So when the first arrows flew from the trees, a soldier or two dropped. Most, even the less well trained, dove into the ditches on one side or the other. Both ditches held water, one up to a man’s knees, so the diving soldiers were neither dry, clean, nor comfortable in their refuge. Nor did all the archers keep their bowstrings dry.
But enough did so that they were able to beat down the enemy’s archery, picking off bowmen almost as fast as they showed themselves. A few minutes of this, and the enemy grew desperate enough to charge, even against more than thrice their number.
As they charged, so did Epron’s sergeant and his band. The enemy to the left of the road found themselves caught between two fires, driven onto wet ground where they could barely fight and not even hope to fleet, and they were subdued in moments. They could have been cut down to the last man where they stood, but Pirvan had given strict orders against needless killing. For the most part, he was obeyed. On the right, where Pirvan himself led, the fighting was more than a trifle sharper. Here were the village’s stouter hearts and more skilled sword arms, and Pirvan actually had to draw his sword to beat back one of two men who’d picked Haimya as an opponent.
The knight finally ended the affair by a feigned retreat, which drew the attackers out of the forest, across the ditch, and onto the trail. As they reached it, the rear guard came storming up at a run, drawing a band of steel around the villagers. They began to wave their bows, reversed and unstrung, and soon there was nothing left to do but bind the prisoners.
No, not altogether. It was in Pirvan’s mind to learn why the villagers had committed this particular folly. In spite of his orders against needless killing, of the fifty attackers some six were dead past healing, and Rubina found herself with burdensome work to do with many of the rest.
Pirvan sat on a stump before the oldest of the hale men and contemplated them. Then he motioned to the ground.
“Sit.”
“You have us in your power, Captain,” the man grumbled. “No need to be gracious.”
“On the contrary,” Pirvan said. “Great need, unless you are evil as well as foolish. Sit or stand as you wish, but tell me why you attacked us.”
It seemed that the village had heard, no doubt from a spy among the charcoal burners, that the mercenaries were marching to join Waydol. This meant they might ravage the country on the way. Also, if they were allowed to pass without resistance, the vengeance of Istar, in the form of one of Aurhinius’s captains and his riders, would sooner or later descend on the village.
“Then we’d lose as much as we lost today in blood, and more in treasure, women, and children, besides our honor. At least our blood today bought freedom from all that.”
Pirvan sighed. His own men had too little to spare of anything, save Rubina’s healing spells, to make up any of the village’s losses.
But there was parchment and an inkhorn in one of Pirvan’s pouches, and he could do something for the village with them. He drew them out, wrote swiftly, then called Haimya for wax. Into a blob of green sealing wax he pressed his ring with the sign of the crown on it, then folded the parchment and gave it to the villager.
“Take this to a keep of the Knights of Solamnia, as proof that a knight wishes you to be heard. They will listen, and I think you will have some justice, perhaps even more than you expect.”
The man looked dubiously at Pirvan. “It’s known about the country that the knights are not what they used to be.”
“The knights never were what the legends say, most of them. The gods know, I’m not. Do you know that I was once a thief in Istar, before the knights found more honest work for me?”
The villager now looked completely bemused. Pirvan stood and lifted the man to his feet. “So don’t kneel before me. Just lay that letter before the knights, and then judge how much we’re worth. You may find yourself surprised.”
“I’m already surprised, Sir-ah-?”
“Sir Pirvan.”
“Like I said, I don’t know what to make of all this. But maybe folk like you make the knights worth asking.”
By now, most of the wounded villagers had been healed enough to walk or to be carried on improvised litters of branches and cloaks. Pirvan stood by Haimya and watched the villagers move out of sight, then turned to Birak Epron.
“Rally the men, put the crippled and dead on litters, and let us be out of here. I want to be well out of the forest before nightfall.”
* * * * *
Being out of the forest before nightfall proved impossible. Strips and patches of woodlands wandered all over what, from the ridge, had seemed open country. Pirvan would have sworn that some of the trees were following them about.
They finally made camp in an easily defended field with woodlands on one side and a clear stream on the other. The light tents went up, the wounded were laid in them under Rubina’s charge, and a party went off to bury the two dead.
Pirvan leaned back against a stout maple and took off his boots. He had neither removed nor dried them since the battle, and raw red strips around his calves told him that he had been less than wise. He was pulling off his socks and luxuriating in the feeling of grass against bare feet when a shadow moved in the darkness.
He was reaching for his sword when the shadow moved again and turned into a silhouette outlined by the campfires.
“Good evening, my lady Rubina.”
“Good evening, Sir Pirvan. I sense a need in you for healing.”
“Nothing that fresh air won’t cure without you needing to exert yourself.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. At least let me look at it, lest it grow so serious that I must weary myself further in healing it.”
“True. You have done honorably and well, and it would be ill-done to ask of you more than you can give.”
“I am known for my generosity, but thank you anyway,” Rubina said. Pirvan caught the double meaning, but knew that the best way to keep Rubina from going on in such a manner was to be silent.
It was hard for him to remain silent for long, however, once Rubina’s long, supple fingers began playing around his chafed calves. Little sighs of contentment escaped him, though at least she did not insist that he remove his breeches.
Unfortunately, it did not seem to matter much to Rubina’s subtle love spells what a man was wearing. By the time Pirvan felt a burning desire to pull Rubina down into his lap and kiss her, he knew he had to get away.
He lurched to his feet, conscious that anyone looking at him could tell that desire was in him, and Rubina stood also. She pressed against him so that it was plain that she wore little under her soldier’s clothes, then raised a hand to brush his cheek and lips.
Then she laughed-for once not a mocking laugh, but one in which real tenderness glowed-and kissed Pirvan on the chin. “I-well, you know what I wanted, and I know your thoughts. But because I know your thoughts, I also know that-I do not need that power over you, Sir Pirvan. Nor would I gain it by coming between you and your lady.
“You have something very rare, the two of you. I think it has a power to protect you both. If ever I could work a spell for you, it would be to bring out that power.”
Rubina kissed Pirvan again and strode off, with a hip-swaying motion that spoke plainly of her own desire and a firm intent to satisfy it. Pirvan stood against the tree for a moment, rubbing the places where the Black Robe had kissed him. Not to cleanse himself of some impurity, but simply to help himself believe what had happened.
Eventually Pirvan decided that the traditional remedy of cold water might serve. He walked upstream from the camp, beyond the sentry line, and in a secluded clump of bushes by a quiet pool stripped off his clothes and plunged into the water.
It was invigorating, soothing, cleansing, and much else, all at once. Pirvan was luxuriating in the water’s embrace as he never could have done in Rubina’s, when a splash too large for any fish sounded close by him.