by K. C. Herbel
“Excitement,” he mumbled to himself. “I could do without it.”
“What was that?” asked Malcolm.
“What?” said Billy, turning to face his new mentor.
“I couldn’t hear what ya said, laddie.”
“Oh . . . nothin’.”
Billy watched, in shock, as Malcolm searched one of the corpses still in the road and took a small pouch from the dead man’s belt. “What are ya doin’?” he demanded.
Malcolm squatted near another dead bandit, picking through his belongings. He looked up at his protégé’s open mouth and round eyes.
“What?” he said impatiently.
“You . . . you’re . . .” stammered Billy.
“I’m what . . . ? Robbin’ them? You’re bloody right I’m robbin’ them.”
“Well . . .”
“Well nothin’! If things were reversed, and it were me that was layin’ here instead of this unfortunate lout, do ya think he’d be havin’ any second thoughts about it? No! Of course not! And that’s the way of it. He’s dead, and got no use for his things anymore! I’ve got no means or intentions of trackin’ down his kinsmen and disgracin’ their name, by returnin’ his things. What do ya think his family would say . . . hmm? ‘Oh, thank ye sir. We sure are glad knowin’ that our boy was a no-good, lousy thief’? . . . No, it’s better this way.”
Billy felt short of breath as if he’d been the one pontificating and not Malcolm. During the entire speech, he had held his breath, afraid to breathe. Malcolm finally lowered his gaze and Billy breathed. He watched from a distance as Malcolm continued to comb the bodies. At last he seemed satisfied and called for Billy.
“Come on, laddie,” he said. “We still need to take care of this lot.”
The two jugglers picked up the bodies of the dead highwaymen and unceremoniously stacked them on the side of the road, opposite the fallen guards. As they laid down the last brigand, Billy looked at Redgnaw. The giant’s body lay in the middle of the road.
“Now how are we gonna move him?”
Malcolm studied the body and the road. “If we had a horse . . .”
“I bet we could find one,” said Billy, scanning the woods.
“I don’t know,” said Malcolm. “This bunch of outlaws scared them off. They could be halfway home by now. Besides, it’s starting to get dark, neither of us knows our way around here, and we’ve still got one more patient to tend to.”
Billy looked at Sir Hugh, who was approaching the uncustomary condition of slobbering drunk.
“Can you do it without me?”
“It won’t be all that bad,” said Malcolm. “Come on. I think he’s numb enough.”
Billy and Malcolm knelt on either side of their patient and examined the wound. Malcolm tore away more of Hugh’s leggings.
“You were right!” declared Sir Hugh drowsily. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
Malcolm whispered to Hugh, “I haven’t pushed the arrow out yet.”
“Oh.”
Malcolm finished the preparations for binding the wound. He looked at Hugh and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Is there any of that left?” he said, indicating the jug in the knight’s hand.
“I think so,” answered Hugh as he shook the jug.
The last few swallows sloshed in the jug, and Malcolm snatched it from his patient’s grip. He put the vessel to his lips, tipped back his head, and drained the jug.
“Hey!” protested Hugh.
Malcolm raised an eyebrow at the man lying beside him. “I think you’ve had enough, Sir Knight,” he lectured. “And now, on the count of three we push the arrow through. Ready?”
Billy nodded.
“One . . .”
“On three, you say?” sputtered the inebriated knight.
“Yes. On three!” agreed Malcolm. “Ready?”
“Ready.”
“One . . .
“You’re not going to push it on two are you?”
“No, Sir Hugh. I’m not gonna push it on two.”
“Because I’ve seen that trick before.”
“Yes, Sir Hugh. We’ll all count to three and I’ll push the arrow out. Ready?”
“Ready . . . Just don’t push on two.”
“Look, what would be the point in countin’ all the way to three, if I we’re just gonna push the bloody thing out on two?”
“Well . . .”
“Don’t worry! I’ve done this before.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Malcolm glared at the King’s Champion until he was sure that he would be quiet. Then he looked at his assistant. “Are ya ready, laddie?”
“Ready, Malcolm,” answered Billy.
