Horrified to see a young girl carried off before his eyes, Roder let out a yell and steered Berry after the fleeing bandits. The heavy charger built up speed thundering down the hill, and for a moment it seemed he might overtake the robbers on their nimble ponies. But just as his rear hooves got wet, Berry snagged his front legs on a snarl of floating rope. The lines were firmly tied to the cart, and the horse twisted sideways and fell heavily into the brook.
Roder went flying. He landed hard enough on the muddy bank to drive the wind from his chest and see stars in daylight. Berry stepped free of the ropes and trotted riderless up the hill after the bandits.
The sun stopped spinning, and Roder felt cold water seeping into his boots. A shadow fell across his face, and he looked up to see a young man gazing down at him.
“Are you all right?”
Roder bolted from the mud. Somehow, in all the running, flying, and falling, he had managed to keep his grip on his sword. He presented the muddy blade to the stranger. The pale-faced young man backed away.
“No, wait! I’m not one of tbe robbers!” he said, waving Roder’s sword aside. “That’s my cart there. My name’s Teffen-Teffen the carter.”
Roder lowered his weapon warily. “What happened here?”
“I’m a tradesman, on my way from Kyre to Fangoth,” said Teffen. He was little more than a boy, with a pale, pleasant face, spoiled by a rather long nose and sharp chin. Teffen was dressed like a townsman-trews, broadcloth tunic, and a leather vest. The sides of the vest were scorched. “My cart got mired in the creek, and before Renny and I could get out, the outlaws attacked.”
“Renny?”
“My sister.” Teffen’s eyes widened. “They got her! They got Renny!” He turned to pursue the long-departed brigands. Roder caught his arm and spun him around. Under the broadcloth the boy’s arm was slender but hard.
“Wait,” said Roder. “You can’t catch four men on horseback by yourself.”
“Let me go!”
Roder released him. “You’d better listen to me. I know about bandits. They’re ruthless killers. The woods are full of them.”
Teffen planted his hands on his hips. “Who are you?”
He drew himself up to full height. “I am Roder, of Castle Camlargo.”
“You’re one of the Dark Knights?” Roder nodded gravely. “We paid tithe to you to traverse your lands. We were supposed to be protected! You must help me save my sister!”
“Under other circumstances, I would, but I have an important mission-I must deliver a dispatch to Fangoth as soon as possible.”
Teffen looked as though he might cry. “You know what they’ll do to her, don’t you?”
Roder tried not to think about it. Lord Burnond’s message, seal intact, still hung from his shoulder. The sheaf of parchment was a tremendous burden, far heavier than its true weight.
“In the end, they’ll kill her,” Teffen was saying. “Of course, by then she may be better off dead.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Who am I fooling if I pretend otherwise?” the boy shouted. The following silence was lightened only by the gurgling of the stream.
Roder looked from the sword in his muddy hand to Teffen’s plaintive face. “I’ll save your sister,” he said at last.
Teffen fervently clasped his hands. “May the gods who still live bless you!”
Embarrassed, Roder pulled his hands free on the pretext of washing them in the brook. As he splashed water on his face and rinsed the gray muck from his sword, he said, “Do you have a weapon, Teffen?”
“Just this knife.” He held up a milliner’s blade, no more than three inches long. “I had a short sword, but a bandit knocked it from my hand. It fell in the water somewhere.”
“Never mind.” Roder didn’t plan to fight the bandits anyway. He had some idea he and the boy could sneak into the robbers’ camp by night and free Renny. Swordplay was something he wanted to avoid.
He took off his helmet, scooped up a double handful of cold water, and let it pour through his long, blond hair. When Roder stood up, he found Teffen watching him in a curiously attentive way. Teffen, aware his attention was noticed, turned away, slogging through the knee-deep water to the wrecked cart. Smoke from the burning cart made him cough.
“What were you carrying?” asked Roder.
“Dry goods, mostly. Bolts of yard cloth, wool yarn, a cask of buttons.” What hadn’t burned was hopelessly sodden. “It’s all gone, looks like.”
“Worldly goods can be replaced,” Roder replied, nicking his helmet under his arm. “What matters most is saving your sister’s life and honor.”
Teffen kicked the charred underside of the cart. “You’re right, my lord. I’m glad you came along when you did, or I’d have no hope at all.” He looked around suddenly. “My cart horse ran off when the bandits cut the traces. Where’s your steed, Sir Roder?”
Good question. Roder shaded his eyes and gazed up the trail where Berry and the robbers had disappeared. He put on a good front. “Silly, brave old horse! When Berry hears the clash of steel, he has to gallop into the thick of things. Once he realizes he’s lost me, he’ll come back.”
“Time is fleeting, my lord. Poor Renny-”
“Yes, of course.” Roder sheathed his sword and walked onto the east bank of the stream. Teffen poked around in the ruined cart for a few seconds and soon joined Roder carrying a small canvas pack.
“My things,” said the boy in response to Roder’s inquiring look. “Shall we go?”
Roder led the way. He carried his helmet, letting the late day sun dry his loose, flowing hair. He was the very image of a Knight, with his broad shoulders, black brig-andine, helmet, and sword. His wet boots squished loudly as he walked, spoiling the effect, and by the time the sun set, his feet still weren’t dry.
The brigands’ trail-and Berry’s-was easy to follow. The robbers rode two abreast down the narrow path, and Berry’s iron-shod hooves left substantial dents in the dirt. At intervals the bandits’ horses pulled up in a group and milled about, then set off again. Roder imagined they could hear Berry and thought the Knight they saw at the brook was bearing down on them. Strangely, they didn’t try to leave the path, though their smaller mounts could easily have done so, leaving Roder’s big warhorse to flounder in the underbrush and closely growing trees.
He remarked on this to Teffen, who shrugged and said, “Who knows what bandits think?”
“They want your sister for ransom,” Roder speculated. He was sweating under the weight of his equipment. “You don’t dress as if you have much money, though your manners are refined for a tradesman.”
Teffen kicked a rock off the path. “Our family had money once. Our fortunes failed after the great war, and we’ve been working folk ever since.”
“There’s no shame in that.”
“I’m not ashamed of anything I do.”
Roder cast a sideways glance at the boy. Something in Teffen’s manner-his stride, the determined set of his jaw-convinced Roder there was truth in his statement. Teffen, noticing Roder’s scrutiny, changed the subject.
“How long have you been a Dark Knight?” the boy asked.
“I’ve been at Camlargo all my life.”
“That’s a curious way to put it.” Teffen smiled in an obscure way.
“I was abandoned at the castle gate as a baby. Lord Bumond became my guardian and raised me.”
They were walking close enough together that their shoulders bumped. Teffen said, “I’m sure it was more interesting than growing up in a milliner’s shop.”
“I can’t complain. I get to spend a lot of time with horses. I like horses.”
Darkness came early in the deep forest. The setting sun’s oblique rays could not penetrate the thick curtain of leaves, causing twilight to fall much sooner than it did on the plain. Roder and Teffen had marched for hours without closing the gap. Teffen was deeply worried about his sister; Roder could tell by the fact the boy said less and less as their hike progressed. The trail remained fresh; the robbers seemed just beyond reach, over the next hill, around the next turn. .
Roder was tired. His feet were blistered where his wet stockings rubbed, and he was ravenously hungry. He diplomatically suggested pausing for quick meal. To his surprise, Teffen readily agreed to rest. They found a fallen
