Talon did not even glance at them. He notched an arrow and slipped into the denser undergrowth heading back the way he had come. He saw in the distance first one figure and then another; they were close together, trotting along, looking for a sign of him and Max. They were agitated and didn’t seem to care how much noise they made. It was as though they were quite confident they would catch up with them. He hid behind a tree and waited. They were scruffy, tough-looking men who he guessed had been hired by Guillabert or Marcel to kill them. Hired mercenaries abounded in the country; all the wars, including the crusades, had spawned many an unemployed soldier.
They wore quilted jackets with tight-fitting rings across the shoulders and a small breast plate hung by a leather thong. Their helmets were matching, wide-brimmed, and made of thin iron, somehow making them look as though they had huge heads.
He watched them, his bow drawn tight. They were peering about looking for him and striding along the loamy forest floor until they were only twenty yards away. He shot the rear man in the throat. As the arrow whirred past the man in front, he was so startled that he loosed his crossbow wildly, giving a shout of surprise. It was the last thing he did as another arrow took him in the midriff. He sat down abruptly and then fell back with a groan of agony. Talon stepped forward and cut his throat before he could scream and let the rest know what had happened.
He dragged the two corpses out of sight into some denser undergrowth, hiding them with damp leaves. Then, picking up his bow and one of the crossbows, including some bolts, he slipped through the forest to the encampment. He circled around and came upon the encampment from another direction and saw the four remaining men standing by the fire, looking in the general direction that their companions had taken when they left.
He searched for Anwl and found him unexpectedly close. Talon peered through the trees to try to determine if the body hanging on the ropes was alive. There was no motion at all. Talon’s anger increased. He would make these men pay for what they had done to Philip and Anwl, and then he would go hunting for Guillabert.
It was getting darker; the sun had set and the forest was becoming gloomy as the light faded. The men at the fire were having a loud argument about what to do next. He could just understand their thick accents as they debated whether to go find out what was keeping their companions, or to stay put and await events. They finally agreed to stay put as one pointed out they were to await the arrival of the Master, although they were very concerned that the prisoners had escaped. It was getting too dark to blunder about, they assured themselves, so they settled down to enjoy the fire.
Talon decided to move over and see if Anwl was alive. He made it to the point where he was right behind his companion. There he whispered to him. “Anwl, do you hear me?” He thought he heard a sigh. “It is Talon. Be patient; I shall get you out of here, but I have to deal with these men first.”
There was no answer. Then Talon noticed that one of the men had stood up and was coming directly toward the tree Anwl was tied to. He realized that the man might be coming to finish Anwl off so he made ready. He was right; the man drew his long dagger as he came up, obviously ready to stab the remaining life out of Anwl.
The man got no farther than to start the strike before Talon was there. His dagger was in his left hand as he stepped around the tree and walked into the man’s unprotected side. He felt a brief resistance as it slid through the fabric of the quilted jacket and then it was deep into the man’ chest. The man gasped with shock and surprise, opened his mouth to scream his agony but Talon’s right hand slapped over his wide open mouth, smothering any noise. The man jerked and flailed, but he died. Talon eased him back onto the damp ground and then watched for any sign of alarm from the other three.
He slashed Anwl’s bonds, seeing with shock that the man’s right hand was missing. He lifted the limp body over his shoulder and stepped out of the light thrown by the fire. Still no sound, so he moved quietly deeper into the woods until he was sure he could lay Anwl down without being detected. He listened for Anwl’s breathing and a pulse. It was very low and Anwl barely breathed. Talon noticed many wounds and he noted that the stump of Anwl’s forearm was still bleeding. These men had known he was a bowman and had taken his living from him. Talon hastily tore off a strip of his tunic and bound the wound tightly to stop the flow of blood, but it quickly became reddened as the blood continued to seep through. He had no time left.
He had to deal with the others. Before he could move back toward them he heard a shout and realized that they had found their companion. He slipped quietly back around to the other side of the area from where he had released Anwl and found a good vantage point to observe them.
Now they were very agitated. There was fear on their faces as they stared around them at the darkening woods. They had not anticipated this and were now afraid. The dead companion told them that their other companions were probably dead, too. They talked about this and then decided to abandon the fire and head for the road and the dubious safety of the village not too far along toward Albi. One thing was certain, they did not want to stay in these woods a moment longer.
“I will not wait for Master Marcel while there is one of them out killing us,” one said loudly. The others obviously agreed.
They hurriedly went toward the fire to pick up their equipment. As they did Talon stepped out in front of them and shot one of them right in front of the fire with the crossbow. The twang of the bow string was loud in the otherwise silent woods. The man fell forward into the fire with a scream, causing a shower of sparks to fly into the air. His grease-stained quilted jacket quickly caught fire and within seconds he was a flaming torch. His screams resounded though the forest, but then choked off as he died.
The other two after the briefest moment turned and ran for their lives. Talon sped after them keeping pace with the terrified men as they fled. He came very close to the rear man, then stopped and calmly took aim. Even in the darkening forest he could see clearly enough to shoot well. The man fell with a shriek, clawing at his back, but Talon’s aim had been true. Within a few long seconds that man, too, was dead.
