The agonized scream that pierced the hazy somnolence of the afternoon was muffled in the thick carpeting of needles under the pine trees. Geran reined his horse to a halt, listening, his heart pounding. The scream came again. Animal or human, he could not tell, but it was close. He swung easily from the saddle of his gelding, tying it quickly to a convenient branch. He eased the short sword in the scabbard at his side, then strung the longbow that had been slung over his shoulder.
With an arrow nocked he eased his way between the trees until he could see the trail ahead. He moved cautiously, careful where he placed his feet, easing forward. He stopped as movement caught his eye. A roughly-dressed figure, coarse-featured, had stood upright for a moment, then bent again. Geran eased forward, soft, silent, then drew in his breath.
Ambush! A body was sprawled slackly beside a dead horse. Whether male or female Geran couldn't tell, the tunic and trousers very much like his own, the features concealed by the horse. The man he had spotted was now bent over another. An arrow protruded from the supine figure's leg. As Geran watched, the outlaw took hold of the arrow and moved it, causing a fresh cry of anguish from the victim, a mirthless laugh from his assailant.
Geran moved his attention away from the torture. Three others were in the clearing, two of them apparently from the same band as the torturer. One of them held the third with her arms twisted behind her back; the other reached out and as Geran watched ripped the tunic from the girl's torso, revealing her slim perfection. The man reached out a filthy hand and squeezed the girl's breast, egged on by his companion.
Geran made his choice and stepped out into the clearing, drawing the bowstring back. No sooner had he done so than the single attacker by the downed figure was dead, pierced by Geran's first arrow. The noise of his fall drew the instant attention of his companions and a part of Geran's mind took a moment to admire their discipline as they seized their weapons, pushing the girl away from them in a stumbling run, then separated as they came towards him. The nearer brigand was down almost instantly, an arrow through his chest. The third halted, uncertain, confused, and died that way, still bewildered by the speed of the weapon which had killed his companions. Geran nocked a fourth arrow and stepped forward, cautious.
The girl, the ragged remnants of her tunic held to her chest, regarded him, uncertain, poised for flight. He smiled to reassure her and stooped to the outlaw who had died last. Geran put a hand to the man's throat to make sure and the absence of pulse let him relax. Checking the others was the work of moments and he turned to the girl. She regarded him steadily, wary, yet no sign of fear on her face.
Geran smiled and gestured to the figure with the arrow in its leg. "We must help your companion."
The girl nodded and ran to the moaning figure. As Geran got closer he saw that it was a young man, a boy rather, and the missile had pierced the meaty part of his thigh. 'Crossbow', thought Geran, that must be why they charged me. They expected me to be using a crossbow, too, and would be slow in reloading. They mustn't have seen the longbow before. He turned to the girl, on her knees beside him, her face anxious.
"Are these bolts barbed?" he asked, indicating the missile in the boy's leg.
"Yes, they are," she replied, her voice low and throaty, attractive.
"In that case I'll have to push it through, before your friend wakens."
"My brother," she said quietly. "How can I help?"
"Hold him steady. If he wakes he'll think I'm torturing him."
"I am awake." The voice was thin with pain, but steady.
There was a dagger in the boy's belt and Geran took it from its sheath. The girl stiffened in alarm. Geran smiled and flipped the weapon so that he was holding the blade. He turned to the boy.
"Bite on this," he said, offering the hilt to the boy's mouth. "What I am going to do will hurt." The boy bit on the hilt and Geran turned to the girl. "Hold him firmly, while I get this bolt out."
Careless of her torn tunic, the girl took her brother by the shoulders. As he turned to the missile, Geran could not help but glimpse the loveliness of her shapely breasts. Glimpse too the flush which suffused her face. He was careful not to look at her, to preserve in some way a shred of dignity for the girl. The crossbow bolt had penetrated the meat of the boy's thigh. Geran felt carefully at the back of the leg and was rewarded by the feel of a hard lump in the flesh. The bolt was almost through. He turned to the boy.
"Ready?" he asked. The boy nodded, the dagger hilt clenched in his teeth. On his shoulders his sister's knuckles whitened. Without hesitation, Geran pushed hard on the bolt, pushing it through the boy's leg. The scream was muffled by the dagger hilt clenched in the boy's mouth, then the weapon dropped to the ground as the boy fainted. Geran quickly checked and was rewarded by a firm pulse.
