As he walked down the hill four men moved out of the trees.
Waylander’s eyes narrowed, but he walked on. Dardalion had not seen the men and was talking to the boy, Culas.
The men spread out as Waylander approached. All four were bearded, their faces grim. Each wore a longsword and two of them carried bows. Waylander’s crossbow was clipped to his belt, but it was useless, for the metal arms were snapped shut.
Dardalion turned as Waylander walked past him and saw the newcomers. The sisters ceased their flower-gathering and ran to Danyal, Culas moving alongside them as Dardalion went to stand just behind Waylander.
‘Nice horses,’ said the man at the centre of the group. He was taller than the others and wore a green cloak of homespun wool.
Waylander said nothing and Dardalion could feel the tension rising. He wiped his palm on his shirt and hooked his thumb in his belt close to the hilt of the knife. The green-cloaked newcomer observed the movement and smiled, his blue eyes flickering back to Waylander.
‘You don’t offer much in the way of greetings, my friend,’ he said.
Waylander smiled. ‘Did you come here to die?’ he asked softly.
‘Why this talk of dying? We are all Drenai here.’ The man was uncomfortable now. ‘My name is Baloc and these are my brothers Lak, Dujat and Meloc – he’s the youngest. We’re not here to cause you harm.’
‘It would not matter if you were,’ said Waylander. ‘Tell your brothers to sit down and be comfortable.’
‘I do not like your manner,’ said Baloc, stiffening. He edged back a step and the brothers fanned out to form a semi-circle around Waylander and the priest.
‘Your likes and dislikes are immaterial to me,’ said Waylander. ‘And if your brother makes one more move to the right, I’ll kill him.’
The man stopped instantly and Baloc licked his lips. ‘You are big on threats for a man with no sword.’
‘That should tell you something,’ said Waylander. ‘But then you look like a stupid man, so I will spell it out for you. I don’t need a sword to deal with scum like you. No, don’t say a word – just listen! Today I am in a good mood. You understand? Had you arrived yesterday I would probably have killed you without all this conversation. But today I feel expansive. The sun is shining and all is well. So take your brothers and go back the way you came.’
Baloc stared into Waylander’s eyes, unsure and aware of a growing unease. Two men against four and not a sword in sight. Two horses and a woman as the prize. Yet still he was unsure.
The man was so confident, so calm. Not an ounce of tension showed in his stance or his manner … and his eyes were cold as tombstones.
Baloc grinned suddenly and spread his arms. ‘All this talk of death and killing … Is there not enough trouble in the world? All right, we’ll leave.’ As he backed away, watching Waylander, his brothers joined him and all the men disappeared back into the trees.
‘Run,’ said Waylander.
‘What?’ asked Dardalion. But the dark-haired warrior was already sprinting towards the horses, pulling his crossbow clear and snapping the hinges open.
‘Lie down!’ he yelled and Danyal hurled herself to the ground, dragging the sisters with her.
Black-shafted arrows hissed from the trees. One flashed by Dardalion’s head and he dived for the grass; a second missed Waylander by inches. Snapping two bolts into place and stretching the bow-arms tight, he ran for the trees, zig-zagging and ducking. Arrows flew perilously close. One hissed above Dardalion; he heard a choking cry and rolled over. The boy, Culas, had remained standing but now he knelt in pain, his small hands clutching a shaft buried in his belly.
Anger roared through Dardalion and with knife in hand he followed Waylander. As he went, a scream came from the forest … then another. Dardalion entered the trees at a run and saw two of the men down while Waylander, a knife in each hand, faced the other pair. Baloc ran forward, his sword flashing towards Waylander’s neck, but Waylander ducked under the sweeping blade and rammed his right-hand knife in to the man’s groin. Baloc doubled over and fell, dragging Waylander with him. As the last robber ran forward with sword raised, Dardalion’s arm came up and swept down. The black blade thudded home in the robber’s throat and he toppled backwards to writhe on the dark earth. Waylander wrenched his knife clear of Baloc and then, grabbing the man’s hair, pulled his head back.