Wasting no time Talon jogged after the last man. It was quiet as he moved silently listening for any sound that might give the direction the man had fled. Too quiet, thought Talon as he slowed. He was right; the man leapt out at him from behind a tree like some dark creature of the night. Talon side stepped the savagely slashing blade of the long dagger and skipped out of range. He drew his own dagger, a much shorter one; his other blades had been confiscated. They were now facing each other in the deepening gloom. It was a bad time to be fighting with blades. It would be too easy to have an accident simply because one could not see clearly.
Talon decided to taunt his opponent. “I did not expect a coward like you to stay around. Now you have made my work easier. Who sent you? Do you realize that you will surely go to hell for the murder of a Knight Templar? He was a man in God’s service.”
The man grunted, his breath coming out sharply. “The idiot missed you and killed the knight. We did not intend to kill him. Just you.”
“Well, you killed my uncle regardless, and you have failed to kill me. Now I am going to send you to join your companions in hell where they are waiting for you,” Talon said with a deadly calm. His rage was white hot, but he controlled it with an iron grip.
“Maybe not,” the man replied, and with a curse he attacked as Talon had hoped he would, his knife held high. But he was experienced, too. He stopped just before he committed himself, flicked the knife into his left hand and thrust it straight at Talon.
In the dark, Talon could only just parry the blade, but he had underestimated its length; the point slashed through his doublet and cut him across the ribs on his right side. He barely felt the pain; he was concentrating on his own objective. It was easy to slip inside his opponent’s guard while they were so close and plunge his own knife deep into the man’s midriff and then push up, while blocking the next stab from the long
knife. Talon held the man upright for several seconds as he choked on his own blood and died, staring up into Talon’s face. Finally, he let the body drop, wiped his blade on the man’s jerkin then turned and made his way back to where he had left Anwl.
He was too late. There was no life left in his companion. Talon let his anger wash over him for a long moment as he kneeled by his companion. Then, tears streaming down his face, he stooped and picked up the Welshman. It surprised him how light his burden seemed. He paused at the fire to take one of the bodies and prop it standing against a tree nearby, held up by a long dagger through its chest run deep into the wood of the tree. It would be a gruesome message to whoever came to find them. Then he recovered his sword, along with the other weapons belonging to his friends.
He carried Anwl to the road. He was met by a badly unsettled Max at the edge of the forest where he had been waiting with Jabbar. He had eventually found Philip lying in the ditch with their dead groom. He had also found two horses of the other three. He told Talon that he had heard a scream in the forest; but after that, nothing and had prayed that Talon had survived. As he confessed to Talon, he could not be sure; the odds had been so great.
“Did you kill them all?” he asked incredulously.
Talon merely nodded. “Max, we have to get Philip, the groom, and Anwl back home, but we cannot stay on the road. I heard that Marcel and his men will be along at any time. We shall have to go by the fields. How is your wound?”
“It hurts no mistake, Sir Talon, but I have staunched the blood and I can make it.”
It took several tries to get Philip onto his horse. He was a heavy weight but they managed to tie him down, and then they put Anwl on the same horse. It objected to the smell of blood, but Talon was able to calm it so that they could do the gristly work.
They were only just in time. As they left the roadway Talon heard horses coming down the main track in the distance. There seemed to be many. As he and Max were in no condition to put up any kind of a fight, he led the way across a field and into another copse of wood. From there they could remain concealed and then make their way the remaining distance through the night to the fort.
They arrived late that night at the closed gates of the fort to be greeted by Ap-Maddock, who called down in the dark for them to identify themselves or be shot.
Talon called back hoarsely, for he was tired and very thirsty. “Ap-Maddock, it is I, Talon. We need help.”
“M’lord Talon! Wait, I shall have the gates open,” Ap-Maddock called out.
There was consternation on the walls and men began to rush about. Torches were lit and cast a flickering, smoky light along the battlements.
“Talon,” called a voice. He recognized Gareth. “What happened, Bach?”
The gates creaked open and men ran out into the darkness to surround the exhausted men. They gasped with shock at what they found. In the light of the flaming torches that they held high the tragedy was clear to see. They came running up to Talon, all shouting and calling to him at once. He sat still on Jabbar and looked down at Gareth.
“Where is my father, Gareth? I have to tell him.”
“I am here, Talon,” Sir Hughes said. He came through the gates, belting a sword around his tunic. Then he stopped dead in his tracks. There was no mistaking Philip and Anwl’s bodies lying across the horse Talon held.
“Ah, dear God, no!” he groaned. He placed a hand over his eyes as though to blot out the sight and staggered. “What happened, my son?” he asked in a low voice when he had recovered his composure.
The men led the horses into the yard where more people came to witness the tragedy. The flames of the torches cast a reddish light on men and horses, flickering shadows against walls as they moved about.
Talon slid off Jabbar and stood shakily in front of his father and an angry, shocked assembly of men who demanded to know who had done the murders.
“Someone must take care of Max. He is wounded and has lost a lot of blood,” Talon said loudly and firmly. After he had seen some men help Max off his horse and take him to the hall to have his wounds dressed, hespoke.
