Mickey Reichert - Flight of the Renshai

It seemed like sacrilege to hitch up the magnificent steed like a common cart horse, and it would take an inordinate amount of time to jury-rig a harness and larger traces. "I'll follow," Ra-khir said, replacing the bridle. Silver Warrior held perfectly still as the tack fell into its accustomed place. The knight flicked the reins over Silver Warrior's ears, seized the saddle, and mounted. "If you would please tell me where we're going."

Darby watched the interaction between knight and steed with obvious interest before taking his own place at the donkey's head. "Keatoville." Grabbing the cheekpiece of a crude rope halter, he urged the donkey forward. It strained at the harness. "It's just a short walk east and south."

Ra-khir coaxed Silver Warrior forward until his chest bumped the wagon, providing enough momentum to get the donkey moving. The cart groaned, threatening to shatter, and the wheels creaked in protest.

Soon, they settled into a pattern, the donkey trotting easily, the horse pushing from behind, the wheels squealing in a steady rhythm. The boy marched at the head, whistling. He looked back frequently to meet Ra-khir's gaze, apparently to reassure himself that the knight remained with them and was having no difficulties. Ra-khir appreciated the boy's misplaced concern. Darby was clearly accustomed to responsibility, presumably from serving as the man of his family.

Silver Warrior occasionally snorted at the slow pace of the wagon, and Ra-khir quelled his own impatience. Darby moved at a reasonably brisk pace, paying close attention to the donkey's comfort. The little animal lathered quickly, turning its hide a dark brown, but its head never sagged and its hooves drummed a steady pace on the packed dirt roadway.

Worried for Darby, Ra-khir had just thought to suggest a stop for lunch when the not-too-distant sound of a cocking crossbow captured his full attention. He scanned the roadway and forest, finding nothing.

Darby stopped moving and pointed toward a rocky outcropping ahead and to their left. "There."

Ra-khir squinted. Bright sunlight blurred two figures, but the crossbows looked clear enough. The sound of another cocking came from a copse of bushes to Ra-khir's right.

Releasing the donkey, Darby edged toward Ra-khir. "What should we do?" he whispered.

Ra-khir cleared his throat. As a Knight of Erythane, he had the kingdoms of Erythane and Bearn at his back. What would Kedrin do? Ra-khir knew exactly how his Knight-Captain father would handle the situation, yet it seemed foolish with lives at stake. A Knight of Erythane always chooses the right way, not the easy way. He hissed back at Darby, "Do what you think best. I'll follow your lead as I can."

Darby stared in stunned amazement, mouth gaping. Then, his jaw snapped closed, and he nodded his head decisively. "What do you bandits want from honest men in broad daylight?"

Two men stepped from the forest on the right side of the pathway. These did not carry bows, both large and burly, armed with swords and axes. Their clothes were filthy, their hair snarled with burrs, their faces scratched and scarred. "Honest men, eh? I see a junk boy with a cartload of goodies that don't look like his'n."

"They're my… 'n," Darby affected the dialect of the highwayman. "If you doubt it, you need only ask the Knight of Erythane riding behind me."

Every bandit eye went to Ra-khir.

Ra-khir saw the utter futility in introducing himself in this situation. "They're his…" he could not help adding, " 'n." In his cultured tone, the colloquialism sounded positively ludicrous.

No one laughed.

"That ain't no knight," one bandit growled.

The other nudged him with an elbow. "I think it is, Nat. Look at 'im."

"Ain't no knight gonna be travelin' with this young punk."

Seeing no way to avoid it now, Ra-khir swept off his hat. "Sir Ra-khir Kedrin's son, Knight to the Erythanian and Bearnian kings: His Grace, King Humfreet and His Majesty, King Griff." He replaced his hat, studying the men in front of him. He could take them, he realized, both of them. The crossbowmen, however, were another matter.

Nat spat on the ground.

The other man nudged him again. "Look at what he's wearin' and ridin'. If he ain't no knight, he's doin' a damned good inidation. Else, he tooked that stuff off 'n a knight, in which case I don' think we wants to cross 'im, eh?"

"We're willing to fight," Darby said, snatching an ax from the cart pile with a quick, dexterous motion that impressed Ra-khir. He held it in battle position. Clearly, someone had at least started him in weapons training.

Nat snorted. He glanced from the bowmen on the pinnacle to the one on the opposite side of the trail. "I says we jus' shoot 'em and be done with it."

Ra-khir hesitated. He knew the bowmen would have doubts, if not because of murder, because this particular one could leave them hunted by two mighty kingdoms. It would be easy for him to remind them of their folly. A life-or-death situation, like this one, virtually obligated him to take control. Yet Ra-khir pictured his father: always resplendent in his knight's garb, the perfect picture of a Knight of Erythane, his commitment to every principle unyielding. Knight-Captain Kedrin would finish what he had started. He would let Darby parley, despite the mortal danger. To do the same, Ra-khir had to bite his tongue. Hard.

"Shoot us, then." Darby's voice held nothing but calm bravado. Only Ra-khir stood near enough to see the boy's hands shaking on his weapon. "Earn a cartload of trinkets and the wrath of the high king. The penalty for interfering with the duties of a knight is a traitor's death. What do you suppose they would do if you killed one in cold blood?"

Darby's words were not strictly true, but there was no law that compelled Ra-khir to correct such misunderstandings or to argue minutiae. Under certain circumstances, the penalty could become that high.

Silence settled around them, broken only by the donkey. It snorted restively, pawing at the dirt. The bowmen shifted in obvious discomfort. Nat might command the strike, but they would be held at least equally accountable for the killing.

"Or…" Darby continued, his voice unexpectedly loud in the hush. "… you can let us go, and I can tell you where I found this… junk." He used their terminology, making a gesture toward the loaded cart. "I took only a small portion. There's enough left to make all of you wealthy."

Ra-khir caught himself nodding. He had not meant to become a truth detector for thieves.

The other swordsman looked hopefully at Nat. "That sounds all right, don' it, Nat?"

Nat scratched his stubbly chin. "Sounds pert' good." His eyes narrowed. "If 'n it's true. An' he don' lie 'bout the location."

"How we gonna know that?" The highwayman looked at Darby as he asked the question.

Darby shrugged. "It's not far. You'll have time to go there, see if I'm lying, and still get back to catch us before we make town."

Nat grunted. It was hard to argue with such logic.

Ra-khir supposed the men might find the battle site, mark the location, and come after them anyway; but he doubted it. Once they saw the battlefield and the potential it held, they would want to stay and plunder before someone else found it. "You're giving up a lot," Ra-khir whispered.

Darby did not bother to turn to face the knight. "I have more than enough."

Nat and the other man talked softly together while the bowmen remained in place, their weapons still cocked but no longer directly aimed at knight and boy.

"All righ'," Nat finally said. "Start talkin', boy."

Darby cleared his throat then explained, in reasonably clear terms, how to find the battle clearing.

When he finished, Nat made a broad, arching gesture. "Come on, men."

The click of disarming crossbows followed the command, then the highwaymen disappeared into the forest.