We found Ilka, the mute whore, hiding among the thick bushes at the foot of the hill. Her face was bruised and an arrow was lodged in the muscles behind one shoulder-blade. The wound was not deep, and it seemed the shaft had struck her at an oblique angle. Jarek broke the arrow, but did not pull it clear. ‘It needs to be cut free,’ he said. ‘If we drag it out, she could bleed to death.’
The girl could hardly stand and so I lifted her into my arms and carried her into the ruined village. Bodies were everywhere — women, old men and children, scattered in death. Wulf was kneeling by his murdered family, cradling his yellow-haired daughter in his arms and weeping.
Jarek Mace walked to Megan’s house. It was undamaged and the old woman was sitting by her fire; she was unharmed. I carried Ilka inside, laying her on the wide bed, turning her to her side so that the broken arrow jutted upwards. Jarek Mace had run to the far wall, pulling open a hidden compartment. It was empty, and he cursed loudly.
‘What happened, Megan?’ I asked.
‘Soldiers from Ziraccu. There was no warning, they merely rode in and began the killing. There was no resistance.’
‘Why did they spare you?’
‘They did not see me,’ she said wearily, pushing herself to her feet and approaching the injured girl.
Jarek Mace stormed out of the hut. Once more I followed him. It was the first time I had seen him genuinely angry. I knew it had nothing to do with the slaughter of the villagers; he was furious because the soldiers had found his cache of stolen gold and jewels.
Running to the weeping hunchback, Jarek dragged him to his feet. ‘They had horses,’ he shouted. ‘That means they must keep to the road. We can cut them off by taking the hunting track.’
‘Leave me alone!’ screamed Wulf.
‘You will let them die unavenged?’ hissed Jarek Mace. The hunchback froze, his dark eyes gleaming. Then he took a deep, shuddering breath.
‘You are right, Mace. Let’s kill them all!’
I had no wish to remain in this village of the dead, and when the fourteen hunters loped off I followed them. It was a gruelling run, down through glens, up over hills, through dense undergrowth, finally crossing a wide, shallow river, wading to the far bank and the road to Ziraccu.
Wulf ran down to the road, kneeling to examine the tracks. ‘They’ve not yet passed,’ he told Mace. ‘See, this was their outward journey.’
How many?’
The hunchback moved back and forth along the road, studying the hoofprints. ‘Maybe thirty, perhaps less. But no more.’
Jarek called the men together, ordering six to take cover on the right of the road, seven on the left. ‘Do not let fly until I do,’ he commanded them.
‘What about me?’ I asked. ‘What should I do?’
‘Stay with me,’ he answered, then sat down at the side of the road with his longbow beside him.
‘How can we fight thirty?’ I asked him, as the fear started to gnaw at my belly.
‘You just keep killing until there’s none left,’ he answered grimly.
He was in no mood for conversation, so I sat in silence for a while watching the north, listening for the sound of hoofbeats.
‘Why did they kill everyone?’ I asked at last.
‘Azrek is encouraging immigrants from the south to settle here; they will pay good money for tracts of forest land. Wulf and the others were tenants of Count Leopold. They have no rights.’
‘They could have been ordered off. There was no need to kill.’
‘There is rarely any need to kill,’ he said, ‘but men still do it.’
‘As you are intending to now?’
‘They stole my gold,’ he hissed, as if that was answer enough.
We sat for perhaps an hour and then I heard them, the slow clopping of hooves upon the dirt road. My heart began hammering and my mouth went dry.
Jarek stood and notched an arrow to his bow before stepping out into the middle of the road. I could not seem to move my legs and I sat for a moment staring at him. He seemed so relaxed as he waited, his bow held by his side, a slight smile showing on his handsome face. Drawing my knife, I climbed unsteadily to my feet.
‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered, ‘and when the battle starts run back into the undergrowth. No horse will follow you there.’
Then they came in sight, more than twenty horsemen — the front three in full armour with plumed helmets upon their heads. Behind the trio were men-at-arms in breastplates and helms of leather, and bringing up the rear was a wagon loaded with booty.
‘Good day, gentlemen,’ called Jarek Mace.
CHAPTER FOUR
The knight riding at the centre of the trio, a huge man wearing a shining breastplate of silver and a helmet sporting a horse-hair plume, lifted his arm and halted the convoy. The visor of his helmet was raised and I could see a corn-yellow moustache and eyes the colour of a winter sky, grey and cold. Reining in the giant black stallion, he leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle and gazed upon the tall, lean form of Jarek Mace.
‘What do you want, fellow?’ he asked, his voice deep as distant thunder.
‘When you travel upon my road, sir knight, then you must pay my toll,’ Jarek answered.
‘A toll, is it?’ responded the knight, as laughter sounded from the riders behind him. ‘Tell me, fellow, how it is that you came to… own this road. For I was under the impression the forest was ruled by Count Azrek. He is — for the present — the Count of Ziraccu,’
Jarek told him. ‘I am the Lord of this Forest.’
‘And what might your name be, my lord?’ asked the knight.
‘Why, I am the Morningstar.’
The knight leaned back, removed his right gauntlet and opened a purse tied to the sword-belt at his waist. ‘And what will the toll cost us?’
‘All that you have,’ said Jarek.
‘Enough of this nonsense,’ snapped the knight. ‘I would have given you a silver penny for your impudence. Now step aside or feel the weight of my whip!’
‘Certainly, sir knight.’ Jarek moved to his right and then swung back — the longbow coming up, the string stretching, the notched shaft leaping from the bow. The knight swayed back as the arrow slashed by him to punch through the helmet of the young knight to his left. Without a sound the surprised victim slid from the saddle, pitching head-first to the ground.
Shafts flashed from both sides of the road, plunging into men and horses. The pain-maddened beasts reared, throwing their riders to the road. More arrows tore into the men-at-arms.
The two knights had both drawn their swords, but instead of entering the fray they spurred on their mounts towards Jarek Mace. The young bowman sprinted towards me, ducking just as a longsword hissed towards his head.
Instead of giving chase the knights galloped on towards Ziraccu. Jarek cursed and ran back into the road, notching a second arrow to his string. His arm came up and I watched him take aim and loose the shaft, which sang through the air and thudded into the back of the second knight. The man straightened in the saddle, then swayed, but clung on to the pommel as the horses moved out of range. Jarek turned.
The villagers had dropped their bows and charged the demoralized men-at-arms. Several of the enemy threw down their weapons and began pleading for mercy. There was none to be had, and they were all butchered.
It was not a pleasant sight.
At last Wulf the hunchback, covered in blood, approached where Jarek was sitting at the roadside.
‘My children are avenged,’ he said softly. ‘Thank you, Mace.’ Jarek merely nodded, but the hunchback remained where he was. ‘What do we do now?’ he asked.