A boot kicked him to his back and he stared up at the cold sun overhead. Another kick, to his ribs, and he could feel the snap of bone.
He was going to die here. He was going to die. There was no rush of knights moving in to save them, no one would be able to break through the surrounding crowds in time.
“Marl,” King Tollien’s voice was sharp, breaking the still and silence that Will had sunk into. He turned his head, looking toward the second black-haired man. Tollien’s face was full of disgust as he stepped over red painted cobbles. Red…Will’s stomach turned. His blood was smeared across the ground. “Put him up in the stocks. I have told the knights to do the same.”
Marl looked ready to protest before Tollien lowered his voice to a hiss that only Will could hear. “How do you think it looks to beat this boy to death in a town that doesn’t know what he’s done or who he is? We have matters to discuss anyhow so leave him with the guards. Let him bleed out, for all I care, but you can’t do this further if you want to stay in my court.”
Marl glanced around before shrugging. “Fine, Tollien. As you wish,” he grabbed the folds of his cloak and ran them over the blade of his sword. He crouched next to Will. The squire stared into the black eyes, filled with the hate that he felt. He couldn’t pull away. He could only stare back and wish that he had the strength to kill his father.
“You could never be a son of mine, boy,” Marl hissed, eyes flashing. “I should have killed you the day I first held you,” with that he stood, lifting his sword again to slide it into the sheath at his belt. Will saw the sun catch the hilt, the blue stone set there somehow familiar. In some part of his mind, he’d seen it. He tried to pull himself to his feet but his arms gave out and he hit the cobbles with a sharp intake of breath. Marl threw him a scathing look and walked away, Tollien turning to follow.
Arms hooked around Will’s shoulders, pulling him upright. Pain shot through his side, where his rib had taken the force of Marl’s kick, and he gasped, staggering. “Up we get, squire,” the man muttered. Will looked over his shoulder at the thin faced, brown-haired man, the same one that had been restraining Colin before. His brown eyes refused to meet Will’s as he half pushed, half carried, him forward. The man lowered him onto the rough wood of the stockade and Will didn’t struggle. It was nearly a relief to have a place on which to lean.
“Will…Will?” he looked to his left and saw Rowan and Colin both at his side. Both were bleeding; Rowan from a split lip and Colin a gash at his hairline. Blue and purple bruising lined Rowan’s jaw and one of Colin’s eyes was swelling shut.
“We have to…get out of here…” Will moaned, his knees buckling as he tried to adjust his weight in the stockade. Each breath he took was a hot knife of pain in his side. Around them, the soldiers were drifting away, following King Tollien and Marl into the tavern off the town square. The locals began to walk away as well, nervously glancing at the stockades and the two men who remained, silent guards, beside them.
It would have been easier, better, Will thought, if Marl had struck him again. Unconsciousness or death would at least have been a release from the throb and the sticky feel of his blood drying his clothing against his skin. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he glanced to his side, where Rowan and Colin stood, exhausted and restrained, and felt self-disgust and hatred for himself. How could he even consider leaving them in this situation without him?
“I’m joining them, Robin. If they try anything or if the villagers get too close, take a leaf out of Marl’s book and use the flat of the blade on them,” the last soldier said to the brown-haired young man.
Will watched the younger man nod, his face unreadable and drawn. The words of the other soldier seemed to sink into the few bystanders who remained and they began to move away, anxious looks thrown over their shoulders as they entered their houses.
Will sagged against the wood of the stockade, his body feeling heavy. He didn’t understand how they could get away from this. Even with their one guard, they couldn’t escape. He knew that getting on a horse with his broken rib would be borderline impossible and the other two would refuse to leave him. Even considering that relied on their ability to escape the locked wooden stocks.
“How old are you?”
He lifted his head, eyes squinting as the glare of the setting sun shone in them between two buildings. The brown-haired man was looking down at him, an eyebrow raised. “I’m twelve,” Will’s voice came out in a dry rasp.
The man’s jaw tightened. Will could see him considering words, his mouth opening then closing after a moment before he turned back to face the now empty streets. “I’d ask how old you are,” Will closed his eyes as he heard Rowan’s voice. It was the tone he always used when pushing his luck and he silently hoped that his friend wouldn’t say something stupid. “But I’ve learned it’s rude to ask a lady’s age,” and there it was. Will opened his eyes and braced himself, trying to see how he could break free, defend Rowan from his own smart mouth.
“Rowan!” Colin hissed and Will could see his other friend trying to turn his head and see the brown-haired man’s reaction.
To Will’s surprise, the young man snorted, shook his head, and tried to hide a smile as he turned his back to them. “I’m eighteen. I’m not far from being a knight myself.”
Rowan hissed like an angry cat, almost covering another sound. Will’s hair stood on end. He had heard someone or something behind them, where he couldn’t see. Where the man guarding them wasn’t watching.
The young man’s body stiffened and he started to turn. His movements were too slow as a form, clad in a black cloak, rushed forward between the stocks. Will had to bite back his cry of surprise as the Ranger seized the young man’s right arm before he could grab the sword at his belt. The Ranger’s other hand clamped over the other man’s mouth and he twisted the arm he held backwards and up, making the man’s brown eyes fill with pain.
