K Parker: Shadow

'I think I made the wrong decision,' said Copis. 'I've seen an awful lot of soldiers over the years, but never any like them.'

'Oh.' He frowned. 'I can still run for it if you like.'

'No point,' she said. 'Let's hope they're nothing to do with you. I hate hoping,' she added. 'It's like rubbing dock leaves on a nettle sting. They tell you it helps, but does it hell as like.'

The riders came up to them very quickly. One passed them and blocked the way, while the others closed in on either side.

'You in the cart,' said the man in front.

'Me?' he called out, rather pointlessly, since the rider was staring at him.

'Stay where you are. Don't move.'

Copis looked at him. 'You can understand what they're saying?'

'Yes.'

'I can't.'

The two riders in flank held their position while the third man slid off his horse and walked up to the cart. 'You,' he said, 'take your hat off. I want to see your face.'

'All right,' he replied.

The man looked at him and nodded. 'Right,' he said.

'You know who I am, then?'

'Oh yes,' the rider replied. 'I know exactly who you are.'

'Then would you mind-?'

The rider reached up and grabbed his arm, pulling him on to his feet. With his other hand, he was drawing his sword. 'Shut up,' he said, and pulled again. Then Copis kicked him in the face.

It wasn't a very hard kick, or particularly well aimed, but it was enough to make the rider lose interest for a moment. 'Go on, run,' she hissed, and it struck him that it would be rude not to do what she told him to, though he wished she hadn't got involved. But there it was; he jumped down off the cart and made a quick mental estimate of how far away the rider's horse was and how long it'd take him to get to it. Too long. Meanwhile the rider was ignoring Copis and drawing his sword, so he jumped on to the boom, grabbed him by the throat and pushed him down. The rider landed awkwardly on his back, giving him enough time to jump off the boom and kick him hard on the chin; then he stooped down and grabbed the sword. It seemed to fit his hands, almost as if it was a part of him that he'd had amputated years ago and which had suddenly grown back. That was just as well, because as the left-side rider rode up and slashed at him he was able to parry the cut squarely and in good time, opening the rider up for a thrust under the armpit. The moves came easily, faster than he could think. Probably, he reflected as the man slipped out of the saddle and hit the ground, I've done this before.

The other rider was wrong-sided, of course; he'd either have to turn and go round the back of the cart, or go all the way round the front of the horses. That helped. He watched as the rider hesitated, then came forward, presumably anxious to get to him before he could mount up on either of the spare horses. He waited till the other man was level with him, then hopped back on to the boom and made a dive under his horse's legs.

The rider wasn't expecting that. He swished airily with his sword but was far too late to connect with anything, then craned his neck to see if he could find out what his opponent was up to. He didn't have to wait long to find out; a moment later his horse squealed with pain and started bucking furiously, throwing him. When he hit the ground his eyes closed reflexively for a second; when he opened them again, he saw his enemy scrambling out of the way of the horse-he'd slashed its belly open-and heading for him. He made it to his feet just in time to get in the way of a slanting cut that sliced into him at the junction of neck and shoulder and went on to bite into his spine.

The third rider was on his feet, looking around desperately for some kind of weapon. He made the wrong choice; the leftside rider's body was too far away and his enemy came back over the boom at him and cut him down before he had a chance.

'My God,' Copis said. Presumably she didn't intend it as a pun. Her face was as white as milk and she was shaking. He crossed back over the boom one last time, to grab hold of the maimed horse's head and cut its throat.

'It was them or us,' he said, and noticed with interest that his voice was level, calm. 'As soon as you kicked the first one the only way out for us was to kill them all. You don't offer force to soldiers and get away with it.'

She took a couple of deep breaths, probably fighting back the urge to throw up. 'Actually,' she said, 'you're right. How did you know that?'

'I just do,' he replied. 'My guess is this isn't the first time I've had to deal with a situation like this.' He looked down at his hands and arms, which were splattered with blood; it reminded him of how they'd looked earlier that day, when he'd been flecked with spray from the waterfall. 'Actually, it was all fairly easy,' he added. 'I knew what to do, didn't have to stop and think-probably that was the difference between them and me. I'm sorry,' he added.

'Are you? Why?'

'Well…' He waved a hand at the dead bodies. 'Not a pretty sight,' he said.

She shuddered. 'Seen worse,' she said. 'Tell me, what would you have done if I hadn't kicked that man?'

'I don't know,' he replied. 'I was more interested in the fact that he seemed to know who I was.'

'He was going to kill you, right there on the spot.'

'Small price to pay for knowledge.'

She muttered something under her breath, 'Oh, for God's sake,' or words to that effect. He was kneeling beside the man he'd spoken to. 'You really didn't understand what he was saying?'

'No, and I speak seven languages.'

'Good God. How many languages are there?'

'Lots,' she replied. 'What are you looking for?'

He looked up at her. 'Money,' he said. 'Also anything of value that we can sell, so long as it's not the sort of thing that'll get us into trouble.'

'Another instinct?'

'Yes,' he replied. 'Apparently I'm one of nature's scavengers.'

As it turned out, none of the dead men had anything of any real value on them, apart from their clothes and weapons, which they obviously daren't take. But each of them had half a loaf and a two-fist-sized slab of hard white cheese in his saddlebag, and one of them also had a thick slice of rather elderly bacon and three apples.

'Worth more to us than money,' he said.

'Matter of opinion,' she replied.

There was a boggy patch a couple of hundred yards away. He carried the bodies over there, one at a time, and slid them into a still, black pool, which was just about deep enough to cover them. The dead horse was too much trouble to hide or bury, but he stripped the harness and tack off the other two and dumped them, before chasing the horses off. 'Not worth the risk,' he explained, when Copis protested. 'For all I know, there's ways of telling a cavalry horse: regulation shoes, that sort of thing. All right, let's get out of here.' He was painfully aware of the bloodstains on his clothes, but he couldn't quite face the thought of crawling back into his own, still completely sodden garments (and besides, he didn't want to be wearing the clothes he'd woken up in the next time they met somebody…).

They drove on in silence for the next hour. Then Copis said, 'Well, at least somebody must know who you are. Pity they weren't more friendly.'

'I was thinking that,' he replied. His arms and back were starting to stiffen up after their bout of brief but violent exercise. 'At last I meet somebody who can tell me the one thing I want to know above everything else, and a few moments later I've killed them.' He frowned. 'You know,' he went on, 'it'd probably be best if I left you soon. If there's a welcome like that waiting for us in this town of yours, we might not get out of it so easily.'

She shook her head. 'Don't be a bastard,' she replied. 'You think I'm going to let you run out on me after putting me through all that? In your dreams.'