Ghostwalker (Book 1) (17 page)

No good. The two riders were still coming. His shot had missed.

Kendril swore under his breath, pulling out a pistol in each hand and readying them to fire.

Oh, well. It had been a difficult shot to begin with.

The white shape of Veritas maneuvered around Kendril’s panicking mule, and came racing down the bridge. Maklavir was urging the horse onwards, and Jade was right behind him. The horsemen were on the bridge now, and one of the riders gave a swipe of his sword at Simon, who hurried out of the way, braying like a little mare. Kendril sighed, raising his pistols.

Worthless animal.

Maklavir and Jade were coming up fast. He waved them on with one of his pistols, pressing himself against the side of the bridge. If they could get by, he might be able to hold the other two riders back, or at least slow them down. It wasn’t a very good chance, but it was the only one they had.

Just as he was contemplating which horseman to shoot at first, Kendril heard Jade shouting his name over the clattering of hooves. For a moment he couldn’t tell what she was saying.

And then, as if the shutters of a lantern had been thrown open, he realized what was going on. He snapped his head to the right and looked behind him.

Two men were emerging from the mill, carrying crossbows. They were blocking the end of the bridge.

There was no way out.

Montrose had never considered himself an exceptionally gifted person.

He was a decent fighter, surely, but no monster in hand-to-hand combat. He was a fair marksman, perhaps, but no archery competitions were in his near future. As for tracking, he was probably as good as most woodsmen, but certainly didn’t count himself amongst the best.

No, he was definitely not an exceptional individual in any particular aspect. But there was one thing that Montrose did have in abundance, and it was no coincidence that it was the one thing any good hunter needed.

He was a very,
very
patient man.

After the events of the previous evening Montrose had begun to think he had bitten off more than he could chew. The Ghostwalker had already killed four of his men, the girl had gotten clean away, and the rest of his men were ready to mutiny and hand him his own head on a pike. Things were about as dark as they could possibly get.

But in the morning, when they had found the trail, Montrose had regained some hope. The Ghostwalker was a fantastic swordsman, no doubt, but obviously knew little about tracking or forestry. The trail they had left behind had been an easy one to follow, with trampled grass, broken branches, and footprints that even an amateur could pick out. Truth be told, the trail had been so obvious that Montrose had at first suspected that it must have been a fake to lead them off in the wrong direction. That had quickly proved to be an unfounded fear.

As soon as he knew the girl and her newfound companions were heading north, he knew that he had them. There was nothing to the west for miles. The girl would head east. It was the quickest way for her to get help, but it would also prove to be her undoing.

There was a bridge, Montrose knew, just a few miles down the eastern road. It crossed the Arneth River, and the girl and the two men she was with had to cross it if they wanted to get out of the woods. It was the ideal spot to trap them, and Montrose was not one to let such a golden opportunity slip by. He had ordered Derik and Calham to continue following their quarry’s trail down the eastern road, while he and Uther had galloped ahead to the bridge. Once they had arrived, Montrose had tied up their horses deep in the woods on the far side of the river, then he and Uther had hidden in the old mill, barricading the door and trying to stay as quiet as possible.

There had been some tense moments, of course, like when the Ghostwalker had appeared on the bridge.

Uther had started to remove the boards from one of the windows to shoot the man, and Montrose had been half-tempted to let him. But as always, it was Montrose’s patience that won the day. If the Ghostwalker was shot down on the bridge, the girl and the other man, assuming they were somewhere nearby, would flee. The only thing to be done was to wait it out, and try to catch the whole lot of them at once.

Montrose and Uther had held their breaths in the dark, hay-filled lower room of the mill as the Ghostwalker had unsuccessfully tried the door. For a moment the bounty hunter had thought they were given away, but his fears proved false.

The man had continued up the road and disappeared into the forest.

It was here again that doubts began to play over Montrose’s mind. What if the Ghostwalker had separated from the others? What if he actually
was
alone, or going for help while the girl and the other man hid out in the woods? As the seconds had crept by and nothing happened, Uther had become more and more impatient, and Montrose more and more doubtful.

