“Ought to leave ’em, then. No good will come of taking ’em.” That was an older fellow, short, tending toward fat, with a big nose. The third man, a thickly built redhead, seemed to have no opinion. The fourth clearly had one, but he couldn’t express it, bound and gagged as he was.
This last fellow appeared to be no more than sixteen and had the look of a townsman about him in his impractical doublet and hose. His wrists were tied in front of him and then tethered to an old yellow mare. They had two other horses, a bay gelding and a sorrel mare.
The redhead was watching the woods. He had looked twice at Aspar where he crouched in a brake of ferns, but gave no indication of having seen him.
“A kingsman wouldn’t just abandon his horses,” Gangly argued. “He’s either dead or these have run away. See? They izn’ tethered.”
“You don’t have to tether horses like that,” Big Nose replied. “He’s probably just off taking a piss.”
“He went a long way, then,” the redhead grunted. “He did’n want his horses to see ’im piss?”
Aspar had never seen these fellows, but he was pretty certain he knew who they were; the three fit the description of some bandits lately come down from Wisgarth to worry at the occasional traders on the King’s Road. He’d planned to hunt them down in the summer, when he had enough men.
He waited to see what they would do. If they didn’t take his horses, he’d just follow them for a while. In fact, maybe he had already found his killers; Gangly wore a bloodred cloak trimmed in umber. Those were close to the king’s crimson and gold.
“We take ’em,” Gangly said. “I say we take ’em. Even if he’s here someplace, we can put a day between us easy with all of this horseflesh and him afoot.” He started forward, toward Ogre. “Easy, you nag.”
Aspar sighed, and fitted an arrow to his string. He couldn’t afford to be generous with these three.
Ogre did the first part of his work for him, of course. As soon as Gangly was close, the great beast reared and dealt him a thunderous blow in the chest with his hooves. By the time Gangly hit the ground, Big Nose was staring at the arrow sprouting from his thigh.
Redhead was faster than Aspar anticipated, and keener of eye. Aspar got a shot off first, but he was still shaky from whatever had sickened him near the creek. He missed, and Redhead’s bow sang out. The holter saw the arrow spinning toward him dead-on, deceptively slow, a trick of the mind. He could never move in time.
But the missile struck the tendril of a grapevine, glanced wide, and chuckled past his cheek.
“Raver!” Aspar swore. That had been close.
He bolted into motion, and so did Redhead, both fitting arrows to their bows, weaving through the trees. Redhead had the high ground. He was light of foot and a damned good shot. The two men ran parallel to each other, though their paths were gradually converging.
At fifteen yards Redhead took his second shot. It hit Aspar high in the chest and glanced from the leather cuirass beneath. Aspar missed his next shot, and then they were separated by a copse of new growth too dense to see through.
They came out six yards from each other, in a clearing. As-par stopped, stood profile, and let his shaft fly.
Redhead’s dart whirred by, missing by nearly a foot. As-par’s yard nailed through Redhead’s right shoulder.
The man shrieked as if he had been disemboweled, and dropped his bow. Aspar reached him with five quick strides. The fellow was going for his dirk, but Aspar kicked his arm, hard, just at the elbow.
“Lie still and live,” he grunted.
Redhead shrieked again when Aspar yanked both his injured and his good arm behind his back, cut the sinew cord from the discarded bow, and tied him up. With a long cord in his side bag he fashioned a noose to slip over Redhead’s throat.
“Walk ahead,” he commanded, still warily searching the surroundings for more enemies.
Gangly was still down when they reached the horses, and Ogre wasn’t finished with him yet; the bay’s foreparts rose and fell, and he was bloody to the withers. Big Nose was lying on the ground, staring at the scarlet pooling there.
About the time they reached them, Redhead’s legs gave out and he collapsed, eyes closed and breath coming in harsh wheezes.
Aspar cut up the reins from the yellow mare and trussed Big Nose. Gangly he didn’t bother with; his ribs had been splintered into his lungs and he’d choked on his own blood.
During all of this, the boy on the horse had been making all manner of gruntings and muffled squeals. It wasn’t until he was sure the bandits were secure that Aspar turned his attention to him, pulling the gag down.
“Ih thanka thuh, mean froa,” the boy began, in breathless and somewhat clumsy Almannish. “Mikel thanks. Ya Ih bida thuh, unbindan mih.”
“I speak the king’s tongue,” Aspar grunted, though he understood the boy plainly enough.
“Oh,” the fellow replied. “So do I. I just thought you must be from hereabouts.”
“I am. And not being stupid, I learned the king’s tongue, just like everyone in his service,” Aspar replied, unaccountably annoyed. “Besides, Virgenya is just through the mountains, so Virgenyan is as common in these parts as anything else.”
“My apologies. No offense intended. What I meant to say was thank you, thank you very much, and could you untie my hands, as well?”
Aspar glanced at the knot. It wasn’t complicated. “Probably,” he said.
“Well? Aren’t you going to?”
“Why did they have you tied up?”
“So I wouldn’t run away. They robbed me and took me prisoner. You probably saved my life.”
“Probably.”
“For which, as I said, I’m grateful.”
“Why?”
The fellow blinked. “Well—ah—because I feel I have much left to do in my life, much of value—”
“No,” Aspar said, talking slowly as if to a child. “Why did they take you prisoner after they robbed you?”
“I suppose they thought to ransom me.”
“Why would they suppose that was worthwhile?”
“Because, I—” The boy stopped, suspicious. “You’re like them, aren’t you? You’re just another bandit. That’s why you won’t cut me loose. You think you can get something from me, too.”
“Boy,” Aspar said, “don’t you recognize by my colors and badges that I’m the king’s holter? Yah, well, that’s one sort of stupid. But insulting an armed man when you’re tied up, that’s another.”
“You’re the holter?”
“I’m not given to lying.”
“But I don’t know you. How do I know that? You could have killed the real holter and taken his things.”
Aspar felt a smile try to quirk his lips. He resisted it. “Well, that’s a point,” he allowed. “But I’m the kingsman, and I’m not planning to sell you for your pelt or anything else. Who are you?”
The boy pulled himself straighter. “I’m Stephen Darige. Of the Cape Chavel Dariges.”
“Indeed? I hayt Aspar White of the Aspar White Whites. What business have you in the King’s Forest, Cape Chavel Darige? Lost your carriage?”
“Oh, very good,” the lad said sarcastically. “A very clever rhyme. I’m traveling the King’s Road, of course, which is free to all.”
“Not if you’re a merchant, it isn’t. There’s a toll.”
“My father is a merchant, but I’m not. I’m on the way to the monastery d’Ef, or was when these ruffians took me. I’m to be a novice there.”
Aspar regarded him for a moment, then pulled his dirk and cut the young man’s bonds.
“Thank you,” Stephen said, rubbing his wrists. “What changed your mind? Are you a devout man?”
“No.” He gestured at the fallen men. “Priest, eh? You know any leeching?”
“I’ve been at the college in Ralegh. I can bind wounds and set bones.”
“Show me, then. Get the arrows out of those two and make it so at least one of ’em doesn’t bleed to death. I need to talk to ’em.” He swept his hand around. “Are there any more of these fellows, or is this the whole gang-along?”