The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  Three of the guards were rolling on the ground screaming, and half of the bandits were dead or dying in the mud in just a few short minutes. A cry from behind the wagon raised a gasp from Miriam. Garrit's head shot round for a moment, before turning back at the last second to save him from a spear thrust that would have taken him in the throat.

  The bandit stepped backwards, using short jabbing thrusts to keep Garrit at a distance and himself outside the reach of his short-sword. An ugly scar ran down the side of his face and carved a silvery line through his close-cropped black beard. With a fluid grace that had been lacking on the muddied field, Garrit stepped into the next thrust, moving the spearhead slightly to the side with the flat of his sword and then sliding it down the shaft before lashing out with his boot at the side of the bandit’s knee. Even inside the wagon Devin heard the sickening cracking noise as the man's leg flew out from under him, and he fell to the ground, screaming in agony.

  The wagon rocked suddenly, shaking from a sudden weight. Silently Miriam pulled Devin towards the floor. They moved with agonising slowness so as not to alert the bandit who had appeared from the opposite side of the fight, and now taken up a position on the wagon's seat. He pulled a bowstring from a pouch, and strung a short-bow in one quick, practised motion. He drew back on the string and released smoothly, prompting a scream from a guard, before he reached for another arrow.

  Devin looked frantically about him, and grabbed the heavy iron pan that Miriam had used to cook with the night before. He crept forward towards the seat, keeping low and praying the wagon wouldn't creak. Rising up behind the bandit, and ignoring Miriam's frantic flapping motions, he swung the pan at the back of the man's head with all of his strength. The pan made a dull ringing sound as it connected, the impact tearing it from Devin's grasp. The bandit shot forwards, but the blow of a small ten year old boy was not enough to knock him out, and he turned to see Devin cowering back away from him. He reached into his belt and the long dagger made a steely hiss as he pulled it free from the sheath.

  “You won't regret that for long, boy,” he rasped, as he made to step over the seat.

  A blade was savagely thrust up into his groin and he screamed a shockingly feminine combination of pain and outrage. Garrit reached in and dragged him from the seat before climbing back up and peering into the back. “Everyone alright?” he asked tersely. Miriam nodded, white-faced, and Garrit took up the reins and slapped them down hard onto the horses' rumps.

  “Let's get out of here then shall we?”

  The startled horses leapt forward as he tried to navigate out of the circle and onto the road. Arrows slammed into the seat next to him, and tore through the canvas of the wagon, but they did not slow. It seemed like they were away, until a hook-nosed bandit with hard eyes stepped neatly into the road. In an unhurried fashion he watched as the wagon bore down upon him, then stepped casually to the side and drove his spear into Bunion's neck. The horse screamed and tried to rear against the traces before going down in a twitching heap. Beth struggled as Bunion's weight pulled her sideways and she whinnied in terror. She was fighting a losing battle though, and the wagon lurched violently before crashing onto its side.

  Devin and Miriam were hurled violently to the ground. Mercifully, the sacks of goods were between them and the crates, and served as a buffer to some extent. Miriam staggered to her feet and pulled the terrified boy to her, holding his hand and clambering over the crates and sacks as she made her way to the front of the wagon.

  Beth was struggling against the traces, but was still hitched firmly to the fallen wagon. Bunion, however, lay still and the scent of his blood was driving the dray horse to hysterics. Miriam climbed gingerly out of the wagon and stepped well away from the flailing horse, looking for Garrit.

  He stood not far from the wagon, long knife and sword in hand, as he watched the spear-wielding bandit approach. “You evil little bastard,” he muttered. The bandit smiled a slow, lazy smile and edged closer.

  “Any chance of letting me go with the boy and the woman?” Garrit ventured.

  “Can't see it,” said the man, laconically.

  “You've got the whole damned caravan, man. What do you want with a boy and his mother?”

  Devin looked around quickly and saw that this was true. The guards had been slaughtered to a man and the two remaining drivers stood some distance behind them against one wagon with bandits surrounding them. Several of the bandits stood watching Garrit with cruel amusement on their faces.

