigil. His eyes widened in astonishment as Mazael and Gerald approached.

“Gerald?” said Lord Malden. “What the devil are you doing here?”

“You’re not one of ours!” said one of the bandits.

“I am not,” said Mazael. “Lord Malden’s men have tracked you here, and fell upon Waller and the others like howling devils. Last I saw, one of Lord Malden’s household knights was shoving a spear up Waller’s arse.”

The bandits gaped at him…and through the trees came the distant sound of fighting.