“Father, please find me something to drink and I shall tell you what happened. Gareth, I am sorry about Anwl; I tried to save him but he was too far gone by the time I managed to get to him.”
Gareth reached forward and gripped his arm hard; there were tears in his eyes. “Of one thing I am sure, Talon. You have done all you could for him. May his soul go straight to heaven and the Good God forgive his sins.”
Men crossed themselves quietly all about. Sir Hughes led the way grimly into the hall after first giving instructions that the bodies were to be laid out and washed that very evening. He called to the womenfolk to perform the work and then to lay them out on tables in the hall for mourning the next day.
His rage and grief was like a huge cloud all around him as he gave Talon a drink of much needed water and sat him down. Marguerite came with Aicelina, their appalled faces showing him that they already knew. His mother embraced Talon, weeping. Aicelina, white-faced, laid a hand on his hunched shoulders and whispered something, and then they were gone to do women’s work for the dead.
“Now, Talon, tell me who did this foul deed. I wish to know upon whom I should wreak vengeance for my brother’s death,” Sir Hughes grated out.
Talon told the assembled company what had happened in brief sentences. He finished with the statement, “I killed the men who murdered Uncle Philip, Father; but before I did I found out who had ordered it. They did not mean to kill him. They wanted to kill me. Nonetheless they did, and for that Sir Guillabert and his son Marcel will die.”
There were angry shouts in at least three differing dialects and languages. The Welshmen were incensed at the death of their companion, and along with many others in the hall wanted to rush off immediately and storm the castle of Sir Guillabert. None noticed a dark shadow that slipped out of the hall and, keeping to the shadows, disappeared through the still open gates into the nearby woods. Sir Hughes might have been raging with grief and anger at what had happened to his brother but his characteristic level head prevailed.
“How long ago did you leave the forest, Talon?”
“At least three hours, Father.” He knew where his father was taking this. “They will have found the dead men and will have had time to return and prepare for retaliation. We made very slow time back here. I had to avoid the road most of the way.”
Sir Hughes nodded his agreement. They thought alike.
“Men!” he roared over the hubbub, “Listen to me! We shall not leave tonight for a fool’s errand in the dark and perhaps worse. If they are expecting us then it will be to their advantage, not ours. Go to your beds and rest, we will plan tomorrow what shall be done about this murder. We shall be avenged one way or the other; but on our own terms, not theirs, and not tonight.”
The men grumbled, but cooler heads such as Gareth and some among the retainers prevailed. Soon Talon was left alone with his father and Gareth, who he asked to stay.
“Just as I mourn my uncle who was in God’s service, so do I mourn your companion and mine, Gareth. We shall be avenged for this cowardly deed—and soon. As God is my witness, it shall be soon.”
Gareth gave a broken smile. “I have come to know both you, Talon, and you, Sir Hughes. I trust you as I have few other men. I and my men will be ready when the time comes.” They embraced, and then Gareth left them alone.
Then and only then, the two men, father and son, wept for Sir Philip. Talon had never heard his father weep before, but he cried, too. He had been very fond of the big, kindly man who had given him his knighthood. He told his father about the event and Sir Hughes embraced him tearfully.
“I was hoping that something like this might happen.” He sniffed, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “Sir Philip was determined to have you recognized for your part in the battle at sea. God bless his soul. I must have that poor sample of a priest come and say the burial prayers tomorrow.”
> Talon bade his father goodnight and sought out his bed. He met Guillaume on the way. The boy was cold and frightened. “Have they killed Uncle Philip?” he asked nervously.
Despite his tiredness Talon squatted next to the boy and took him into an embrace. “Yes, little brother, they murdered him.”
“Did you kill anyone this time?” Guillaume mumbled into his shoulder.
Talon nodded bleakly; he felt miserable and bone-tired. “Have courage, brother. All will be well again, although we shall miss Uncle Philip very much.”
Guillaume nodded as though he understood.
Talon felt a touch on the shoulder. He stood up, still holding onto Guillaume’s hand, and turned to find Aicelina standing nearby, her face wet from tears.
“Guillaume, my dear, your brother is very tired. You should go to bed now and we can talk about it in the morning.”
Guillaume was going to protest but Talon gave his hand a squeeze and nodded to endorse the command. He hung his head and gave in. Talon stooped and gave his brother a kiss on the head then stood up and watched Guillaume shuffle off to his bed with Aicelina herding him. She glanced over her shoulder at him just before they disappeared.
He collapsed fully clothed on his bed and went to sleep like the dead. He did not hear Aicelina come to him later, holding a candle on high to look down on him, but awakened, startled when she began to pull his boots off. She stepped back at the suddenness of his reaction. He fell back with a groan. He was reminded of the wound he had incurred. He allowed her to pull his boots off then half helped her as she undressed him.
She gasped at the blood all across his stomach and hurried off to get warm water and bandages to repair the slash on his ribs. Despite the sting of the water her gentle ministrations lulled him back to a restless sleep. Before she had finished he was out completely. She shook her head at the nasty bump on his head and placed a cool cloth on the wound.
Knight Assassin Page 37