With a Jester of Kindness

by K. C. Herbel

  “Hya! Hya!” he shouted, lashing the horses into a gallop.

  Billy, having just leapt to his feet, was off balanced by the wagon’s sudden acceleration. He tried to catch himself on the large water barrel at the back of the wagon but instead found himself flying out the back of the wagon with only the wooden lid in hand.

  Billy let out an explosive grunt as he hit the ground. With the wind knocked out of him, he gasped for breath. Then suddenly he was surrounded by a flurry of thundering hooves. He squeezed his eyes shut and lay very still, trying desperately to catch his wind. He remained there until he was sure that the second wagon had passed completely over him.

  Shortly, Billy’s breathing returned to normal. He coughed, spit the dust from his mouth, and pushed himself up to his elbows. There was a great deal of shouting and confusion from the road in front of him. He looked through the dusty haze between his knees to see the wagons and guards fleeing down the road pursued by a score of bandits. Dazed and panting, he watched them turn and pass out of sight behind a copse of trees.

  Billy sat up and stared in disbelief down the road. The weight of his situation began to settle on him. Just moments before, he had been safe and sound, in the company of lords and ladies, on his way to see the king! Now, all of a sudden, he was alone, left behind by his friends, far from home, without food or money, on a stretch of road he had never seen before in his entire life.

  They probably haven’t even noticed I’m gone. Not that I really blame them. They’ve got plenty to worry about right now, like staying alive!

  Just then the sound of battle arose from down the road.

  “Drat! They must have caught up with the wagons.”

  Billy listened carefully and heard the clash of steel on steel and cries of pain. He also heard Sir Hugh yelling orders and Sir Aonghas bellowing underneath the racket.

  Billy bit his lip and whispered a plea heavenward, “Please let them get away.”

  Billy jumped to his feet and surveyed the area, to determine which way to run. It was a narrow stretch of road, lined by tall evergreen trees. The road was empty, except for himself and Syrail—the unfortunate guard, whose body lay sprawled across the road, struck through the heart by a cursed arrow. The big man’s eyes stared blankly up at Billy, a look of surprise frozen on his face. Billy turned away so he wouldn’t have to look at the corpse.

  What else could go wrong?

  As if in answer to Billy’s thoughts, several men emerged from the woods on either side of the road. They were a ragged lot, dressed in bits of mismatched armor and animal skins. Each one wore a dagger or knife by his side, and many carried a bow and clutch of arrows. They began to draw together, closing the distance between them and Billy.

  “Well, well, well,” mouthed one of the thugs, scratching his broad stubbly chin.

  Billy took a couple of steps back.

  “Well, well, well,” repeated another man from behind him.

  Billy flinched and spun around at the sound. There was a bandit, one or two steps away, and still others just beyond that. Billy glanced to either side. He was completely surrounded. Like a scared rabbit, Billy made a break for a gap between two of the highwaymen.

  “Get ’im!” one shouted, and the two men dove for Billy, striking their heads together.

  Billy slipped in between them and raced to the trees. He cleared the first row of trees and glanced over his shoulder at his pursuers who were scrambling to catch him. Suddenly Billy felt a large hand on his back and saw the ground moving away as he was hoisted into the air.

  “Where you go, little man?” said a low, gravely voice.

  Billy squirmed and kicked, trying to break free from his captor. It was no use. He was hauled up about four feet off the ground, like a kitten by its mother. Another hand grabbed Billy and wheeled him around.

  “You flop like fish, little man,” said the gigantic man holding Billy up to his face. Then he burst out laughing. “Yes, like fish!”

  Billy stopped struggling and stared in awe at the mountainous form in front of him. Until now, the biggest man Billy had ever seen was Sir Aonghas. However, next to this brute, even Lady Myrredith’s husband would look like a boy. From the hamlike fist, which held him up, to the chiseled face, the behemoth figure looked to Billy exactly like a . . .

  “Giant!” screamed Billy, flailing about and beating on the towering man.

  Billy’s captor held him out at arm’s length. “Giant?” he exclaimed, casting about. “Where?”

