Got to get away. Just ride off. He smelled the choking reek of burning thatch.
The brigands will take the kids. They won't bother chasing me. He heard his mother's screams.
The boy and girl won't be killed. He glimpsed his father's bloodied legs sprawled outside the doorway.
They'll just grow up without parents, without lives. Like me. Inside Rin's mind, something broke free, stood up on its hind legs, and snarled.
No, by the Nine Hells, they will not!
"Hand him up!" He told Natli as he reached down. "Then get up behind me. Move!" As Rin hauled Valon up, an arrow hissed past his face. The mare jerked and danced, but Rin kept a taut rein and turned her to face downhill. He glanced back. The slow brigand at the hill's crest fumbled another arrow onto his bowstring. His two ugly partners were running downhill, the first well ahead of the second, closing fast. If Rin could get the girl up quickly, they should make it. Even the three of them would load the horse little more than a large man, and Rin had past experience running from angry people.
He shifted the reins and settled Valon with his right hand, and leaned down to help Natli up with his left. Another arrow whistled past the mare's eyes and nose. Frightened from the first arrow and the smell of fear, the mare's neighing sounded like a child's scream. She reared.
Rin fell with Valon atop him, the toy horse still in the boy's fist. The packed earth of the path was better than rock, but landing still hurt. The mare ran headlong back downhill, away from them all.
Rin had survived enough street fights to know you checked hurts only after getting clear. He untangled himself from Valon and lurched to his feet, cursing himself for choosing now, of all times, to be good and stupid. He put himself between the children and the oncoming brigands and hauled out his sword.
"Run," he said grimly, and faced his attackers.
The first outlaw, a big man with scarred face and matted hair, reached him and swung. Rin ducked a side cut to his head and jumped back to avoid the return slash to his stomach. No, they weren't awed by the uniform. He had to attack before the second thug reached him.
Rin put all his strength and speed into an overhand cut at his opponent's head. The man shifted fast and blocked the blow solidly. Rin's cheap show blade twisted and folded over the outlaw's tarnished steel.
Rin had one dismayed glimpse of the blade's right-angle bend before a kick caught him at the top of his stomach, just under the breastbone. It knocked him back to land butt-first, the air driven from his lungs, feeling like he'd never take another breath. Which was likely correct. He didn't know where his sword was, but it wasn't in his hand.
The second outlaw, a short man in dirty, gaudy clothes, arrived on the scene and looked down on Rin, who was making raspy, squeaking noises that were a poor substitute for breathing. The outlaw grunted, and grinned.
"Huh! I'd heard them Whiteshirts was pretty tough in a fight."
"I always thought these heroes was overrated." The big brigand leered and stepped up to Rin, raising his sword. "G'night, Whiteshirt."
A short figure in homespun rushed in, and the head of Valon's toy horse was a white blur as it swung. The solid wooden horsehead whacked the outlaw's knee, and he bellowed and swore. The blow had to hurt, even if it didn't really injure. The big man spun and caught Valon by the back of his tunic, lifting the boy flailing and kicking. Attention off him for the moment, Rin still gasped vainly for air as he clawed at his boot top.
"Bugger! This one's too much trouble. We ain't takin' him back!" The outlaw hefted Valon up as if serving a game of shuttle cock, but the arm he cocked back held a sword instead of a paddle.
Rin's knife flickered silver as it flew and turned. It made a muffled thack as it hit the outlaw in the back of his thigh, just above the knee.
He dropped both Valon and his sword and went down, holding his leg and cursing. The second outlaw moved grimly at Rin, his sword raised to strike, his other hand up shielding against the stones Natli threw at him. The first stone had drawn blood on his cheek. The second missed, and then Natli was out of stones. There was still no sign of the third, slower brigand.
"Aughh! Damnit!" The downed outlaw continued cursing from where he lay, gripping his injured leg. "Forget captives! Kill 'em all!"
Rin's lungs still wouldn't cooperate. He tried feebly to get to his feet, but the sword was up and Rin could see his death. He closed his eyes.
There was a hissing, a loud chunk, and a louder scream. Rin's eyes flew open to see an arrow standing out of the man's sword arm. He'd dropped his sword, and wasn't looking at Rin. On the downhill trail a rider pelted up toward them on a mount so white it hurt the eye. Behind him, an identically mounted figure fitted another arrow to bowstring.
The outlaw turned and sprinted back up the hill, the arrow still in his bleeding arm. His downed comrade tried to drag himself up and run, cursing and gasping, but fell after two clumsy, limping steps.
The running outlaw sped up the hill, but now men in steel caps and leather armor filled the roadway, seeming to rise up from the hill's crest. Long blue shields locked edge to edge, and spears leveled over the rims. The running brigand turned without breaking stride and plunged into the woods.
Muffled commands were shouted as the Militia broke ranks, some chasing the running outlaw, others coming down to seize the other who was still trying to drag himself into the brush. A few mounted Militiamen rode into sight at the hill's crest, holding the horses of their dismounted comrades. The horses, like some of their riders, appeared past their prime.
Rin, on hands and knees, looked back again at the two white-clad figures now riding abreast toward him. Nice shot, he thought. His lungs worked, but he was in no shape to run, even after Valon and Natli helped him up. His next thought, after seeing the two riders' mounts close up was, how could anyone ever mistake them for just horses? It wasn't just the sheen of their coats, the rippling muscles beneath, or their regal, easy grace. The blue eyes had intelligence behind them, and more.
The Heralds were an older man and a tall, dark-haired young woman. The woman still had an arrow on her bowstring, and a look for Rin that said she knew exactly where she wanted to put it. Rin noted that she and he were about the same size, and had an uneasy suspicion she was the original owner of his stolen Whites. The man was muscular looking, with a close-cropped beard and hair shot with gray.
He looked first at the children.
"Are you injured? Did those men hurt you?" His voice was a soothing baritone.
"They wanted to!" blurted Natli. "But we fought 'em!" She looked at Rin, then back up to the Herald. "Well, we helped Herald Rincent fight 'em."
"So we saw, from about the time this young man," a nod to Valon, "ordered that fierce Companion of his to defend...uh...Herald Rincent. I think you have a solid career if you ever join the Guard, lad."
Valon had retrieved his hobbyhorse. Its ear was broken off.
"Unh-unh." The boy shook his head solemnly as he looked up. "Don't wanna be a soljer...I'm gonna be a Herald."
The older Herald grinned broadly. Even the grim-faced young woman smiled.
"That might also be possible," responded the Herald. He turned to the woman. "We'd best split up to help the Militia." The woman nodded, never taking her eyes off Rin. The older Herald dismounted in the usual way, but the woman pulled her left foot free of the stirrup, raised her right leg over saddle pommel and her mount's neck, and slid smoothly to the ground. Her hands never left bow grip or arrow nock.