“Now then,” said Malcolm with some finality, “we all count together. Follow me . . .”
They all spoke in unison. “One . . . two . . .”
They never made it to three. When they reached two, Malcolm the Magnificent pushed the arrow through the thigh and pulled it the rest of the way out in one swift movement. Hugh’s face went white, and he sat up, grabbing Billy’s arm.
“Three . . .” mouthed Hugh. “I thought you were going to three.”
“I lied,” said Malcolm stoically.
Sir Hugh stared at him. At last his eyes rolled back, and he fainted. Billy caught Hugh and gently laid him back on the ground.
“He should sleep now,” said Malcolm. “Here, help me with this bandage.”
It was nearly dark by the time they finished binding Hugh’s injuries. Billy quickly collected firewood. Then he and Malcolm cooked up a light supper and retired. There was no entertainment around the campfire that night—no singing of songs or telling of tales, no juggling or joke telling, just two tired men who silently ate their food and stared into the hypnotizing firelight, until sleep overtook them.
* * *
The morning came far too early for the four men who had spent the night literally on the road. Sir Aonghas faded in and out of consciousness several times. When Billy and Malcolm went to put him in one of the wagons, Sir Aonghas suddenly came to and grabbed Billy by his shirt.
“Tell her,” he wheezed.
“Tell who, what?” asked Malcolm.
“What?” mumbled Aonghas to Malcolm.
“Tell who, what?” repeated Malcolm, lightly shaking him.
Aonghas blinked and looked back at Billy. “Billy . . . you will tell her for me, won’t you?”
“You’re not gonna die.”
“Promise me!” insisted Aonghas. “Promise me.”
“Yes, Sir Aonghas,” answered Billy, “I will tell her. I promise.”
Aonghas smiled at Billy, then his head nodded forward, and he was out again. Sir Hugh limped over and helped Malcolm and Billy put the large man in the wagon. It took more out of him than he had expected, so he had to rest. He was a long way from recovery, and the alcohol he had consumed the night before was taking its revenge. He held his pounding head as he sat on a stump just off the road.
“Are you well?” asked Billy.
The knight squinted up at his little friend with one bloodshot eye. “I didn’t realize I had been shot in the head.”
“We took the arrow out of your leg.”
“But you left the one in my head!”
Billy laughed at his heroic companion. Sir Hugh wasn’t the type to complain about pain. After his battle with the dragon, he never said a word about his injuries. Now, for his head to hurt more than his leg, and enough for him to say so . . . Billy knew he must be feeling really lousy.
“That must be some hangover,” remarked Billy.
“Billy?”
“Yes, Sir Hugh.”
“If I ever get shot again, be sure to keep the alcohol on the outside.”
Malcolm stuck his head out from the supply wagon, with a piece of jerky in his lips and a jug in his hand. “Breakfast is served!” he announced. “Look what I found! I think the cook was holdin’ out on us.” He came down from the wagon then handed Billy a yank of jerky a
nd stuck the jug in front of Sir Hugh. “Hair o’ the dog, sir?”
Sir Hugh got a whiff of the bottle and immediately turned a light green. He clamped a hand over his mouth, spun around on the stump, and leaned over its edge. His body convulsed, and his two companions turned and walked over to the wagon.
“Some people just don’t know what’s good for ’em,” said Malcolm.
“Yeah. I think Sir Hugh was just trying to tell me that.”
“Have a snort?” asked Malcolm holding the jug out to Billy.
“No. I think I’m with Sir Hugh . . . It’s much too early in the mornin’ to be bitin’ into anythin’ that bites back!”
Suddenly there came a rumbling sound and the clip-clop of horses charging up the road. Billy looked and thought he saw a wagon through the trees. He glanced back to Malcolm, but Malcolm was gone. Billy scanned the woods and found his mentor behind a tree with a pair of daggers in hand.
“Get out of the road!” Malcolm hissed.
Billy stared at him blankly. “What?”
Malcolm peered down the road and then wildly waved a dagger at Billy and said, “Get out of the road.”