“I will ask this once, and only once,” snarled the Ranger in a whisper. “Where are the keys for the stocks? Do you have them or do I need to plan a visit to the tavern for someone a little higher ranking?” he lifted his hand slightly from the man’s mouth, letting him gasp in a breath of air.
“My belt,” he panted, “the spare key is on my belt.”
“Smart boy,” the Ranger growled and shoved the young man to the ground, moving lightning fast to grab the key from his belt before he sprawled across the cobbles. Then the Ranger spun to the three squires. With the sun to his back, his face was invisible in shadows as he stepped toward Will. “What happened?”
“Marl.”
He didn’t get a chance to say more as the Ranger snarled, jamming the key into the lock and lifting the stockade arm long enough for Will to stagger backwards out of it. He rushed to the second two, releasing first Rowan, then Colin. Will looked toward the tavern, where Marl and the King of Thornten had gone. The shutters had been closed against the cold air but he still wondered; how long did they have until someone stepped out to check?
“We don’t have much time before,” the Ranger let out a grunt of pain and Will turned in time to see the hooded man wheel round, striking out with a boot into the stomach of the Thornten squire. The young man fell, his sword crashing against the cobble. The silence was broken by the deafening sound of steel on stone as the Ranger drew his own weapon, dark scarlet drops flying off his arm as he bore down on the Thornten squire.
Someone yelled as the door to the tavern flew open, crashing against the outer wall. Will saw Marl framed in the door, face contorted with hatred and fury.
“You! he snarled.
The hooded man stopped above the brown-haired one, turning his head slowly toward the tavern and Will’s father. Around them all, the air felt colder. It was as though time itself froze as the two men faced one another, separated by strides.
Marl broke the silence with another thunderous roar of fury, diving forward, sword raised.
“Rowan, Colin, get Will and go! There are
horses to the east of the square.”
“Ranger!” Will yelled.
“GO!” he shouted and launched forward, seeming to forget about the squire who lay at his feet as he ran at Marl.
“Come on!” Rowan’s hands were grabbing around Will’s uninjured right arm, forcing him to stand as the two blades crashed together.
Will and Rowan moved as quickly as they dared toward where Colin was already vanishing behind the building, toward the horses. Behind them, Will could hear others yelling, running from the tavern, and the clash of blade on blade.
When they reached the side of the building, he shook his spinning head at Rowan. “I can’t keep moving!”
“You have to!”
“Get the horses,” the world was spinning around him, again, too many times in one day. Will rested his forehead in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. Focus, he thought furiously. “Help Colin get the horses. Then get me,” he forced his eyes open and stared at Rowan’s pale face.
He could see his friend struggling between staying and leaving. His eyes moved from Will’s blue ones to the fight several yards away. The Ranger was fighting Marl and three others now; blood flecking the cobbles like dark raindrops. “He can’t hold them off long, but I won’t be long,” Rowan said as much to himself as to Will. “Stay right here! Yell if they start to head this way!” and he bolted down the narrow alleyway.
Will couldn’t draw his attention from the fight. The Ranger was outnumbered by far. Still, each time someone attempted to pass the fight, to rush toward the squires, he broke loose of the group he was battling and struck. His sword was a silver and scarlet streak as he spun, wrapping his cloak around his left hand and grabbing the blade of an opposing knight out of the man’s hand. His fighting was a mixture of the techniques that the knights always tried to drum into the squires’ heads, and the unorthodox strikes of a rogue.
The Ranger struck his hilt down on the arm of one of the men he fought, bringing his knee into the man’s face as he doubled forward. The man staggered, his body pushing into the Ranger’s side as he turned to face Marl again. Will felt his blood freeze in his veins as the Ranger stumbled, off-balance.
Marl let out a bark of triumph and lifted his sword over the Ranger, as he had over Will so recently in the same cobbled courtyard.
“RANGER!” Will’s voice broke as he yelled. It was useless, a warning cry that the hooded man didn’t need as he swung wildly up to block the blow. The Ranger’s smooth movements and swordsmanship were gone as he tried, desperately, to block strike after strike from Marl without losing his footing. Will was rooted to the spot, blind to anything but the battle before him. The other Thornten knights had stepped away, jeering at the Ranger’s struggle.
A sound behind Will caught his attention for a moment but he couldn’t look away as, at last, the Ranger placed a foot wrong, sprawling on the cobbles. His sword slithered away and Marl threw back his head in a mad laugh. The Ranger didn’t falter, diving for the dagger in his belt and pointing the short blade upwards at his attacker. “That dagger against a sword? Really? The years have made you dumb,” Marl lowered the tip of his sword to the Ranger’s throat. “The only thing I will regret about killing you is that you’ll miss the death of the boy,” Marl looked up, his eyes locking on Will’s as his smile grew, never reaching his eyes.