But patience, as Montrose’s father used to tell him, is always a hunter’s best weapon. A few minutes later, after a suffocatingly long wait, the Ghostwalker had reappeared on the bridge, and signaled the other two, who had come out of hiding.

It had been a near-perfect set-up. Derik and Calham had been tailing the girl, staying just out of sight and waiting for her and the man in the purple cape to break cover and reach the bridge.

And now, as Montrose and Uther emerged from the stuffy mill, he knew that he finally had her.

She and her companions was trapped. There was no place for them to go.

Of course, a trapped animal was always the most dangerous, and the Ghostwalker would not go down easily. The next few seconds would decide everything, and Montrose had no intention of letting his prey escape again.

Taking quick stock of the situation, he barked rapid orders to Uther.

The henchman quickly raised his crossbow, looking for a good shot.

Derik and Calham were bearing down on the bridge from the west, their swords glinting red in the fading daylight.

Montrose allowed himself a quick grin.

He finally had them.

“Maklavir!” Jade cried, pointing to the far end of the bridge.

The diplomat’s heart sank.

Two men were emerging from the mill, crossbows at the ready.

Maklavir pulled back on the reins, bringing Veritas to a rearing halt. Jade held on for dear life.

He swiveled his head to look behind him. Veritas champed at his bit and stomped impatiently at the stones beneath him.

The scene was enough to freeze the blood in his veins. The two horsemen were crashing down upon Kendril, who was standing in the middle of the bridge with a pistol in each hand, ready to fire.

Maklavir felt a begrudging swell of admiration for the man. The Ghostwalker might be a less-than-desirable traveling companion, but one could certainly not doubt his courage.

He swung his head back around to the left. The two crossbowmen were completely blocking the end of the bridge. There was no way off.

With a sudden, lurching feeling in his stomach, Maklavir realized that they were all going to die.

His last thought, strangely, was of a feather bed.

Not the cheap kind, but the ones made of real goose down, with the pillows that were so soft and deep that you could sink your head into them and never come out. It had been years since he had slept in a feather bed. Actually, come to think of it, it had been weeks at least since he had slept in a proper bed at all.

Yes, one more night in a feather bed would have been nice. He was really going to miss that.

With a spark and then a roar, both of Kendril’s pistols fired, spitting out flame and smoke.

One of the lead balls missed, tearing through the sleeve of the rider on the left. He barely noticed its passage.

The other shot, however, struck the horse on the right squarely in the neck.

With a pitiful scream the animal crashed to the ground, its legs kicking wildly. The rider was thrown clear over the head of his mount, the sword flying loose from his hand and skittering down the cobbled bridge.

Kendril flung himself backwards just as the second horse stumbled over the fallen form of the first, unable to stall its headlong flight.

The bridge was too narrow to allow for much maneuvering. The second rider tumbled off his horse as the poor animal gave a great whinny as it desperately to keep from falling.

The horse of the first rider was already in its death throes, giving out heart-rending screams that mixed with the shouts and curses of the men.

Kendril leapt backwards to avoid the crashing beasts, and deftly holstered both of his pistols. He risked a brief glance behind him.

The idiot diplomat was sitting just a few yards away on his horse, staring at him blankly.

“
Go
!” Kendril shouted. He drew one of his short swords. Without waiting to see if his order was obeyed, he snapped his head back around.

One of the men had gotten to his feet, and was coming at him with a sword already in mid-swing.

Uther spun his crossbow around and lined it up with the white horse and its two riders.

Montrose cursed and smacked the henchman’s weapon away. “Don’t shoot!” he raged. “You’ll hit the girl!”

Uther opened his mouth to reply when the air was torn by two gunshots in rapid succession, followed by a cacophony of horse screams and shouts.

Montrose looked back down the bridge.

Unbelievable. The accursed Ghostwalker had brought down both horses.

