The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans

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СКАЧАТЬ To my left was darkness – the back of the house and the smaller buildings housing animals and servants.

      I went left, stepping carefully in the pale moonlight. The crickets seemed to get louder and two dogs started barking in the distance. The largest of the unattached buildings loomed in front of me – the stable I believed – and immediately stepped in a pile of dung to confirm it. Again I swore in anger and disgust and found the edge of an open door to scrape my soft leather slipper. There was a rich smell of hay and horses coming from the stable and I wondered whether the door was usually left open. Perhaps Valla had come this way?

      I stepped into the deeper darkness of the stable and heard the nervous movement of beasts detecting my presence. I remained still, just inside the door – straining my ears for any sound.

      A thud – like the sound of iron on wood – did not seem the kind of noise an animal would make, so I turned in that direction and crept through the darkness. Presuming it was Valla, what on earth was she up to? Not stealing a horse, surely! I could think of no other reason for her being here and felt both anger and fear – anger at her ingratitude to our host and fear of my humiliation were she to succeed.

      And fear of losing Valla.

      If she was stealing a horse then clearly she was leaving, despite her agreement to go all the way to Lundene. I didn’t want to lose her so soon. In fact, I didn’t want to lose her at all, and was amazed at the depth of my feelings in such a short time. Despite her insults – despite her distance and warnings – despite even her occasional threats to geld me I was drawn to her helpless as a silk-bound fly in the web of a spider.

      Another thud, and further restive shuffling from the animals.

      ‘Valla!’ I called, in a louder whisper, and continued moving towards the sounds, stubbing my toes against some heavy object. I groped on the ground and found a long-handled tool – possibly a rake left by a farrier or groom or such – and decided it might be useful. Clutching it like a weapon, I moved forward.

      Another thud, and one of the horses snorted irritably. Then a louder clang as something of metal was broken. Then muttering voices in the darkness.

      I froze, suddenly perceiving what was happening.

      The animals whimpered as I groped my way back towards the door, limned with moonlight, but in my haste I kicked something in the darkness which clattered loudly to the ground.

      There was a muffled shriek, and a sibilant curse, and then I heard them moving swiftly towards me – escaping serfs – Rockers skilled at killing in darkness.

      I made it to the doorway, holding my weapon before me, when suddenly they came from all sides – rushing past me.

      ‘Stop!’ I shouted and swung my weapon, connecting only with the side of the barn, but the shout and the whack of my weapon on wood inspired an answering shout from the sentries and I knew help was coming.

      Then someone barged into me, throwing me heavily to the ground, but I held onto my weapon and from my knees swung it again in the darkness, this time connecting hard against flesh and bone.

      There was a cry, and further scattering of shadows as sentries came running with a flaming torch.

      ‘Serfs escaping!’ I shouted, as a hand wrapped around my mouth, but I bit hard on a finger and heard a female squeal.

      More soldiers came running from the house and more torches shed light on the confusion.

      I was on my knees, pissed in the mud, blinking at the men holding torches and shouting angrily. One large fellow – a sergeant in a shirt of rings, like Angdred’s, was barking orders and men ran about the yard and behind the stable searching. Stretched out in front of me was a body – the red haired snaggle-tooth, bleeding from an ugly wound on his right temple.

      ‘What the fuck is this?’ demanded the sergeant, standing over the body.

      ‘Escaping serf,’ I slurred stupidly, brandishing my rake.

      Yet more torches came, from the house, and Tostig was suddenly striding about in our midst, barking orders and clearly enjoying himself, apparently unaffected by all the ale and wine he’d drunk.

      ‘Sconed the fucker?’ he asked me, kicking the red-haired snaggle-tooth in the guts, causing him to stir and groan.

      ‘Where are the rest?’ shouted the sergeant. ‘Find ’em … quickly!’

      No more serfs were found but a hole in the thorn fence was discovered, behind the stable. Then another soldier showed Tostig the broken lock from the room where the serfs had been held.

      Tostig swore and kicked the snaggle-tooth until he was curled into a ball, vainly warding the blows.

      ‘Someone helped you!’ he shouted, between kicks. ‘Who the fuck let you out?’

      ‘Leave him!’

      A woman’s voice, cold as wind off snow, cut through the shouting and violence, and all turned to see the Lady Swanneshals, standing on the edge of the torchlight.

      ‘Put him back in the stable,’ she said. ‘He has suffered enough.’

      ‘For now,’ agreed Tostig, and allowed the snaggle-tooth to be carried away.

      ‘Well done Brand,’ said Tostig, fury turning instantly to glee as he remembered my part in the battle. ‘Can’t keep you out of a fight, can we lad?’

      The rest of the men crowded about me, praising my vigilance and resourcefulness.

      But Swanneshals just stared at me for a moment and returned to the house. Tostig and I followed.

      ‘Fucking inside help,’ muttered Tostig. ‘Someone has made a hole in the fence and then broken the lock on the serfs’ prison. The rats knew where to run when they got out.’

      ‘Except one.’

      ‘Except one,’ he agreed, laughing. ‘That ginger bugger’s had a good day hasn’t he? First he gets cut by your blade last night … then he gets thumped by Hereborn this morning … branded, locked up, clouted by your rake and now he’s getting the shit kicked out of him by the lads. Happy fucking Tuesday!’

      I laughed, but inside I was in a turmoil. Valla had clearly been the one to set the serfs free and now she was gone. This would certainly be established in the morning when she was revealed as missing, and maybe even the snaggle-toothed red head would identify her as his temporary liberator. I would be humiliated, and it even occurred to me to go back to his cell and find an excuse to kill him before he could tell that damning truth to his interrogators.

      But, warrior though I wished to be, murdering defenceless serfs (however inconvenient) was not the honourable path. It would have been an act worthy of Malgard, no doubt, but not Brand Holgarsson.

      As the tumult died down, I found my way back down the passage and re-entered my chamber. It was dark and I muttered angrily about the candle having gone out, but a little light came in the open window.

      Enough light to show that someone slept in the bed.

      ‘Valla?’

      ‘Be quiet,’ she СКАЧАТЬ