  “Don't want the boy especially,” the man said with a smirk. “Gets cold and lonely in the woods though. A woman like that'd keep a man warm at night.”

  Miriam stared at the man with a sick horror. What kind of twisted fate had allowed her to escape Caerl only to be a bandit's whore in the woods?

  Garrit sighed and stepped away from the wagon, giving himself room to move freely. All traces of the man Devin had spent the previous few weeks with had fallen away. The amiable wagon driver was gone. In his place stood the seasoned caravan guard with weapons drawn.

  The bandit approached slowly, with his spear already in guard position. Miriam noticed he carried no shield and wondered at that. From her years working in her father's tavern, she knew a man with a spear usually held a shield too. A spear alone was the choice of experts or fools. Miriam found herself fervently hoping he was the latter.

  Garrit and the man began to circle each other slowly, not yet fighting but testing the other's speed and intent. She looked about her for something that she might use to help, but then she spotted Devin. The boy had run back to the wagon and was rummaging through the wreckage. She opened her mouth to call after him, but the bandit struck and the sound of steel on steel drew her back to the fight.

  The bandit used his spear as a bladed staff, spinning and striking with both the blade and haft. Garrit backed away from him, looking for all the world as if he had never held a sword before today, a panicked expression on his face. Encouraged by Garrit's expression, the hook-nosed bandit lunged at his chest. Garrit stepped nimbly to the side and, placing the flat of his long knife against the spear, slid down the shaft and struck savagely with his short-sword at the bandit's arm.

  Where his ploy had worked so well before, it failed now and the bandit seemed ready for Garrit's move, shifting backwards smoothly and sliding the spear down, past the end of Garrit's knife and into his leg. It was a light blow, lacking the strength to do any real damage, but the spear blade looked to be razor sharp and left a clear scar in the leather. He shifted away smoothly, his feet moving lightly and barely seeming to touch the muddy track.

  Garrit muttered a curse and shifted back and away to give himself room for a moment. His eyes never leaving his opponent as he began to circle once more, he held the short-sword low and his long knife at the ready. The spear thrust at him again and he skipped to the side before lunging back in and slashing viciously at the man's ribs. The blade struck, but the man was already moving away, robbing the blow of the force it needed to cut through the thick leather armour.

  He launched a sudden flurry of attacks, feinting to get inside the reach of the spear. It seemed as though he was outmatched, his every strike knocked easily aside as the bandit used both the blade and the shaft of the weapon to parry his strokes, the spear whirling in his hands. Garrit's blades danced and slashed independently, as he avoided falling into any pattern, but each strike met only empty air or the shaft of the spear.

  The man struck once, twice, three times with the spear, forcing Garrit to parry desperately, and then lashed out with his foot, sweeping Garrit to the ground. He raised the spear high to strike and then froze as an arrow buried itself in his back.

  Both Garrit and Miriam looked around in shock as Devin tried to nock another arrow, his hands shaking visibly. The bandit glared back at the boy, the arrow clearly not having penetrated deeply enough through the armour to cause any significant damage. Moving like a snake, Garrit took advantage of his distraction and rose to one kne
e, arms extended as he thrust both blades through the armour and deep into the bandit's belly.

  Tearing the weapons free, as the man hissed and sank to the muddy road, Garrit beckoned frantically to Devin as he saw the three bandits who had watched the fight motioning in his direction.

  “Into the trees!” Garrit cried, and grabbed at Devin, half-dragging the boy along as he charged up the bank and plunged headlong into the woods. Miriam scrambled frantically up the bank behind him, looking over her shoulder as the bandits gave chase. Once at the top of the bank, the woods were dense and she fought to keep up as leaves and branches slapped her in the face and caught at her dress. She screamed as the arrows began to hiss through the trees around them. Garrit, not even slowing or bothering to turn, lifted Devin into his arms and shifted into a sprint.

