Roder was starting to sweat, his heart pounded in his ears. The bruise behind his left ear ached, and he felt as if he might throw up if they didn’t release him from this painful hogtie. “What is this all about? What about rescuing your sister?”
More laughter. Teffen knelt and displayed his short knife under Roder’s nose. Roder closed his eyes and steeled himself for the strike, but instead of plunging the blade in his back, the youth slit his rough bonds. Roder shivered with relief until four strong hands seized him by the arms and hauled him to his feet.
“Time for a genuine introduction. My name is Sandys,” he said. “As I am of noble lineage, I am called ‘Lord’ Sandys.”
All the blood drained from Roder’s head, and his knees folded like a pair of dry cornstalks. The outlaws dragged him his feet again, snickering.
“I see you’ve heard of me,” the former Teffen said.
“It was all a trap,” Roder gasped. “The robbery, the cart, your sister-
“You can meet my ‘sister,’ if you like.” He indicated the fifth man present, a rangy fellow with a face as tan as an old boot. His long reddish hair was pulled back in a thick hank. The outlaw grinned and held a tattered brown gown to his shoulders. Roder closed his eyes and cursed his own stupidity.
“You make a fine sister, Renny,” Sandys said. The raw-boned bandit laughed and tossed the old dress on the ground.
“We usually work the carter-and-his-sister routine on wealthy travelers,” the bandit chief said. “Once we saw you were by yourself, it seemed a good idea to land you and see what you were up to.”
“You make me sound like a trout,” said Roder.
“You took the bait like one.”
Roder swallowed and darted his eyes from side to side. He was somewhere deep in the forest. A smoky campfire smoldered in the center of the small clearing. Crude tents of deerskin and bark lined the edge of the clearing. He counted just five men with Lord Sandys.
Sandys handed him a hollowed gourd. “Drink,” he said. “No doubt you’ve got a headache.”
Roder took the gourd gratefully and gulped the liquid inside without sampling it first. It wasn’t water but some raw, fiery liquor, which scalded his throat all the way down to his stomach. His popeyed expression made the bandits roar.
“What kind of tenderfeet are the Knights sending after us these days?” said one. “Is this all they have left?”
“My job was to deliver a dispatch, not chase bandits,” Roder croaked.
“So I’ve seen, but German’s point is well made. How old are you, Roder?” Sandys asked.
“Twenty-five.”
Sandys narrowed his eyes. “How old?”
A chill ran down Roder’s spine. “Twenty.”
The outlaws laughed at him again. Sandys smiled. “That’s all right, Roder. I’m but twenty-four myself. It’s not how old you are that counts, it’s what you’ve done with your life.”
Stung by their laughter, Roder said, “I see what you’ve done with yours!”
“Your order made me into an outlaw,” Sandys shot back. “Lord Burnond confiscated my ancestral estate and drove my family into poverty.”
“Did he make you steal?”
Sandys drained what liquor remained from the gourd. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “I know two great thieves, Roder. One lives in a castle and is deemed noble. The other lives in the forest and owns nothing but the clothes you see.”
The outlaws, laughing some more, turned and went about their morning chores. Roder stood where they left him, paralyzed. He could see they’d brought his gear along, including his sword, which was leaning against a tree scant feet away. Berry was there, too, tied to a picket line with the brigands’ horses. Could he reach his horse before the bandits could react?
“Forget escape,” Sandys said, still standing there. “You won’t last a day in the woods. If a beast doesn’t get you, other outlaws will-and not all the bandits in this forest are as tolerant as I am.”
“What’s to become of me?”
“I don’t know. Would your commandant pay to have you back?” The look on Roder’s face answered that question. “Too bad. He should prize his spies more.”
“Spies?”
Sandys suddenly backhanded Roder across the face. Though slight of build, the bandit chief had an iron hand. Roder’s aching head rang from the blow. He balled both fists, then stopped himself when he remembered Sandys was armed and he was not,
“Stop playing the fool!” Sandys said fiercely. “I see through Burnond’s stratagem!”
He massaged his throbbing jaw. “What are you talking about?”
“You came to the forest to spy on us, didn’t you? Why deny it when I have the proof before me?”
“You’re mad! I told you, I was sent by Lord Burnond to deliver-”
“To deliver this?” Sandys snatched the scroll from his boot and flung it in Roder’s face. “Don’t make me laugh! It’s gibberish-just random scribbles. Did you think I wouldn’t be able to read it?”
Roder picked up the dispatch. He unrolled it and look it over, puzzled. The parchment was cut square, and he couldn’t tell the top from the bottom. He turned it this way and that.
Sandys pulled the scroll from Roder’s unresisting grip. “Why do you persist in this stupid game? Next thing, you’ll ask me to believe a Dark Knight can’t read.”
He flushed. “It’s true, I cannot read.”
“Can’t read?” Sandys muttered, color draining from his face. “That’s what I thought. . ” He backed away, and shouted to his men: “Gerthan! Renny! Rothgen! Wall! Urlee!”
Only four men answered their chief’s call. “Where’s Rothgen?” Sandys said sharply.
“He took two pails down to the spring,” his “sister” replied. Renny squinted in that direction. “He is taking a long time-
“Get to your horses. We’re getting out of here!”
The robbers stared. Sandys roared some choice profanity, and they bolted into action. Roder looked on, absolutely thunderstruck. Gerthan ran past a moment later, a horse blanket draped over his shoulder. He pointed to Roder and said, “What about him, Sandys?”
“We don’t have time for fools. Leave him.”
Gerthan spat and shook his head. “He knows our faces,” he said. “We can’t let him live.”
Sandys was already across the clearing when the sound of German’s dagger leaving its sheath galvanized Roder to action. He sprang for his sword, still leaning against a tree a few steps away. German’s footfalls were close behind. Roder grabbed the sword hilt and swung around. The tip of the scabbard clipped the bandit’s nose. Leaping back, Gerthan shifted his grip on the dagger from thrust to throw. Roder frantically tried to free the sword from its casing, but it was stuck tight. An inch or two of blade emerged, coated with rust. His heart stopped. After falling in the stream, he’d shoved the sword in the scabbard without drying it.
With nothing else to do, he presented the sword, scabbard and all. The covered blade was a clumsy defense, but it was all Roder had. The bandit feinted a throw, and Roder waved his sheathed blade wildly. His grip was poor, and the heavy weapon flew from his grasp, rumbling through the air to land six feet behind his attacker. Gerthan grinned and took aim.
Somewhere in the dense greenery a horn blasted. A black arrow, fletched with gray goose feathers, sprouted from Gerthan’s ribs. He groaned loudly and dropped the dagger, following it to the ground a half-second later. Shouts followed, and the sound of men and horses crashing through the foliage. The horn blew again, closer. Roder spun around, trying to spot the source of his unexpected salvation. He saw Sandys vault onto a pony. Armed men on horseback and on foot were flooding the little clearing, dozens of them. More arrows flickered into the turf around him. Who was attacking? Another outlaw band, warring on Sandys’s gang?
Heart hammering, he knew he should do something. Picking up Gerthan’s dagger, Roder tore after Sandys, leaping over stones and tree roots. The bandit’s pony scrambled ahead, opening the gap between them until a trio of horsemen appeared directly in Sandys’s path. Sandys wrenched his horse around and found Roder blocking his way, dagger in hand.
