Flight of the Night Hawks. Raymond E. Feist

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      Tad picked up the branch Zane had used as a club and with all his strength he hit the man in the back of the head, the blow providing another nasty sounding crack. The bandit released his hold on Zane and pitched over sideways. The man lay groaning, and Tad hit him again, this time causing the man’s body to jerk and then lie still.

      Zane had scuttled backwards when released and now he rose and came to stand next to Tad. After a moment, he whispered, ‘He’s not breathing.’

      ‘I hope he’s not,’ said Tad.

      ‘You killed him,’ said Zane softly, in mixed admiration and shock.

      ‘He would have killed us,’ was Tad’s reply.

      ‘Hey!’

      Both boys turned as one at the sound from below, the second man trudging back up the wash. ‘Did you see them?’

      Zane glanced at Tad, who nodded, and yelled back in a faux deep voice, ‘Up here!’

      Zane’s eyes grew wide, but Tad pointed upwards, and put his hands together. Zane stepped into the stirrup Tad formed, and took the boost to reach the branch. ‘I’ll draw him here,’ said Tad. ‘You hit him!’

      Zane said, ‘Then give me the branch, you fool!’

      Tad was just on the verge of tossing it up to Zane when the second bandit came hurrying up the gully. He was out of breath but the instant he saw Tad standing over his fallen comrade holding the makeshift bludgeon, he pointed his sword and ran towards the boy.

      Tad stood rooted in terror for an instant, then at the last he ducked as the bandit tried to cut his head from his shoulders. The blade struck the tree trunk and cut deep, like an axe. The blade was wedged deep and the bandit yanked to free it. Tad thrust upwards into the man’s face with the butt end of the dried branch, and the erstwhile club struck him square on the nose. ‘Damn!’ shouted the man as he threw up his left arm, knocking aside the branch while he staggered back. Tad could see the man had some small cuts on his face and a few embedded splinters, but the blow did nothing more than annoy him. Tad grabbed the hilt of the man’s sword and yanked the blade free, then stood resolutely facing the bandit.

      The man drew back his dagger. ‘If you know how to use it, y’whelp, you’d best be about it, else I’ll cut you from chin to crotch for what you did to Mathias.’ He stepped forward, blade ready, as a pair of feet appeared directly over his head. Zane jumped from the branch above, one foot striking the side of the man’s neck, the other landing on his shoulder. The boy’s weight drove the bandit straight to his knees and Tad could see the wide-eyed, startled expression on his face as his head twisted impossibly to one side, and he could hear the loud crack as his neck broke.

      Zane again tumbled hard to the ground and lay there uttering a groan. Tad looked downward, first at the bandit who now lay at his feet, his head bent at an unnatural angle, his vacant eyes staring up at the night sky. He then looked at Zane who lay on his back, also wide-eyed and motionless. Tad knelt next to his foster brother who took in a large gasp of air and softly said, ‘I think my back is broken.’

      Tad said, ‘Are you serious?’ with concern approaching panic in his voice.

      ‘It hurts like it is,’ said the shorter boy.

      Tad stuck his thumbnail into his companion’s leg and said, ‘Can you feel that?’

      ‘Ow!’ said Zane, sitting up. ‘That hurt.’

      ‘Your back’s not broken,’ said Tad, standing and giving Zane a hand up as he did.

      ‘How do you know?’ said the ill-used boy.

      ‘Jacob Stephenson told me that when Twomy Croom’s father broke his back from that fall in their barn, the old man couldn’t move his legs, couldn’t even feel anything below the waist.’

      ‘That’s bad,’ said Zane.

      ‘Didn’t matter,’ offered Tad. ‘The old man died a day later.’

      ‘Feels like I broke it,’ said Zane in a weak bid for sympathy.

      ‘Get the other sword,’ said Tad.

      Zane took the one next to the first man they had killed. Tad hefted the other and the taller boy said, ‘We should get back to the wagon.’

      Zane said, ‘But Caleb said not to come back?’

      Tad’s blood was up and he almost shouted, ‘But he may need our help!’

      ‘You think Caleb’s all right?’

      Fear and exultation mixed in equal measure as Tad said, ‘If we can kill two of these bastards, I’m sure Caleb was the equal of the other three.’

      Zane didn’t look convinced, but he followed his foster brother.

      They moved cautiously up the hillside towards the road. It was now full night and the way was difficult as they navigated their way through the underbrush and thick boles. As they reached the verge of the road, they stopped and listened for any hint of the bandits. The sounds of the forest at night was all they heard. A light evening breeze rustled leaves and the sound of night birds echoed from some distance away. All appeared peaceful.

      They ventured onto the road and looked in both directions. ‘Where’s the wagon?’ whispered Tad.

      Zane shrugged, the gesture lost on his companion, so he said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t know if this is where we were, or if we were that way’ he pointed down the road to his left, ‘or the other.’

      Then they heard a horse’s snort and the rattle of traces coming from the left. They had climbed back to the road farther to the east than they had thought. The boys hurried along the edge of the road, ready to dart back into the trees should they encounter bandits.

      In the gloom they barely saw the first body, sprawled on the far side of the road. It was the bandit who had first accosted them. Farther down the road the wagon was stationary on the other side of the road while the two horses attempted to crop whatever they could from the underbrush. Another bandit lay dead as they reached the end of the wagon.

      The boys circled around and saw two figures, the last bandit, the one with the crossbow, lying dead next to the wagon’s left front wheel and another figure slumped down beside him, back against the wheel of the wagon.

      Caleb sat upright, but was unconscious, his body held in place by the wagon wheel and the dead bowman’s corpse. Tad knelt next to him and said, ‘He’s breathing!’

      Zane pulled the corpse of the last bandit aside, and Caleb fell over sideways. Tad examined him and found a deep gash in his side where a crossbow bolt had found its mark, as well as several sword cuts. ‘We’ve got to do something!’

      Zane said, ‘Strip that man’s shirt,’ as he pointed to the nearest bandit. ‘Cut bandages.’

      Tad did as Zane said and pulled out Caleb’s huge hunting knife, using it to cut bandages from the man’s filthy shirt. Zane hurried to inspect the other two corpses and returned with two more swords and a small purse. ‘They must have robbed before,’ said Zane.

      Throwing СКАЧАТЬ