However, it was too late. A horse-drawn wagon, with soldiers on either side, turned the bend in the road and came in their direction, or more precisely in Billy’s direction. He was still in the middle of the road, a bite of jerky hanging from his lips and one hand in his belt. He stared at the wagon as it came thundering up the road. The driver spotted Billy and the body of Redgnaw in the road. He pulled back on the reins until he was standing up with the reins above his head.
“Whooa! Whooa!!” the driver shouted.
Billy turned to run up the road away from the wagon but tripped and fell. Billy’s memory flashed to the day before, when he had fallen off the first wagon. Again he lay very still and hid his face in the dirt. There was a great deal of noise from the horses and wagon as the driver desperately tried to bring them to a stop. Billy could hear the stretch of leather and the creak of wood as the rumble of hooves subsided.
Billy looked up through the dust cloud and saw the front leg of a dark horse, just inches away. His eyes followed the leg up to the horse’s head, which stared down at him with its big brown eyes. It snorted at Billy, and he flinched. This spooked the horse, and it likewise jumped back.
“Whooa there, Abigail. Whooa!” shouted the driver of the wagon.
Billy scooted away and got to his feet. He felt something sharp in his back and looked over his shoulder. There he saw a well-armored warrior, mounted on an equally well-barded horse. The sharp object in his back was a long spear with a red and gold streamer. Behind this warrior, there was another, wearing identical armor and colors.
“Stay right where you are,” the warrior ordered calmly.
As the dust settled, Billy saw a familiar figure emerge from the back of the wagon. “Lady Myrredith!” he shouted.
“William!” she responded.
The soldier lowered his lance, and Billy ran to Lady Myrredith. They embraced like lifelong friends who hadn’t seen each other in many years.
“I thought we had lost you,” sniffed Her Ladyship.
“Only for a moment,” said Billy. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”
“I should have known you’d show up,” said Lady Myrredith, laughing. “I’m so glad you’re safe, William.” Then she hugged him again. “Is . . . Where are Sir Hugh and my husband? Are they . . .”
“Alive, milady?” said Malcolm, coming out of the woods. “Aye, they’re still with us.”
The two warriors turned their horses to face him. Malcolm held out his empty hands and bowed to them. Billy noticed that the daggers were nowhere to be seen.
“Malcolm the Magnificent, at your service, gentlemen.”
One of the warriors looked at Lady Myrredith who simply nodded to his silent question. Both men raised their lances and moved up the road.
“And as I was sayin’, milady,” Malcolm continued, “they are still with us—at least for the present.”
“What do you mean?”
Malcolm held out his hand and led Lady Myrredith towards the wagon where Sir Aonghas lay. Hugh limped over to greet her.
“Hugh! Thank God!” said Lady Myrredith, looking over the King’s Champion. She could see from his torn, bloodstained clothes and manner that the battle had been hard won.
“Milady,” said Hugh, with a stiff bow.
Lady Myrredith rushed forward and took his hand. Again Billy was aware of an uncomfortable feeling as the two nobles exchanged “courtesies.”
“Sit down, Hugh,” pleaded Lady Myrredith. “You need to rest.”
As the knight sat back down on the old stump, Lady Myrredith noticed the bodies of the caravan guard laid out beside him. Her eyes went from corpse to corpse. These were all men that she had known for years and had handpicked for this journey. Each man had served her family well and deserved the honor of escorting her on such a trip.
“All dead,” she muttered. “All dead.”
“They fought well, milady,” said Malcolm, “but alas there were just too many of the bastards! Oh, beggin’ Your Ladyship’s pardon.”
“No apologies necessary, Malcolm.”
“He’s right, milady. These men did the Cyndyns honor,” added Hugh.
Lady Myrredith bowed her head to the deceased. “May they be rewarded in heaven.”
Malcolm took Lady Myrredith by the elbow. “Your Ladyship’s husband lies in yonder wagon.”
Lady Myrredith allowed Malcolm and Billy to escort her to the wagon. Malcolm helped her into the wagon and left. Lady Myrredith found her husband unconscious.
“What happened?” she asked, taking his hand.