Shouldering his crossbow, Montrose leapt up onto the side rail of the bridge for a better shot, squaring the weapon’s sights on the man in the black cloak.

It was high time he brought this menace down.

Kendril’s shout seemed to wake Maklavir from a dream.

The diplomat turned toward the two crossbowmen at the end of the bridge, then swallowed. Tugging hard on the bridle, he pulled Veritas around and gripped his sword all the tighter.

Right. Death or glory, then, and all that rot.

“Hold on!” he shouted back to Jade, then kicked his heels into the sides of his horse, The animal obediently catapulted towards the far end of the bridge. The diplomat extended his sword down into a striking position, his heart in his throat.

Charging two armed crossbowmen was nothing short of sheer madness. He and Jade would most certainly be killed. Well,
he
would be killed, at least. As long as Jade stayed behind him she might survive. If he could shield her, that is.

He would try. It was the only gentlemanly thing to do.

Kendril barely got his sword out in time to block the incoming blow.

The harsh clash of metal on metal rang in his ears as the force of the attack smashed him back into the stone railing. He almost lost his footing. The long rifle slung on his back came loose from the impact and clattered to the ground.

He didn’t have time to retrieve it.

With blurring speed the henchman hammered his sword down in another blow.

This time Kendril was more prepared.

He caught the blow on the edge of his own sword and deflected it, then pressed forward with an attack of own.

The man tripped backwards and barely managed to avoid the Ghostwalker’s flashing blade.

The horse Kendril had shot had finally stopped thrashing, the gushing blood from its wound staining the cobblestones of the bridge. The second rider was screaming obscenities, his leg trapped under the animal’s body.

The first rider’s horse had regained its footing, and was retreating down the bridge to the west.

The only intelligent one in the lot, Kendril mused.

He came in fast with his blade, throwing two hard strikes at the standing rider.

The man, panicked from the sudden onslaught, barely blocked the attacks. He tripped over the outstretched leg of the dead horse behind him and lost his balance.

 Kendril took a step back, then turned for an instant to look behind him.

In that exact moment, something hit him hard on his left side ad threw him backwards.

Jade held on to Maklavir’s waist as tightly as she could. The pounding of Veritas’ hooves filled her ears as she peered around the diplomat’s side.

The bounty hunter with the eye patch was up on the railing of the bridge, aiming his crossbow. She saw him fire, and the weapon gave a low
thump
as the bolt sang through the air.

A sudden blind terror filled her mind. She turned to look behind her.

Kendril was hurled back against the side of the bridge, and his sword fell to the ground.

He had been hit.

Before Jade quite knew what she was doing, she leapt off the back of the horse.

She hit the ground, bracing her fall as well as she could with her hands. The right leg of her trousers tore open as her knee scraped against the rough stone.

Biting back the pain, she got to her feet, one hand reaching for the pistol in her belt. She ran back towards the stricken Ghostwalker, her knee surging with pain at each step.

Cold air stung Maklavir’s eyes as he came up fast towards the end of the bridge. He heard a crossbow fire off to his left.

Rather miraculously, nothing happened.

That was rather odd. A white horse with two riders at point-blank range was a difficult target to miss.

Maklavir swung his sword up. Its keen edge glimmered in the fading light.

The second crossbowmen stared up at him in a panicked and confused manner, as if uncertain what to do.

Maklavir shut his eyes and prepared to strike as Veritas pounded forwards.

He could only hope that his luck would continue to hold.

Kendril felt his lower back slam against the side of the bridge. His vision swirled as he crashed to the ground.

Disoriented, he grabbed at the railing and tried to pull himself back to his feet.

His side flared with a tearing pain that almost blinded him. He lost his hold on the railing and slipped down to the ground again.

He had been hit. Shot by one of the crossbowmen at the end of the bridge, no doubt. Kendril could feel the bolt as it burned like a hot iron in his side. It was a bad wound, he thought as he tried to get to his feet once more. He could already feel warm blood running down his left pants leg.