  Then the giant looked back at Billy and let out a great guffaw. Throwing back his head, he shook with laughter and pointed at Billy with his free hand. His booming voice echoed through the woods. Then, as if displaying a trophy, he held his quarry up and strutted towards the road.

  “Look. Redgnaw catch the fish,” proclaimed the laughing giant.

  All the highwaymen gathered around and began to laugh at Billy flapping around on the end of the giant’s arm. Then they walked out of the woods and onto the road.

  “What ya gonna do wif ’im, Redgnaw?” one of the men shouted.

  “Yeah!” added another. “How ya gonna cook the little bugger up?”

  “I don’t know,” said Redgnaw ponderously.

  Again Billy stopped his struggle and gawked at the giant. Redgnaw stroked his chin and stared at his catch. Then he scratched his head and spun Billy around for a better look.

  “Please don’t eat me, Mister Giant, sir,” Billy pleaded.

  This set off another round of laughs and jeers from the bandits. At end, the giant looked at Billy’s gloomy face and said, “Well, I need pet too. You be Redgnaw’s pet.”

  “What’s going on here?” shouted a man from deep within the trees.

  At once the men became quiet.

  “We just have fun, Sygeon,” said Redgnaw.

  “You stupid oaf!” yelled the man, betraying his slight accent. “You are not being paid to have fun!”

  Billy tried to see who was speaking, but the man stayed behind the trees. Billy could only make out his thin build and dark clothing.

  “You always too bossy, Sygeon,” grumbled the giant.

  “That’s because I am the boss! Remember?”

  “Yeah. You boss now, but when we get back . . .”

  “Shut up, you fool!” hissed the man as he struck his cane against the trunk of a tree. “Now go! The others may need your help. And when you are done . . . kill the boy! Remember, my brother wants no survivors.”

  With little hesitation, the band of brigands started down the road. The giant fell in, toting Billy along with him. Billy struggled against the giant’s grip, but to no avail. At first they trotted but then broke into a sprint as the sounds of battle grew near.

  When they made the bend in the road, Billy saw that a tree felled across the road had stopped the wagons. Sir Aonghas and Sir Hugh were all that remained of the fighting men. The field was littered with the bodies of bandits and Lady Myrredith’s honor guard. Beyond them, Megan was pulling Rhianna up onto Sir Hugh’s horse. Her Ladyship was trying to mount a horse, which kicked and spun erratically. The frightened beast smacked a brigand off his feet before Lady Myrredith managed to climb on to its back.

  “Aonghas! Hugh!” yelled Lady Myrredith, holding back her feral-eyed mount.

  Both Lady Myrredith’s husband and the King’s Champion glanced back. Sir Aonghas’s opponent thrust with his sword. Aonghas turned back just in time to turn the blow aside and riposted by smashing the man’s hand.

  “Go!” shouted Hugh and Aonghas.

  An arrow flew inches from Lady Myrredith’s face, and another stuck in her saddle. She could barely control her horse. “Come with us!” she shouted back.

  “Now, woman!” shouted Sir Aonghas to his wife.

  “No!” she cried, “I’m not leaving you!”

  Sir Aonghas turned and smacked the horse’s rear with his hand. The horse bucked then immediately lunged forward, taking its teary-eyed rider up the road and over the downed tree
. Rhianna and Megan following close behind on the surprisingly well-behaved Splendore.

  With his back still turned, Aonghas could not defend himself. One of the brigands took advantage of the situation and struck him, opening up a gash on his right arm. He let loose an unintelligible war cry and spun around. As he did, he swung the massive hunk of metal he called a mace and flattened two of his foe. Then Hugh downed another with a deadly swing of his sword. The two knights gritted their teeth as they struck down one bandit after another. They moved like wild men through the ranks of their enemy, whose blood spattered their fine clothing. They had each been wounded but seemed oblivious to everything but parry and attack. Two more brigands fell.

  When the outlaws started the attack, they outnumbered the travelers by more than two to one. Now it was eight against two, and the two knights were on the attack. Upon seeing their reinforcements, the eight remaining bandits beat a hasty retreat, with the noblemen giving chase.

  Aonghas and Hugh looked up as they charged. Their eyes widened when they spotted Billy in the grasp of a giant.

