Jack Whyte - The Sorcer part 1 - The Fort at River's Bend

Benedict's garrison troops were now the third such body to be employed in our quarry, and the scope of the work had been extended to accommodate the increased manpower made available by the additional infantry contingent. Our other communal workplace, in the forest where we had set up our timber-felling operations, lay about half a mile downhill and to the west of the quarry.

My recent decision to leave Mediobogdum in the spring had called the need for all such labour into question, but I had insisted that it be continued, reasoning that we might return here some day in the future, and that the work of repairing the walls and trimming, shaping and dry-stacking the timber baulks we had cut would fend off boredom during the winter ahead. No one questioned my decision, and the work continued in both locations.

On the day when the events I am about to describe took place, I had ridden up to the quarry with Benedict and Philip, simply to review the situation up there and to pass the time of day with our troopers, from the viewpoint of keeping up morale. It was a fine day, with the definite snap · of the first, mild frosts of autumn in the air. Philip became involved in a technical discussion with the overseer of the quarry, an engineer from his own company, concerning the effects of frost on lines of cleavage or something equally incomprehensible to us, so Benedict and I left him to it and set out to stroll together down the half-mile-long stretch of open hillside to the forest clearing, where the rest of our work parties were sawing lumber. We left our horses at the quarry and walked.

We talked about Rufio and his condition. Lucanus's extraordinary skills had given us hope that our old friend might survive a series of wounds that ought to have killed him. No one was yet making any wagers on Rufe's chances either way, but everyone was convinced that his carefully cozened survival had been little short of miraculous. His right arm and shoulder had been badly mangled, the flesh shredded from the bones by the bear's razor-sharp claws, and he had four enormous puncture wounds in his left shoulder, two in front and two behind, where the animal's monstrous canine fangs had sought to crunch clean through him. His right femur had been broken cleanly, and several of his ribs crushed, but his skull appeared to be intact and the only other wound he had incurred was a deep, clean slash, probably caused by a claw, on his right thigh.

Luke's own prognosis was cautiously optimistic. His major concern was the danger of infection in the bite marks and claw cuts, but he had cleaned the wounds thoroughly and carefully, making liberal use of powerful astringents that, he assured me, Rufio would have been unable to bear had he been conscious at the time of their application. If Rufe could pass the next few days without developing a fever, Lucanus now believed he would probably survive, although he might never swing a sword again.

As we walked away from Philip and the others, picking our way carefully among the stones that littered the sloping ground, Benedict began reminiscing about some of the exploits that had kept Rufio consistently in conflict with his superiors—of whom I had been the senior—in earlier times. I was half listening to him, smiling as I remembered some of my own experiences with Rufio's antics and trying to avoid falling on the loose stones underfoot, when Benedict suddenly stopped walking and raised one hand to press it against my chest, stopping me, too.

"Hey," he said. "Look at this."

I turned to look where he was looking and for a few moments, before some inner alarm began clanging in my breast, I did not know what to make of what I was seeing. I know that the events that followed occurred very quickly, but each time I relive them in my mind, and I do so frequently, everything seems to happen very, very slowly.

We were not yet out of the small quarry. The cut itself was at our back, with one steep face—the cliff that had attracted us to begin quarrying here—directly to our left; the short, mountain grass, scattered with shrubs, resumed again some twenty paces below the point we had reached. There was an animal, a small fox, trotting up the hill directly towards us, its tongue lolling sideways from its mouth as it approached. My first thought was that it had somehow failed to see us, for foxes are timid creatures that avoid any contact with mankind, but I quickly dismissed that idea, since the beast was staring directly at us.

'Tame little bugger, isn't he?"

Benedict's question chilled me abruptly, for no truly wild animal is tame. I looked again, much more sharply now. The fox had halved the distance between us and I could hear it growling as it came, its-pace unvarying directly for us. I looked again at its open mouth and lolling tongue and saw thick, ropy saliva slavering from its jaws.

"No, Ben, it's not tame, it's mad—rabid! It's attacking and if it bites one of us, we're dead. Quick, up the cliff. Mover-

Benedict stood there, hesitating, his hand starting to move towards the hilt of his short-sword, but I punched him on the arm then grabbed him, propelling him in front of me towards the cliff face. "Climb, dammit! You'll need both hands. Get up there!"

I was less than half a pace behind him as he reached the base of the cliff and began scrambling upward, scrabbling for handholds. I scooped up a large flake of stone.

The fox was still coming directly for us, no more than twenty paces distant. I hurled the stone, but the animal gave no sign of having seen it. Belatedly I remembered the long cavalry sword hanging between my shoulder-blades. No time now to unhook it, unsheathe it and prepare myself. I launched myself at the cliff after Benedict.

"It might follow us up, if it's strong enough to climb! If it does, be ready to kill it when it reaches the top. Don't try to stab it—cut the damn thing in two!"

The cliff we were scaling was perhaps fifteen paces high at this point, sloping steeply and not difficult to climb, either for us or for the fox.

"Whoreson's coming up," Benedict gasped.

"Let it come! Keep climbing."

I grasped an outcrop of rock and it broke off in my hand just as I was hauling my whole weight up on it.

I knew instinctively that I would fall. And I knew, too, without looking, that the rabid animal was immediately beneath me. For a long moment I hung there, clawing at the cliff before I toppled. Somehow I twisted around as I fell, to slither down on my back, jarring myself painfully during my descent.

Then several things happened simultaneously: the point of my sword lodged in the cliff face, ripping its retaining hook from the ring between my shoulders. The fox suddenly appeared level with my eyes, slashing at me. I jerked my arm away from the thick rope of saliva that looped itself the length of my forearm, away from the gnashing teeth. And I swept the beast's front legs from under it, so that it fell with me, end over end.

I landed at the bottom on my feet, hard, hands at my back, catapulted myself forward into a rolling dive and slammed my shoulder against a large stone. Then I was on my feet again, running, looking back over my shoulder. The fox was already coming after me.

Vaguely aware of voices shouting above and beyond me, I threw myself headlong over the uneven ground. I may have managed a score or more long, bounding paces before my ankle twisted on an outcrop and sent me sprawling, slamming down hard. Slightly stunned, I whipped myself around, onto my elbows and backside to face my fate.

The fox was leaping for my throat, yellow teeth bared, when the shadow glided over me. There was a mighty slamming of bodies together, like a fist striking flesh, and an enormous eagle hung just above the ground before me, gripping the limp body of the fox in its powerful talons.

For a moment, the bird hung there, stationary before my eyes, its huge wings measuring strong, steady beats. Slowly, firmly, it stroked the air, its pinions nearly brushing the ground, holding it and its prey aloft. Three, four long, deep strokes gradually propelled the two upward, further into the eagle's own element, away from the earth. Each ensuing beat drew them higher, hauled them deliberately forward and away from me, above the trees.