"Is he..." the girl began, her hands at her mouth.
Geran shook his head. "He fainted." He looked the girl in the eye. "I need bandages."
She nodded and stripped the torn remnants of her tunic from her torso. There was a high spot of colour in her cheeks as she held the rags out to Geran. "This is all I have."
Geran smiled and pointed. "Over there in the trees you will find my horse. In the saddlebag you will find two clean shirts. Wear one and bring me the other," he said. "Go!" he said as she hesitated. She leaped to her feet and ran.
Geran turned to her brother. He took a deep breath then snapped the bolt where it protruded beneath the boy's thigh, before taking a firm hold of the feathered end of the shaft and tugging firmly, to be rewarded by the sight of the broken shaft coming free from the wound.
Running feet approached and the girl scrambled to a stop beside him, carrying both shirts. She held one out to him and as he took his dagger to slit it into strips, hastily donned the other. Geran slit the boy's breeches with his dagger, then quickly bandaged the wounded leg. The bandages reddened as he applied them, but as he wound a further layer around the leg he was relieved to see that the bleeding seemed no worse. 'Not the artery', he thought, relieved.
"Will he live?" asked the girl, tension in her tone.
"He should be fine, if we can get him to a bed and shelter," said Geran. "What is near?"
"We were almost home when we were attacked," she said. "It is but five miles further, sir." She sniffed and dashed her hand across her eyes. She pointed. "Aldor was killed in the attack. I think they were after me," she said in a small voice.
"What makes you think so?" asked Geran.
The girl drew herself up proudly. "I am Illana n'Ellora, House Pesdal. I would bring high ransom."
“I think they had baser things in mind,” said Geran. He bowed courteously to her. "Fral Pesdal, allow me to introduce myself. Geran m'Handor, House Tolnan."
"You are well come, sir," she said. She looked around. "The other horses bolted."
"Would you go and fetch mine, please. Your brother needs to ride." The girl nodded and ran back into the trees, returning in moments with Geran's gelding. Geran went over to the body beside the dead horse, then smiled in spite of himself. The 'dead' body was on its knees, shaking its head. As Geran neared, the man looked up, a scowl of rage on his bloodied face and staggered to his feet, groping for the sword at his belt.
"Aldor! No!" The girl's voice was shrill with entreaty.
Aldor stopped, his sword half drawn. "My lady?" he said.
"I am a friend," said Geran. He gestured. "Your attackers are bested."
Aldor looked around him, dazed, and put his hand to his head, wincing, his hand coming away bloodied. Geran stepped closer and studied the wound.
"You have a hard head, my friend," he said. "It looks as if a crossbow bolt has hit your head at an angle, then bounced off your skull. The wound is messy and will need stitching."
"Let us get the lass safe home first, then we can look to stitching me," Aldor growled. "How is Jonal?"
"The lad?"
"Aye."
"A hole in his leg, but he'll live. Can you give me a hand getting him on my horse?"
"That much I can. I think." Aldor put his hand to his head and winced again.
Very shortly they had Jonal on Geran's horse, his sister leading it. Geran took point and Aldor, his head hastily bandaged, rearguard. Geran led off and they had gone scarcely five hundred paces when they came to a clearing where three horses were tethered. From their equipment Geran guessed they were the outlaws' mounts. Mounted now, Geran led off again. They had gone but a mile further when a thunder of hooves alerted them and Geran led the way off the road, but when the ten riders came into sight, Illana uttered a joyful cry, spurred her horse onto the trail and waited. Geran followed Aldor onto the trail as the riders drew their horses to a halt.
"My lady," said the leader, a lean, scarred veteran, giving a quick but searching glance at Geran, "we feared the worst. Two horses came back riderless, Jonal's with blood on the saddle."
"But for this gallant warrior, I fear Jonal and Aldor would be dead. Myself...," she broke off, shuddering.
The soldier turned his full attention to Geran, studying him carefully. He nodded. "We owe you thanks, sir. May I ask your name?"
Before Geran could reply, Illana spoke. "He is Geran Tolnan, and he is my guest."
The man nodded. "My lady." He turned to Geran and held out his hand. "I am Seth Dulan, Captain of the Lady Ellora's guards." His clasp was firm. "Come, let's return and get Aldor and Jonal medical attention."