“He was shot in the chest,” said Billy. “We couldn’t get all of the arrow. The tip . . . It’s still in there.”
“Has he been like this the whole time?”
“No, milady. He’s come around a couple of times now.”
“What did Malcolm say? What are his chances?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say, exactly. Perhaps you should ask him.”
Lady Myrredith reached out and brushed a shock of dark hair from her husband’s face, then she and Billy sat in silence.
Billy heard Malcolm talking to the wagon driver and looked up. The two armored warriors were now six. They were analyzing the battlefield with Sir Hugh. When Billy looked again to Lady Myrredith, there were wet streaks running down her cheeks. How beautiful she looked to him, even in her grief.
“He wanted me to tell ya somethin’,” Billy said at last. “He made me promise.”
“What was it, William?” asked Lady Myrredith with a sniff.
“He wanted me to tell you that . . . that he loved you.”
Lady Myrredith closed her eyes and sobbed. Billy could see her hand tighten around Aonghas’s fingers.
“I’m sure he’ll be all right, Lady Myrredith,” said Billy.
“No,” she sobbed. “No. He’s dying.”
“Please, don’t say that.”
“He’s a good man, but he wouldn’t have told you to say that if he were going to be fine.”
One of the armored warriors walked up to the wagon. “We should be leaving, milady,” he said. “Your husband and Sir Hugh finished this lot of villains, but there may be more lurking about.”
“Yes quite, Sir Ewen,” said Lady Myrredith. “We need to get my husband back to the earl’s castle immediately.”
The knight bowed curtly, turned, and signaled his counterparts. Two of them rushed to the wagon and hitched up their horses. In short order, they had Lady Myrredith, her husband, Sir Hugh, and Billy on their way. Malcolm and four knights remained behind to take care of the bodies.
* * *
The next day, they buried the dead. Lady Myrredith asked the earl to preside over the ceremony to honor the brave men who had died protecting her. It was a dark, rainy day, which ended having never seen the sun.
The following days at Hillshi
re passed very slowly for Billy. While he was a guest in Waru-Dunom, the earl’s fine home, and free to go where he chose, he did not care to explore it. He was too worried about Lady Myrredith and her husband.
Aonghas, despite the efforts of the earl’s doctor, showed no sign of recovery. Her Ladyship was almost constantly by his side. When she wasn’t, she moped around the castle. At the few meals she attended, she ate very little and talked even less. Billy, Sir Hugh, and Malcolm did their best to cheer her up, but even their best tricks and ballads failed to lift her spirits. The earl, being a compassionate man and an old friend of the Cyndyns, forewent the customary formalities in order to ease her discomfort.
One night, Billy went to Aonghas’s room. He watched from the doorway as the earl wrapped a quilt around Lady Myrredith. She had fallen asleep at her husband’s side. The old nobleman leaned over and kissed her gently on the forehead. It reminded Billy of the way his father had tucked him in at night. He missed his home and his father and his own little bed.
Late on the third day, Billy and Hugh were talking with the earl about continuing their journey to the wedding. Lady Myrredith burst into the room. She was practically skipping.
“How’s Sir Aonghas?” inquired Billy. It was the first time since their arrival that he dared ask it. Until that moment he was sure the question would bring her to tears.
“Oh, much better!” she said, with a beaming smile. “He woke up and we talked for a while. He’s sleeping now.”
“And how are you, my dear?” asked the earl, stretching out his hands.
“Oh, I’m much better now!” answered Lady Myrredith, putting her hands in those of the fatherly old man. “Thank you ever so much. I don’t know how I will ever be able to repay you for everything you’ve done.”
“It’s nothing, my dear.”
“But the doctor, the medicines . . .”
“It is my pleasure. I knew your father well—God rest his soul. I owe a great deal to him, including my life. Now there’s a story . . .” The old man’s eyes seem to focus on some distant point, then he smiled at Lady Myrredith and said, “A story that I’m sure you’ve heard too many times already. The point is, that if I could come to the aid of Ruddar’s daughter and didn’t . . .”
“But you did, Finney. Thank you!”