Will’s breath caught in his throat. Marl raised the sword, gripping it in both hands to strike downwards, to kill the Ranger. The sound behind Will was back, this time impossible to ignore. He turned in time to see the large black and white body of a horse charge out of the alleyway, straight toward the Ranger’s prone form and his attacker.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Marl dove out of the way as the horse leapt over the Ranger, straight toward him. Sir Ross’s face was a mask of fury. He swung his sword down toward Marl, who barely had time to raise his own in defense. The knights around Marl, stunned at first by Ross’s sudden appearance, were jumping forward into action now. Will caught a glimpse of the brown-haired young man as he ran toward the Ranger. The Ranger was already on his feet, however, and grabbed the Thornten’s squire’s arm as he made to strike. The Ranger twisted it, forcing the other man to release his weapon, and kicked him, hard, in the chest.
Ross was using his sword and the broad body of his horse with equal effectiveness, his horse striking at anyone who was in reach with his front hooves. Soon there were more hooves down the alleyway and Rockwood, Laster, and Miller were galloping into the fray. Miller and Marl were matching one another blow for blow, King Tollien had rushed from the tavern and had taken Marl’s place battling the Ranger.
“We have to go!” Will jumped, turning his head toward Rowan. He hadn’t heard his approach over the chaos of the fight at hand. Rowan was leading Naja and Visra while Colin sat behind him, already seated on Strider’s saddle.
“Right!” Will reached for Visra’s saddle. Pain shot along his side; blinding, white-hot, agony. He doubled over, clutching his side, gasping for air.
“Will,” he heard Colin’s voice nearby, felt a pair of hands grab him. “Will! Can you ride?”
He nodded his head, still doubled. “Rowan, help me get him on Strider. We can’t risk him riding alone.”
“What about Visra?” asked Rowan.
“Just leave him, he’s a horse. He’ll follow us out of here. We don’t have time! They will have backup soon!” Colin barked.
Will inhaled deeply and made himself straighten. Rowan and Colin were both beside him now, eyes full of worry. “Get your foot in the stirrup and we’ll lift you,” Rowan said, holding the iron steady. Colin supported him as he lifted his leg to the stirrup before both pushed him onto the horse. His ribs burned again; the broken bone ends sharply pressing against his skin from the inside. He leaned against the large red mane, gasping, and felt Colin swing into the saddle behind him.
“Let Vis go, Rowan! We’ve got to go!” Colin yelled. Will felt the other squire kick the horse’s side and Strider lunged forward. The movement jarred Will’s side and he screamed out, hot tears threatening his eyes as he squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be sick as he clung to the saddle, everything dark behind his closed lids.
He felt the horse lift, jumping something or someone, and braced himself. It wasn’t enough to prepare for the agony of reaching the ground again for a blinding moment. And then there was nothing.
***
Stiff. It was the first sensation Will was aware of. His body ached as he lay on his back. He heard low voices and the familiar popping of a fire fed with damp wood. He was exhausted but knew that he couldn’t slip into unconsciousness again just yet.
Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at the snow heavy grey night sky between branches. Someone had placed a cloak beneath his body so that the snow around him wouldn’t soak through his clothing. Another cloak was draped over him like a blanket. He turned his head toward the whispering, wincing as the muscles in his neck strained with the small movement.
Rowan and Colin were crouched across from one another in front of a small fire. The poor lighting made their injuries even worse; the dark shadows extending into bruising and their clothing torn and stained with blood. Their eyes, however, were bright and alert.
“You’re up,” Colin’s voice cracked as he tried to raise his voice in welcome to Will. “Glad to see that.”
Will smiled weakly and tried to sit up. The dull ache in his side throbbed and he winced, clutching at his ribs. Someone had wrapped his chest and, from the feel, packed it with snow. “Thank you, both,” he looked at his friend. Colin stood to help him and Rowan was feeding more sticks into the fire. “You could have died helping me get out of there.”
“We’d have been worse than dead leaving you,” Colin said darkly, as he bent and grabbed Will’s arm. With Colin’s help, Will staggered to his feet, grimacing. The snow on his side was taking away the sharpness but it wouldn’t last forever. They needed to get to the castle, where he didn’t have to move or ride.<
br />
“Why are we here?” Will asked, looking around the small clearing. The woods around them were thick, impossible to see through. “Actually, where is here?”
“This is our tavern for the night!” Rowan said, grandly waving an arm as if to show off the small space. “Over there, behind those trees, we have a fine stable. To the other side, we have an excellent set of outhouses, and here we have a cook fire with absolutely nothing to cook! And I am starving!”
Will’s stomach growled. “Thanks,” he said, dryly, as he sank into a seated position beside Rowan. “I wasn’t until you said that.”
“I am so generous,” Rowan beamed. “I didn’t want you to miss out on the starvation portion of our first night in the woods without knights! Irony, all this night and no knights.”
Will furrowed his brow, staring at Rowan. It was normal for him to be eccentric but something about his antics seemed forced. “What happened after we left?”
Rowan’s grin faltered for a moment and Will turned to Colin, eyes flashing. Colin held up his hands. “We don’t know what happened to the knights. We were riding for our lives. Staying would have put them in danger.”
Ranger of Kings (William of Alamore Series Book 1) Page 20