  The ground sloped down gently, which helped to keep Miriam running, but her breath was already ragged and she could see she was beginning to lag behind. She fell twice in quick succession, tripping over unseen roots, and it was as she clambered to her feet from the second fall that the arrow struck. She felt it tear through her flesh, glancing off the bone high in the side of her thigh and she screamed hard as she fell to the ground again. Garrit was there, it seemed in seconds, pulling her to her feet and helping her along. The arrows kept flying, although now they were hitting trees or being foiled by leaves and twigs more often than not.

  “Devin lad, you go with your Ma,” Garrit said gently. “Keep going, I'm going to have a chat with these lads.”

  “No! Please don't leave us here,” pleaded Miriam, but the big man was already moving back towards the bandits, keeping low and moving from tree to tree.

  “Go!” he hissed back at them, and then he was gone.

  They floundered on through the trees, and she tried not to think about why the arrows had stopped, or the sudden silence behind them. The forest floor was carpeted with old leaves and lush green ferns. It would have been a beautiful sight were it not for the pain lancing through her with every step. She didn't dare stop to look at the wound, but she could feel the blood running down her leg and the flesh tearing as she hobbled along. Devin was moving as if asleep, his eyes glassy and unseeing.

  Screams and the distant clash of steel on steel, prompted her to pull Devin to a stop by a thicket of brambles. A natural channel led into the tangle, and she could just make out a hollow inside. Miriam lay down and squirmed her way in, adrenaline dulling the pain in her leg. Devin, being smaller, made it inside with no problems. His face was still pale and drawn, and he flinched with every faint sound of the fight.

  The brambles were incredibly dense and Miriam could barely see out. A faint animal smell suggested this had once been a den for some manner of forest creature, but the ground looked undisturbed. They huddled in the thicket, listening to the faint sounds of fighting, and when the silence eventually came she lay, waiting for Garrit, wishing she could still hear the swords.

  She lay there for what felt like hours, as Devin tried and failed, to lie still beside her. Every time he fidgeted, three or four thorns dug into her side, causing her to flinch away which sent a jolt of pain from her leg. A soft shaking beside her brought her out of her thoughts and she realised with a pang of guilt that Devin was crying, but was too scared to make a noise. She pulled him close and wrapped him in her arms, making soft hushing noises and kissing the top of his head, as silent tears ran down her cheeks. Eventually, giving in to both physical and mental exhaustion, they slept.

  She woke hours later to a gnawing agony in her leg and jerked violently away from it, stabbing herself with thorns as she did so. Cursing under her breath, she shook Devin awake, and they made their way out of the brambles. It was time to take control of the situation. Garrit hadn't returned so he was either dead or captured. Either way, they were on their own.

  With Devin in hand and half asleep, she hobbled back in the direction they had fled. It didn't take long to find Garrit. He lay close to one of the bandits, his body torn and broken, obviously dead. She made Devin stand behind a tree while she rummaged through the bodies, taking the long knife and a tinderbox. On a whim she took the bandit's hunting bow as well. The most important thing, was to attend to the wound in her leg. It had been left too long already.

  If she sat almost cross-legged with her skirts hitched up she could see where the arrow had ripped through the top of her thigh. The wound was already angry and inflamed. She took Garrit's knife and sliced and tore a strip from her skirts to bind her leg up as best she could.

  She found Devin curled up beside the tree, rocking back and forth slowly with tears running down his cheeks. Crouching she took him into her arms.

  “It'll be okay baby boy,” she whispered. “The bad men are gone now.” She held him for a time and eventually the tears subsided. At least he was crying now, she thought. Tears were better than being numb.

  “Devin, you know what a willow tree and birch tree look like, don't you?” she asked gently.

  “The bendy one with the long hair?” Devin asked.

  “That's the willow, yes. The birch is the one with the shiny bark,” Miriam smiled. “We need to find your Ma a willow or a birch tree so you keep a look out for me okay?”

