not to wake her, glad at the opportunity to move away from despicable Gorvel: the veil creature who robbed his guest of the Holy Grail and then tried to kill him treacherously, throwing heavy stones down at him…
Suddenly, they heard screams from the dark valley below. The closest bonfire blazed up. Thomas saw tiny figures of men rushing around it, then some riders galloping past like ghosts. Then other bonfires blazed up too. There was a glitter of blades, furious shouts grew louder.
“They captured him!” Gorvel cried with obvious vexation.
“At least he managed to kill some of them!” Thomas replied angrily. “Unlike us. We’ll die without any glory.”
“They wouldn’t make such ado for nothing,” Gorvel agreed.
The Black Beard woke another villain up, cursing furiously. Together with the marauders who had jumped up, they peered with fear and anxiety at the far bonfires and darting figures. Then the Black Beard climbed out of the cleft. “We can get out!” he cried excitedly. “They have pilgrim, all their attention on him. I don’t know whose holy relics he worshipped, but I beat he’s killed at least one of theirs! And they forgot us!”
“And the devils that guard us?” another villain asked him.
“They must have run down. And if some remained… you’ve served in the imperial guard, haven’t you?”
The marauders exchanged glances, started to climb out of the cleft. Swords and daggers glittered in their hands. Chachar jumped up, wrapping herself in Thomas’s cloak with cold, and clung to the knight.
Gorvel hesitated, his eyes shifted from villains and marauders in their leave to Thomas and shivering Chachar. “Sir Thomas, we’ll have to join this scum for a while. Even if they die all, two of us, the strongest knights, will break through! And then we settle our dispute in combat. Agreed?”
“No,” Thomas snapped resolutely. “My friend is captured by enemies. I’m bound to save him. Or die trying to save him.”
“Bound!” Gorvel jeered. “What about our duel?”
“My sword will find you, scoundrel,” Thomas told him with loathing. “But first I’ll try to rescue sir wonderer. If I perish, it will be a death of Christian warrior.”
“Your death will be neither Christian nor worthy of a warrior,” Gorvel objected. “You don’t see what’s behind you!”
Thomas wheeled round — and saw empty mountain slope, all dark. He heard Chachar squeal in fright, started turning back to Gorvel but a violent header came down on him. With a flash of white fire before eyes, he fell silently on the ground, rolled few steps down into the cleft. Gorvel raised his axe to descend there and cleave the knight’s head, but the marauders and villains had vanished from sight: he could only hear their heavy breath, clang of arms, and trample of feet. He swore and ran after them, sent the crying Chachar flying off his way.
Weeping loudly, Chachar collapsed on the cold iron body. Thomas did not stir, and when she managed to raise his visor a bit, her fingers found something wet, hot, and sticky.
A red stripe emerged on the east, but the knight’s unblinking eyes were fixed on the fading stars.
Chapter 14
They ran past the first belt of stones, then the second one — and clashed suddenly with Hazars, only two of them. A villain fell with his head cleaved but the Hazars were slashed, and the party rushed down, stamping their boots. There was no point trying to conceal themselves anymore: before the barbarians died, they’d screamed, and a scream answered from below.
Twice they were caught up by Hazar parties gathered in a hurry. Gorvel and marauders passed through both of them and lost no men. Only the last of brigands, the Black Beard, fell down, transfixed with two arrows. Dying, he broke the neck of a screaming sturdy Hazar who was tattooed all over.
For the third time — they had already changed from run to walk, almost sure they’d thrown Hazars off — a big party came upon them. A fierce battle struck up, and no one ran away. A savage beast awoke in every man. Hazars screamed, scratched, bit, and even spat, but marauders also went bestial: if they lost their swords, they gnawed at enemies.
When the fight was over, only three men stood on their feet among many bloodshed corpses: Gorvel, Roland, and one of his soldiers. The three of them bared their teeth, breathing heavily, too exhausted to move or speak. The valley was silent.
Gorvel raised his sword. “We have to get away,” he said in a hoarse voice. “We broke through but there are lots of devils back in the camp. And that horned monster!”
The eastern edge of the sky was going lighter. Gorvel could see the tired faces of his random companions. The stars were fading gradually. In the twilight of the dawn, some dark half-ruined rocks were seen here and there. The three men, making no common plan, hurried into the same conglomeration of stones.
The clouds in the sky blazed red, as if they were splattered with blood, the air became clear and transparent — when the ground was knocked away from under their feet at once. Gorvel and marauders were so sure they’d left Hazars behind that they had no time to draw swords when half-naked bodies seemed to emerge out of thin air. A huge boulder flew up. Gorvel only had time to see that it was actually a shield, deliberately caked in mud, and glimpse Karganlyk’s ferocious face under it.
Gorvel gripped the sword hilt. A massive hulk fell on him, blocking his breath. He moaned and saw a glitter of evil joy in small malevolent eyes. He clenched his teeth, struggled away, but Karganlyk squeezed his body with more force. Gorvel’s bones cracked, a groan burst out with his breath. He tasted hot and salty. “To the valley!” Karganlyk ordered Hazars. “These ones will be dying a very long time, for our gods to rejoice!”
Gorvel was tied up to a stout pole. Four Hazars shouldered it, hastened down to the valley. Roland was carried behind. Gorvel heard curses and grasped that the third of their party had also been taken alive. He roared and swore dirtily but stopped in the middle of a sentence, Gorvel heard a muffled thud, as if a stone were hit by a thick stick.
The radiant edge of sun appeared over the horizon when the captives were eventually brought to the camp. Hazars tore clothes off them, threw Gorvel’s armor down in a heap, then pulled it on a wooden block. Roland clenched his teeth, gloomy and enduring, but another marauder, as he came to, reviled the torturers again: threated, mocked, and spat at them. Hazars went furious but no one, in fear of their formidable leader, dared to finish the captive off, which he obviously strove for. They spat on the three captives in return, flung clods of mud at them.
They were stretched face up on the ground, their limbs tied to dug-in stakes. Gorvel gritted his teeth, trying not to let a moan out, as his joints cracked, his sinews all but burst at the strain. He saw nothing but the sky and, in times, the laughing mugs of enemies. Ugly and tattooed, they jumped, grimaced, screamed. Many of them used the opportunity to water the sprawled enemies. Soon Gorvel was bathed in stinky urine. His head remained free, he could shake it sideways. Hazars laughed and slapped on their bare knees when the proud knight closed his eyes tight. Some ready-witted one fetched a wooden funnel, thrust it into the knight’s jaws, and watered into it, screaming happily and jumping, while Gorvel coughed desperately and choked. The mob around roared with laughter
Karganlyk appeared suddenly, furious. He kicked Gorvel, the knight heard the crunch of own broken ribs. “Where’s the Old Sorcerer? One with green eyes?”
Gorvel winced with pain in his broken ribs, but his lips curled in a malevolent smirk. “You haven’t got him?”
“I would if only I met him face to face! But he killed nine my best warriors! I will torture him for long, very long!”
“Catch him at first,” Gorvel croaked, feeling evil strength still in him. “Nine under your very nose? This wolf will kill all of yours, like sheep. He only plays a pious man… When devil is old, he shall take monkhood…”
Karganlyk kicked him again. That time he smashed the knight’s cheekbone to bleeding with joy. “Hey you, at the fire! Irons ready? Let’s see how tough he is.”
