Michael Spradlin - Keeper of the Grail

The Assassin’s momentum toppled him into me, and I grabbed at his arms, grappling with him, too late realizing I was between Robard and the attacker. He would not have a clear shot.

The Assassin broke free of my grip. Jumping backward, he screamed in fury, raising his scimitar again and lunging at me. I darted backward. His eyes, all that I could see of his face through his turban and veil, went wild with anger. I was momentarily frozen in fear.

Behind me I heard Robard yell, “Tristan, move! I can’t get a clear shot!” But there was nowhere for me to go. The Assassin was lunging again, driving me back between the rocks. I spotted my sword a few feet away. Too far. I wanted to remind Robard that I had been against this plan from the very beginning. However, I doubted the Assassin would allow me any time to rebuke my friend.

The Assassin swung his scimitar at me with two hands. I dodged this first swing while looking wildly about for a rock, a tree branch, anything I could use as a weapon. Then remembering the satchel, I pulled it off my neck and shoulder, wrapping the strap tightly in my right wrist.

“Robard! The battle sword!” I screamed. I could not see Robard, but heard him shouting behind me. I had no idea what he was saying. Probably something about how I had ruined his perfectly good plan by trying to wrestle with an enraged Hashshashin.

I had only one advantage: although the scimitar is a fine weapon, it is heavy and not made for quick thrusts and jabs. It is wielded like a club, crashing down on its victim to break bone and steel or puncture armor. When the Assassin stepped in and swung the sword again in a long looping arc, I moved back and away from the sword tip. As it went by and the attacker’s momentum carried him with it, I stepped in and swung the satchel with all my might. I hoped that it wouldn’t break my precious cargo, but it was well padded and at the bottom of the satchel. And right now I needed its heft.

It swung out from my wrist like a mace, and I watched it connect solidly with the head of the Assassin. I heard a sound like a melon dropped on a stone floor, and the attacker crumpled to the ground.

“Go!” shouted Robard. He tossed me the battle sword and I caught it by the hilt. I turned and ran, throwing the satchel over my shoulder and scooping up the short sword as I passed by. We sprinted to the clearing and stood back-to-back, making a slow circle, watching the woods for any sign of more Assassins.

We knew that at least four attackers had set upon us. Robard had shot two and I had managed to knock one unconscious. The woods went quiet. The keening wail of the Assassins had stopped as instantly as it had started. The night grew darker, and it was getting harder to see.

A black-clad figure plunged through the opening in the rocks. No arrow protruded from him, so it must have been the one I had heard climbing from the rear. I yelled and Robard turned, letting loose a shot, but the Assassin darted to the side as Robard’s arrow struck the rocks behind him. Reaching to the ground he pulled his now-conscious companion to his feet. They dashed into the forest away from the rocks, zigzagging from tree to tree, making it difficult for Robard to shoot. In moments they had vanished.

Robard and I kept quiet, slowly circling in the hushed clearing, waiting for another attack. Silence. For several seconds there was very little sound. Then the noises of the night began to return. The chirp of insects. The call of birds.

“I think they are gone,” I said.

Robard still held his bow at the ready. He was tense, arm held in front of him, the muscles coiled. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Al Hashshashin do not run. They fight to the death.”

“Yes. Strange,” I agreed.

We circled again, but there was nothing more to see or hear.

“We need to leave,” Robard said.

“Agreed.”

Robard lowered but did not completely relax his bow, and we cautiously made our way back to the boulders. I held a sword in each hand and we kept a sharp eye, but the woods around us felt empty.

We quickly gathered up our blankets. Our plan was to move as far away from there as quickly as possible. I rolled our blankets together, slinging them over my shoulder. I would carry Robard’s blanket tonight, giving him quicker access to his bow and wallet.

We had turned toward the freedom of the woods when I heard a small gasping sound coming from the Assassin who lay on the ground inside the circle of boulders. Robard’s arrow had hit him high up in the right shoulder, and as I looked, I could see him moving. Not to attack, but not dead yet either.

“Wait,” I said. “He’s not dead.”

Robard stopped and I approached the Assassin, kicking the daggers out of reach. Another groan, and then his eyes flew open; two black ovals stared up at me in both alarm and hate.

“Careful, he may still be armed,” Robard said.

I looked at the wound where the arrow had entered his shoulder. I didn’t see much blood, but he wore a black robe and it was hard to tell. When I touched the shaft of the arrow, the Assassin cried out in pain and his eyes shut.

“What do we do now?” I asked, not looking at Robard as I spoke. “He’s not dead. If we leave, and if he lives, he may be able to find his companions. We don’t need them following us.”

Robard had remained quiet while I checked the Assassin’s wounds. And as I turned to look at him, awaiting his answer, the blood drained from my face.

“There’s only one thing to do,” he said.

I felt as if I were falling into quicksand. With my back turned, Robard had pulled an arrow from his wallet, nocked it on his bowstring and pulled it taut. It was now pointed directly at the heart of the wounded Assassin. I struggled to stand, but it felt as if my legs weren’t working properly.

Robard drew the bowstring to his cheek, and I could see his fingers twitch as they were about to let it go.

“Robard! No!” I shouted, launching myself toward him. To my horror I saw his fingers release the arrow, and I could only gasp as it flew through the air headed directly for my chest.

Time stood still. I felt I could see and hear everything that happened in exact detail. I had leapt from my crouch and thrown myself in front of the helpless Assassin. I watched Robard’s fingers twitch as they released the arrow. It left the bow, and in this state of heightened sensation, I heard the twang of the string and saw the shaft move slowly past the sight rest. I could hear Robard’s sharp intake of breath and the word NO! leave his mouth in a stunned gasp. But it was too late.

The arrow moved with frightening speed. Robard stood but a few paces away. He had no chance of missing at this distance. I thought of many things in the instant before I died. I remembered Sir Thomas, the brothers and even Sir Hugh and his hatred of me. I thought of the musky smell of the stable at the abbey and the quiet shuffle of the monks’ sandals as they filed into the chapel for prayer. I heard the sound of the songbirds that called to me each day when I worked in the abbey garden.

I also thought this was a silly way to die-in defense of a man who would undoubtedly have slain me if the situation were reversed. I remembered Sir Thomas, and how he had tried to teach me honor and humility and his lessons that a warrior is humble and compassionate in victory. Then, not quite dead yet, I hoped he would be proud.

I closed my eyes. I heard it pierce my flesh before I felt it. I fell spinning in the air and landed upon my back, feeling the air rush out of my lungs. My eyes opened briefly to see the arrow sticking straight up, and I waited for the flash of burning pain that would be the last thing I experienced on this earth.