The Wandering Knight Read Free Page B

putting all the scorn he could manage into his voice. “In the name of the Lord of Knightcastle, I demand that you release my father at once.”
    Waller bawled out a laugh. “You do, now do you? Just why should I do that?”
    “Because,” said Gerald, “if you do not, you will be slain.”
    Waller laughed again. “You know what I think, boy? I think you got away when we took your father. I think you’re trying to scare us.” His smile widened. “And I think the ransom just doubled. I doubt your mother wants her pompous windbag of a husband back. But she might want her precious little boy. And if she doesn’t want to pay…why, she might change her tune when we send her your ears in box.” He looked behind the wall. “You two! Take him!”
    “One last chance!” said Gerald. “Surrender my father or perish!”
    Waller sneered. “Stupid boy. You can’t kill us.”
    “I can’t,” said Gerald, remembering what Mazael had told him to say. “But the men I hired can. Reccard the Fist and his lads would like to find you, wouldn’t they?”
    Waller scowled. “What? How do you know Reccard?”
    Gerald sprinted into the woods. 
    “Get back here!” roared Waller. “Damn it! You and you! All of you! Find that boy and bring him to me. Now! Now!” 
    Gerald heard the stockade’s gate open, heard the shouts of furious men. 
    He ran as fast as he could.
    Gods, but he hoped Sir Mazael knew what he was doing!

    ###

    Mazael sprinted through the trees, pine needles scraping beneath his boots. An arrow shot over his shoulder and embedded itself in a tree trunk. Reccard and his men were gaining. Unless Mazael found a hiding place or favorable terrain, they were going to overtake him…
    He saw a flash of blue in the trees, grinned, and changed direction. 
    Gerald Roland burst into sight, running as fast as he could manage, a mob of enraged bandits of his heels. Waller himself ran at their head, moving much faster than Mazael had expected from so fat a man.
    “Gerald!” shouted Mazael. “To me!”
    Gerald pivoted, running for Mazael.
    Mazael turned and ran at Reccard’s charging men, waving his sword over his head and screaming like a madman. Reccard’s bandits skidded to halt, and Reccard himself frowned in puzzlement.
    Behind him, three men with bows took aim.
    And then Gerald reached Mazael, Waller’s gang lumbering after him.
    For a shocked instant both bandit chiefs glared at each other.
    “Waller!” shouted Reccard. “You damned whoreson! This is your doing!” 
    “At them, lads!” bellowed Waller. “The lordling’s hired them to kill us!”
    “What?” said Reccard. “You idiot, we…”
    But it was too late. Waller’s men howled like madmen and flung themselves at Reccard’s bandits. In a moment the forest had become a battleground, men shouting and fighting with clubs and daggers and fists. Mazael wheeled, killed one of Reccard’s men, cut down one of Waller’s, and then tore free from the melee, a wide-eyed Gerald running at his side. 
    Mazael shot a glance over his shoulder. For the moment, the two bandit gangs were fixed on each other.
    “Come on,” said Mazael. “We haven’t much time.”

    ###

    A few moments later Mazael walked through the stockade and into Waller’s nest. The place reeked of rotting food and privy trenches, and battered wagons and empty barrels stood everywhere. Two nervous-looking bandits with clubs stood in the center of the camp, guarding a barrel.
    Malden Roland, Lord of Knightcastle, sat upon the barrel, his expression one of aloof disdain. He had blue eyes and gray-streaked blond hair, and wore gleaming boots, fine clothing, and a sky-blue cloak adorned with the Roland greathelm sigil. His eyes widened in astonishment as Mazael and Gerald approached.
    “Gerald?” said Lord Malden. “What the devil are you doing here?”
    “You’re not one of ours!” said one of the bandits.
    “I am not,” said Mazael. “Lord Malden’s men have tracked you here,