Jeff Salyards - Scourge of the Betrayer

I wondered what madness had overtaken him that he thought he could outrun them on foot, but then remembered he had his own mount tethered to the side. A moment later I heard him ride off.

I felt utterly deserted and desperate. I thought another javelin would sail through and strike me at any instant, or another soldier would enter the wagon, and wondered absurdly whether it would be more painful to die being chopped by an axe, stabbed by a spear, or pierced by a javelin. I wondered if perhaps I could surrender, and then remembered that well-aimed or not, I had shot at one of the soldiers.

Then I heard the shouts from both sides of the wagon, followed by more horses galloping off after Braylar.

He’d drawn them off. It’s possible-perhaps likely-that hadn’t been his intention. Given how poorly I’d performed at the task he assigned, I’m sure I wasn’t a primary concern for him just then. But intentional or not, I heard the horses ride away, their riders yelling with the youthful bloodlust of hunters who have sighted their prey.

I crept to the front of the wagon and, after listening for nearby sounds and confident that no one remained behind, pulled the flap open just far enough to see what happened. Braylar was ahead of the three riders, but the distance wasn’t great and they had their javelins held above their shoulders. I noticed one of the riders had a dark splotch on the back of his padded jerkin, and assumed he was the one Braylar had struck as he’d ridden by in the initial attack.

Braylar was holding the crossbow with both hands, flail and buckler again on his belt. I’m sure the young soldiers assumed they’d won by putting him to flight, and it was only a matter of time before they captured or killed him or both.

That isn’t what happened.

Braylar turned around as far as he could, controlling his horse with his knees, and then they saw he was still armed. I didn’t see the bolt fly but I didn’t need to. Three horsemen were suddenly two, and one riderless horse galloped off in a different direction.

The remaining two soldiers whipped their horses to close the distance. A javelin sailed through the air but fell a couple horse lengths short. That boy, the one with the stain on his jerkin, whom Braylar had previously injured, still managed to pull another from the long quiver at his side. The pursuit continued.

I thought Braylar would have no choice but to ride off now, hoping to disappear in the coming dark, and then his pursuers would eventually return here, whether they’d hunted their quarry down or not. And then no bag of grain was going to protect or conceal me.

I considered grabbing as many supplies as I could carry and taking a horse, but I had absolutely no idea where to go. That way also led to death, but took a less direct route. I considered then that my only option lay in hiding in the grass somewhere and hoping they simply didn’t find me. I didn’t know if Braylar would return for me, but thought if he lived, he’d eventually make his way back for his cargo, if nothing else.

But I didn’t flee into the grass, as Braylar didn’t flee the battle.

He was maneuvering in a wide circle, working the lever on his crossbow while guiding his horse with his legs, and a moment later turned in the saddle and shot again at his pursuers. The bolt didn’t find its target, but the two soldiers suddenly seemed much less confident in their hunt, and slowed their pace. Still galloping, Braylar reloaded again with a speed and efficiency that was amazing. Then, seeing his pursuers falling behind, he slowed his horse to take better aim. The young Hornmen had seen enough. They rode off in the other direction. Fast.

Braylar halted his horse and stood tall in the stirrups, crossbow level as he took careful aim. I was sure he’d shoot again, and equally sure another horse would lose its rider, but then Braylar slowly lowered his weapon and sat back down in the saddle, shoulders slumped forward.

The soldiers fled in the direction they had originally come from.

I sat there in the wagon, heart thumping like a trapped animal. I’d never known such terror nor witnessed such carnage. I was split in twain, one half morbidly fascinated and disgusted by such violence and waste of life, the other half celebrating that I’d survived, and glad it was me sitting there in my sweat and stink, still breathing, and not lying in a heap at the back of the wagon like a bloody bundle of meat.

I climbed out of the wagon and saw Braylar in the distance, slowly riding in my direction, the crossbow hanging from the strap at his side. Then I heard a noise below me, and suddenly remembered the other soldier Braylar had bashed out of the wagon. He was in the grass, struggling to crawl out from beneath the horse and harness. I wasn’t sure if I should slink back into the wagon or call for help. He tried to stand, wobbled and almost fell back to his knees. That’s when he turned and saw me, the front of his gambeson covered in blood, face a ruin, eyes full of fear.

The soldier turned and stumbled as he tried to run. I waved to Braylar and realized I was still holding the dagger-the bloodied soldier must have assumed I was coming to finish him off.

Braylar saw me and pushed his horse to a trot, and then saw the fleeing soldier and spurred his horse forward, riding hard.

The soldier hadn’t gone far when Braylar turned his horse before him, the crossbow aimed at his chest. The soldier stopped, realizing he couldn’t outrun a bolt, and dropped to his knees, arms raised in the air, the left more awkwardly, as the gambeson was torn near the elbow and Braylar’s earlier strike had clearly wounded him there as well.

While I’d been paralyzed by fear just a moment before, I now found myself scrambling off the bench and down into the grass, nearly falling face first as I did, shouting “no” as I ran up to the pair.

Braylar looked at me and made no effort to disguise his irritation. “Is there something you need?”

I stopped alongside the soldier. “Wait. Don’t do this.”

Braylar glanced at the dagger and back to me. “Do you wish to do it, then?”

“No. And I don’t want you to either.”

Braylar’s horse pawed the grassy earth, equally as impatient as his master. “And what would you have me do? Take him prisoner?”

The question was asked in such a way that any answer other than “no” would only be worthy of ridicule. I replied, “And why not?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but we’re headed back to civilization soon. Perhaps you’ve also forgotten, civilization is a place where they don’t appreciate their militia-even their thieving bandit militia-being held captive after their entire outfit has been killed or driven from the field. Please tell me you’ve forgotten these facts, lest I think you a complete ass.”

“You can’t kill him,” I replied.

“I can. In fact, it isn’t altogether difficult.” Braylar drummed his fingers along the outside of his crossbow. “A little pressure is all it takes. Now, step aside unless you want his blood on you.”

The soldier moaned then, a mournful, honking sound through his battered nose. I pleaded, “Don’t take him prisoner, then-release him.”

“Simply let him wander into the wilderness, until he winds up getting torn to pieces by a hungry family of rippers or skinned alive by Grass Dogs? Is that your idea of mercy, then? It would be better to kill him quick now.”

He leveled the crossbow at the soldier’s chest, but I surprised all three of us by stepping in front of the soldier. “He’s unarmed,” I protested. “Badly injured. He’s no danger to you.”

Braylar didn’t lower the crossbow, and for an instant I was sure I’d acted far too rashly, but he didn’t shoot. “Injuries heal. And what’s more, tongues wag. He’s seen me. That’s no large matter-the others who fled, they can identify me as well. But he’s also seen you. This unarmed, badly injured boy who’s so wholly won your heart, he’s the only one who knows you exist.”