  “Billy!” cried Hugh.

  At that moment, the reinforcement party pulled back on their bows.

  “No!” cried Billy.

  The archers let go a flight of arrows, but in their haste only two hit their intended targets. The first pierced Sir Hugh’s right thigh, the other Sir Aonghas’s chest. In addition, two of the retreating bandits were unfortunate enough to be struck down.

  All four men fell to the ground. Sir Aonghas lay in the road and clutched the offending arrow. Sir Hugh, who had fallen to his knees, broke off the arrow in his leg and stumbled over to help his companion. The bandits regrouped and slowly moved in on their prey.

  Hugh helped his friend to sit up. Aonghas’s breathing was shallow, and he coughed painfully. Then his eyes came up on the approaching men. He gritted his teeth and snapped the shaft of the arrow in his chest. Billy could see the big man’s eyes widen in pain. He growled like a great bear and rolled up to his knees. The bandits, though they now outnumbered the wounded knights sixteen to two, stopped their advance.

  For a long moment, no one on the road moved. The two noble knights rested on their weapons and glared across the narrow gap at the ragged highwaymen. The air was still. Billy thought he heard the sweat drip from the tired combatants to the dusty road. His mind raced. What are they waiting for?

  Without warning, both sides sprang into action. Billy’s compatriots got to their feet as the bowmen desperately struggled to get arrows notched, but it was too late. The bandits had let down their guard. They had advanced much too close for their bows to be useful. The two mighty warriors swung and disarmed four of their assailants at once. Pieces of their smashed bows flew into the air with a hundred splinters. The other archers immediately dropped their bows to draw more useful weapons.

  Hugh and Aonghas shrieked bloodcurdling wails and waded into the fray. Redgnaw was in the back of the pack and slowly backed away when he saw the mayhem that the two bloody fighters visited on his allies. Strike after mighty strike, Sir Hugh and Sir Aonghas smote the brigands. They looked more like farmers harvesting hay than knights doing battle. They no longer bothered to block the feeble blows of their enemies, and soon there was no need. The miserable remaining highwaymen cowered before the crazed warriors. They vainly tried to escape their terrible onslaught, but before they could run, all the would-be bandits lay at the blood-splattered boots of the knights.

  Hugh and Aonghas stumbled forward over the bodies, preparing to attack the giant. They breathed heavily through clinched teeth and hefted their weapons up to strike.

  Redgnaw quickly pulled out a long black dagger and pointed it at them. While it was little more than a knife to the giant, it was easily long enough to pass through either man’s body.

  “Let the boy go!” said Sir Hugh between breaths.

  “Now!” demanded Aonghas. “Now, or so help me, I’ll tear out your . . .”

  Redgnaw suddenly pulled Billy in close to his chest and held the sharp dark blade under his chin. Billy thought the giant would squeeze the life out of him.

  “Go away!” bellowed Billy’s captor.

  “Give us the boy, and you can go,” said Hugh.

  “No!” shouted Redgnaw.

  The two knights each took a step forward, and Redgnaw started to draw his dagger across Billy’s throat. Billy squeezed his eyes shut as the blade painfully cut into his flesh. A small trickle of blood ran down the young juggler’s neck.

  “Stop!” yelled Sir Hugh.

  “Come close, I kill little friend,” said the giant, backing away.

  There was a short, choppy sound, like a bird flapping its wings, and suddenly a dagger appeared in Redgnaw’s forehead. His eyes crossed as he stared at the weapon protruding just above them. A puzzled expression flashed across his face, and he relaxed his grip. Billy fell to the ground and rolled out of the way just in time to see the colossus collapse in a heap on the road.

  Billy looked away from the giant’s body, into the trees near the side of the road. Malcolm the Magnificent stepped out from behind a bush with one dagger still in hand. Billy stared incredulously at him as he cleaned some blood off the blade.

  “What?” said Malcolm, upon noticing the stare of his young protégé. “You think juggling is the only thing I can do with them?”

  At that moment, there was a loud thump. Billy spun around to see Aonghas and Hugh lying in the road beside the recently slain Redgnaw. Billy and Malcolm ran to them.