  They wandered for the best part of two hours before Devin spotted a willow tree. Miriam hacked ineffectually at the trunk until she managed to slice enough off to get at the softer bark underneath. It tasted foul and bitter but she knew it would help with the pain of her leg somewhat. This was only half a remedy. She knew that lessening the pain of her wound would do little unless they managed to find some water to clean it with. The willow bark would ease a fever, but this wouldn't help if the wound were to go foul.

  Chewing on the bark lessened the pain, eventually, but the acrid taste was making her thirstier. The tall trees of the forest had blocked most of the rain, so the woods that had only been damp to begin with, were now almost completely dry. She kept them travelling downhill, in the hopes they would hit water. Common sense told her that any water must lay down the slope of the forest, and she had decided from the outset to travel away from the site of the ambush. The bandits had to live somewhere in these woods, and she had no intention of going anywhere near them again if she could help it. She felt reasonably confident that they were moving away from any encampment, since the bandits had come from the other side of the road, but still kept a wary eye behind them as they walked.

  It was late afternoon when they finally found a small stream, and she and Devin collapsed beside it, leaning out over the water to drink directly from the surface in long gasping gulps. She forced herself to sit up and look at her leg again. The blood had soaked through the makeshift bandage and dried on the back of her thigh. She sent Devin off to collect twigs and small sticks, and set about clearing an area for a fire, digging a hollow with a broken branch. Devin returned shortly with a double armful of twigs, and his fingers stained a dark purple red. He dropped the wood and opened his hands to reveal the half-squashed blackberries. His smile was like the sun coming up, and easily eclipsed the joy she felt at the prospect of food.

  They quickly devoured the berries and she sent him off for more, while she tried to start a fire. Garrit's tinderbox was well-stocked and before long she had a fire going. She knew she ought to boil water to make clean dressings for her leg, but of course, they had no pot to hold water in. In the end, she settled for ripping more strips from her rapidly shortening skirts, and sent Devin to soak them in the stream before holding them on sticks above the fire until they steamed. It wasn't perfect, and the first two she tried came away blackened with smoke and soot until she caught the trick of it.

  They stayed by the stream overnight, devouring the berries and some edible mushrooms. She mentally thanked her father for the trips they had made into the woods when she was a child. As she did, she realised it was the first time she had thought of him fondly in years.

  The mushrooms and berries were not enough to fill either of them, and she sent Devin off
again to collect acorns. Pounding them into a paste between two flat stones, she tasted it gingerly. Devin spat his out immediately and refused to try it again. She found that by mashing acorns into a pulp, and then baking it on the stones by the fire, it became slightly less disgusting. Even Devin managed to fight down a mouthful.

  “Don't like it cold, huh?” she teased. “My little squirrel boy needs his acorns baked.”

  Devin giggled at this, the first real smile or laugh she'd seen since the ambush, and she took it as a good sign. “Want to go and find me some more acorns and blackberries, little squirrel?” she asked, and Devin scampered off into the trees.

  By the end of the second day, it became obvious that they needed to move on. Devin needed real food, as did she. The main reason, she kept hidden from Devin. The flesh surrounding the wound in her leg was now a deep angry red and streaks were tracing down her leg. She knew enough about infection to know she needed to clean it, and she needed more than wet strips of her dress hung over the fire.

  ***

  Miriam awoke in the moonlight, soaked in a hot sweat. She stood on unsteady legs and staggered towards the stream, before plunging face first into the shallow water. The splash woke Devin, who helped her up from the water.

  “Do you hear the bells, darling?” she asked Devin brightly and smiled at his confused face.

  She leaned on him as she stood but then took his hand and led the way through the woods, weaving in and out of the moonlit trees, laughing in delight.

  The bells were tinkling lightly in her ears, calling her ever forward. Devin was following close behind, but she didn't think so much about the boy now. He would be fine. Everything was fine. She danced onwards through the trees, the pain in her leg gone, and her soaked dress seemed as light as gossamer.