Alys Clare - The Paths of the Air

Josse was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘She killed Akhbir,’ he muttered. ‘Killed him stone dead with a bolt through the heart!’

‘Good for her.’ John Damianos’s tone was rough. ‘He would have killed her, had she not fired the first shot.’

‘Aye, I realize that,’ Josse said hurriedly. ‘I do not question the action, John. It is merely that I am staggered to learn whose hands performed it.’

‘She is strong,’ John said, his tense face relaxing into a smile. ‘In many ways any man’s equal. But we must find her, Josse!’ He leapt off in the direction of the horses. ‘She is probably back at the house,’ he called back, ‘but I have been away from her much too long. Come!’

As they rode, Josse turned over in his mind where this woman with the romantic name might have gone if — as he strongly suspected — they did not find her at the house in the woods. She will have fled, he thought, because she’ll reason that if Akhbir managed to find her there, then others — specifically, the Frankish mercenaries so dreaded by John Damianos — might do so as well. She may have made her way to Hawkenlye Abbey, he thought hopefully, encouraging Horace to a fast canter as he pounded behind John Damianos. She’d have known of its existence because John obviously did: he went there to have his wound treated. What terrible conflict caused that frightful burn? Josse had no idea. Had there been an attack by one of the pursuing parties? He could not imagine how such a wound could be inflicted…

Paradisa would know she would be safe at the Abbey. Even if she had learned that the Knights Hospitaller were in the infirmary, surely she had nothing to fear from them? It was their runaway monk they were concerned with, not her. Anyway, she would be aware of the rules of sanctuary. If she hid in the Abbey church then the Abbess and the Hawkenlye community would uphold her right not to be taken away.

So she might have gone to the Abbey. But there was another possibility: on her way there, Paradisa might have encountered the forest people. They would have been aware of her — they always knew when Outworlders were in the forest — and might have offered to help her and take her in. Josse was trying not to be specific about just which forest dweller it might have been who had acted so kindly. He was all too aware that such an action was typical of Joanna.

They reached the forest fringes and rode in under the trees. John Damianos appeared to know a different route to the old house. It was the slightest of paths, heavily overgrown, and Josse, following him, had to lie right down against Horace’s neck to avoid being clawed out of the saddle by low branches.

They reached the clearing and rode up the rise to the house. John swiftly dismounted and ran to the undercroft. He reached up for the key, turned it and, pushing the door open, looked inside. Almost instantly he closed and locked the door again, replacing the key. Then he ran round to the outbuilding and quickly reappeared.

‘She’s gone,’ he said. Then, in a tight voice suggesting he was controlling his emotions only with great difficulty, ‘Where is she?’

‘She may have gone to Hawkenlye Abbey,’ Josse said reassuringly. ‘She would not have felt safe here after Akhbir came to the house and she would have realized the Abbey was a place that you knew too and where you might reasonably expect her to go.’

‘Yes, that makes sense,’ John agreed. Mounting up, he said, ‘Is there a way through the forest?’

Josse hesitated. There was a way and he was fairly confident of finding it; he knew the forest better than most Outworlders. But the forest people did not like people tramping through their territory, and for personal and very good reasons he did not wish to offend them.

But a young woman’s life could be in danger.

‘Aye, there is,’ he said decisively. ‘Follow me.’

It was difficult riding through the heart of the forest, although progress was easier than it would have been when the trees were in full leaf. The sense of trespass — of assault — was increased by riding a large horse through the secret, sacred groves. Josse’s senses were heightened. Very aware that the forest people knew he and John Damianos were there, he maintained a careful watch ahead, around and, at first, behind him. Then John, obviously realizing the need for caution even if he did not understand the reason, said very quietly, ‘I will guard our rear.’

They rode on.

They were deep in the forest now, riding a path where nobody went save the forest dwellers. Joanna’s hut was away to the left.

Josse wondered if she was there. Did she know he was there, riding stealthily through her domain on a mission in which a young woman’s life was at stake? He spoke to her silently. Help us, Joanna. We do not come here for any frivolous reasons but to look for Paradisa. If you find her, look after her. Please, Joanna, help us all. Do not let any harm come to us.

And he thought he heard her voice. She said, Ahead, on your right!

He jerked Horace’s head to his left, and the arrow that would have pierced Josse’s throat embedded itself harmlessly in a birch tree.

Josse slid off Horace’s back and ran for the meagre shelter of the stand of birches, drawing his sword as he ran and yelling out to John, ‘Enemy on the right! Arrow fire!’

John was already off his horse and crashing through the undergrowth to join him. ‘Get behind me,’ he panted, ‘it’s me they want, not you!’

But Josse had scented the fight and would not stand down. ‘We’ll face them together,’ he replied.

John gave him a quick, flashing grin and then side by side they turned to face their enemy.

It would be a fight to the death: Josse knew it instinctively. There were only two men who would have attacked them there in the forest and he knew who they were before a glance at the arrow confirmed it.

‘William and Tancred,’ hissed John. He pointed to two dark, cloaked outlines, just visible through the trees. ‘William is on the right — he is the taller and the better shot.’ Two more arrows came whistling towards them. ‘They are pinning us down,’ John said softly. ‘They are probably unsighted, merely making sure we stay where we are.’

‘What weapons have you?’ Josse asked.

John held up his sword. ‘This, and my knife. You?’

‘The same. No bow, unfortunately.’

They waited.

They could hear the sound of stealthy movement. The Frankish mercenaries were coming closer.

Josse moved very quietly until most of his body was sheltered by a birch tree; John did the same. ‘Keep them in sight,’ Josse said, ‘and keep the tree trunk between you and them. If we can frustrate their attempts to kill us by arrow shot, eventually they will have to close in and then we shall have our chance.’

It was dreadful, he thought, to listen to arrows fly past. The narrow birch trunk was not as wide as his shoulders and he tried to stand sideways. An arrow grazed the top of his arm; almost instantly the blood began to flow. He made himself ignore the sudden burning pain. The Franks were closer now. Did they know exactly where he and John were? Had they lined up their sword points on the very two trees behind which they were hiding?

He leaned forward very, very cautiously and looked.

The shorter of the two Franks stood ten paces away. He was not looking at Josse’s tree; he, like his companion, was closing on the one John stood behind. Both had drawn their swords.

They are going for him, Josse thought. They know precisely where he is and they will lunge at him, one on each side, and he will not stand a chance.

He let the two men come closer. Closer. He did not dare keep a constant watch in case they saw him, for then he would lose the advantage of surprise.