  Hugh lifted up his sweat-soaked head and pointed to the larger man. “I’ll be fine,” he breathed. “Just help Aonghas.”

  Aonghas lay facedown, his great mace beside him. Malcolm and Billy carefully rolled him over and leaned the unconscious warrior up against the dead giant. There was a large red stain on the road where the knight had been lying, and soon there was a growing pool of blood on Aonghas’s chest around the broken arrow shaft.

  Malcolm gripped the protruding shaft and gently tugged on it. Without warning, the broken shaft slid out in his hand.

  “Good God!” whispered Malcolm, looking at the bloody stick.

  “What is it?” asked Billy.

  “There’s no head.”

  “What?”

  Malcolm handed what was left of the arrow to Billy. The deadly missile had broken on both ends.

  “There’s no head!” repeated Malcolm. “The blasted thing must have come off inside him.”

  “Is that bad?” asked Billy with wide eyes.

  “Well,” started Malcolm, ripping his patient’s shirt open, “I had a kinsman, lived most of his long life with a piece o’ spear floatin’ around in him, but it was just in his leg. After a score o’ years the spear tip worked its way out. But in a man’s chest . . . I don’t know.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Quick tear me off some of that cloth, and bring me some strong drink from of the wagon.”

  Billy shot Malcolm a puzzled look.

  “It’s not for me!” said Malcolm. “It’s for them! Now hurry, lad!”

  Billy and Malcolm tended to Aonghas’s wounds for a long while. When at last he seemed stabilized, they assisted Sir Hugh. He had already bound most of his injuries, but the arrow still remained in his leg. Malcolm cut away Hugh’s leggings around the thigh.

  “Here,” said Malcolm, handing the noble knight a jug of spirits.

  “I shouldn’t . . .” started Hugh.

  “Shut up and drink,” said Malcolm. “You’re gonna need it.”

  “But . . .”

  “But nothin’! You’re in no condition to be doin’ anythin’ but restin’! Now drink up and lie down.”

  Hugh stared hard at his new doctor and then his leg. He then took the jug and started to drink.

  “I’ll be all right,” he told Billy and then lay back.

  “Billy,” said Malcolm, “do you see this?”

  Billy looked as Malcolm gently moved the shaft of the arrow. His patient sti
ffened and shot upright. Malcolm placed his hand on Hugh’s shoulder and calmly pushed him back. Hugh immediately started to drink more from the jug.

  “Did ya see it, laddie?” asked Malcolm.

  “Yeah,” answered Billy, “I think so. It looked like there was a small . . . bump, on the side of Sir Hugh’s leg. It sort of moved when you wiggled the arrow.”

  “That’s right, laddie. That is the arrowhead. And do ya know what we have to do with that arrowhead?”

  “Pull it out?”

  “Not exactly. We’re gonna have to push it through, but at least it won’t be stuck in there like His Lordship’s.”

  “Won’t that hurt?” asked Billy.

  “Yes,” answered the reclining knight.

  “But not as much as pulling it back out!” scolded Malcolm. “Besides, I have the notion to wait until you aren’t feelin’ much of anythin’.”

  “And when will that be?” asked Billy.

  “Oh, I’d say about the time he finishes that jug. Now come along, my young apprentice. We have some cleanin’ up to do.”

  Billy and Malcolm left Sir Hugh to his drinking and, after checking on Sir Aonghas, started to clean up the carnage that covered the road. First they collected Syrail and the other bodies of the caravan guard and reverently laid them on the side of the road. Billy had not seen that many bodies before and most certainly had not handled any. It was a task that Billy abhorred but knew that he must do.

  After the last guard had been tended to, Billy went to the wagon to get a drink of water and rest for a minute. As he reached for the drinking cup, he noticed that his hands and arms were smeared with blood. He opened the spigot and washed off the gore as quickly as he could. The cool water turned red as it took the blood from his hands. He watched the stained water run to the side of the road, to the feet of his fallen friends.

  Gardd, Darryl, Albyn and Fercus, Llechvein, and both Fox brothers lay among those on the side of the road—all friends, all dead. He looked at their still, pale faces and remembered his words just prior to the attack.