âThe men who have passed us have all been moving in the same direction, toward the northwest, and they do not appear overly suspicious. Being an order of knights works to our advantage here - these thieves expect a brigade of horses on their heels.â He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a neatly folded map of Grust, which he held out for Belf to see. âYou are right to believe that their hideout may be near the fane, as it lies northwest of here. But there are caves all throughout this area and we cannot waste time following a dead lead.â
Searching for understanding in his young knightâs face, Camus folded the map and returned it to his pocket. After all, if one woman had already been killed, who knew how many Harlow had imprisoned and prepared to kill at a momentâs notice. Every minute wasted could be another life.
Camus climbed into the saddle again and nodded toward the wrapped corpse riding Belfâs own horse. âWe will see to her burial once we reach the fane, but we must disband Harlowâs group once and for all. Are you ready?â
Belf resisted at first when Camus shoved him further back into the woods, but was glad he complied when he saw the lone bandit pass close by. He had⌠never seen the cave networks the general claimed lay northwest of their present location, thanks in part to his having not yet taken on missions beyond the capital and its surrounding towns; but even if he were inclined to disbelieve the general, the map he unfolded lent credence to his claim. âSo it isnât ambush, but reconnaissance you wish to achieve,â he mused in a low voice. âAnd that, too, is better done with two men than twentyâŚâ
The general nodded and, returning his folded map to his breast pocket, re-mounted his horse. Belf hastily followed suit, nodding once in reply to Camusâs question. âYes, sir! Iâm ready.â
(And for once today, he did actually feel ready, for with such a renowned general at his side, could he feel anything but invincible?)
The two knights trailed slowly after the injured raider, masking the crunch of their horsesâ footfalls with the ambient sea and forest noise. Their quarry was more concerned with keeping his blood in his body than with keeping track of his surroundings, but as he approached the Fane of Raman, a dark figure emerged from behind the well to join him. The two stood and conversed near the well for several seconds (Belf thought he saw the newcomer pointing in their direction a few times and nudged his horse backwards a step) before finally resuming their trekâfurther west, towards the cliffs away from the fane.
Several yards of wild, grassy field separated the thicket in which they hid from the cliffs 100 meters above the sea. Belfâs hand dropped to his sword. Between it, the cliffs, and the sea, this was an excellent place to charge at the raiders and mow them down, but his effort would be wasted at best if they both ducked down into the grass and expose his position at worst. Even so, heâd had enough of this skulking about; and so the brunette dismounted his horse and squinted at the craggy cliffs, trying to determine which of their shadows concealed a cave.
Camus, however, was already moving towards the cliffs with the surety of one whoâd seen or even entered them before, a hand on his hip to minimize the clanking of his sword. Belf hurried after him, but though he tried valiantly to keep the general in sight, Camus was simply more used to this crouching movement than he, and before long, the brunette lost him amongst the waving strands.
He dared not call out, lest he give away his position to the minimum two raiders elsewhere in this field, but he dared not stay still for fear of the same. Was he even still headed for the cliffs? Casting a glance about him for bandits (not that heâd be able to see them through the grass), Belf hastily reoriented himself and then resumed his slow advance⌠hoping that nothing around him could hear the rising thud of his heart.
(So much for feeling confident.)
Mercifully, he made it to within three meters of the cave-ridden cliff wall without being detected. The pockmarks heâd seen from afar had all steadily widened large enough to hold one or even three men standing side by side. The shadows in each were too deep for him to know which of these might contain an enemy bandit. After a few seconds (which dragged on too long in his mind), he resolved to try the closest one.
Still with his hand pressed to his sword, Belf edged into the stony tunnel. The sudden chill in the air hit him immediately, though the outside was made nearly as cold by the sea and the falling sun; and forcing himself to ignore the shivers coursing down his back like furtive mice, the youth advanced, straining his senses for any sign of hostile life, or that he was making a misstep.
The latter came far sooner than the former as his shoulder collided with something soft and decidedly not made of stone. Startled, he leapt back, but the damage was already done.
The angry shout echoed down the blackened cave walls, as did the ominous scrape of metal on metal, but the panicked knight was already answering the enemy weaponâs song with one from his own. Heâd heard tales of veteran knights cowing their enemies with the mere sound of their weapons being drawn, but here and now, Belf was anything but. He drew his sword with the panic of a hunted bird, and it purely by chance that his wild swing happened to catch his enemyâs shoulder and dig deep.
Adrenaline stayed any revulsion he might have felt, yanking his bloodied blade out of the falling man as trailing black bloody droplets splattered his coat, and Belf fled deeper into caves suddenly boiling (at least to his paranoid ears) with noise, hoping the next man he met in these tunnels was an ally, not a foe.
