Page 112 of Bold Angel
Sitting atop his big black destrier, his chain mail hauberk rustling slightly as he moved, Ral scanned the foliage in the valley below. The odor of burning turf scented the air and several wispy trails of thin white smoke rose up from distant campfires, wending a path through the thick green leaves.
“This time the whoreson is ours,” Ral said to Odo, who smiled with obvious satisfaction.
“’Tis time our efforts have proven fruitful.”
“Aye, though I’ll feel better once our scouts are returned.”
They did so not long after, riding stealthly into the clearing, the men shed of their armor, traveling light and fast and making little noise. They had ridden into the small heart-shaped valley below and returned bringing word that the outlaw camp was exactly where they had been told.
“How many men?” Ral asked Girart, who had led the small expedition.
“Less than you had heard. No more than twenty or thirty.”
“And the Ferret, he is among them?”
“A small, wiry, black-haired man was there. ’Twas obvious he was their leader. ’Tis almost certain he is the Ferret.”
“Were you able to spot the lookouts?”
“Aye, milord. They have already been dispensed with.”
A faint smile curved Ral’s lips but it was one of grim determination. “You have done well, Girart.” The tall knight nodded and returned to his men while Ral spoke to Odo.
“We will surround the camp, just as we planned, and once we are in position, I will call for their surrender. I want no needless bloodshed—but neither will I risk endangering our men.”
“And the Ferret?” Odo asked.
“I would have him alive, if it can be done. If not… then it will have to be his head.” He tightened his hold on Satan’s reins and the horse danced nervously beneath him. “You take the right flank, I’ll take the left. Once you’re in position, we will be ready to move in.”
Odo nodded and whirled his horse. Ral nudged Satan forward, leading his column of men. They moved with urgency, but not with haste, spacing themselves evenly, moving in a wide-open pattern, skirting the valley, then slowly closing in. In minutes they had completely surrounded the outlaws’ camp.
Ral started to call out for his men to move in, but something held him back. He commanded eighty men to the outlaws less than thirty, but instincts honed from too many years in battle began to flash a silent warning. He waited among the trees, scanning the brigands moving about the campfires, noticing how well they were armed… and how furtively they seemed to watch the forest.
It had always been the Ferret’s nature to be wary, and yet…
Still, there was no choice but to go forward as they had planned. He meant to capture the outlaw. One way or another, the Ferret’s raiding must come to an end.
“Pass word among the men,” he said to Lambert. “Tell them to be wary of a trap.” As the lanky knight moved silently along the line of men, Ral made a slight nod of his head, a signal for Hugh to proceed.
“You men in the clearing!” Hugh called out in his rough-edged voice. “The Dark Knight is come! You are gravely outnumbered and you are surrounded. ’Twill do no good to fight nor to try and escape. Throw down your arms and surrender!”
But already the outlaws were bracing for battle, notching bows and drawing swords, taking cover behind crates and boxes that suddenly looked all too strategically positioned. Even as they did so, Ral’s men gave a wild cry of battle and swooped down on the clearing, some with couched lance, others gripping a shield in one hand, a sword in a leather-gloved fist.
Ral rode among them, broadsword gripped tight, the stallion obeying commands he gave with his knees, leaving his hands free for battle. They had almost reached the clearing when savage shouts echoed from behindthem, men and horses, the thunder of hooves, and the distinctive clang of armor.
A trap! Ral saw, thankful his warning voice had prepared him and praying they wouldn’t be too badly outnumbered.
“Sweet Jesu!” Hugh shouted, riding up beside him. “Knights and men-at-arms—no ragged band of outlaws these.”
A muscle jumped in Ral’s cheek. “Nay—’tis Malvern’s men. Again we are betrayed to Stephen de Montreale.”
Ral swung his sword at the first knight who emerged through the trees. Their swords met, clanged, held, then clanged again. He arced his blade downward, severing the man’s arm at the shoulder, knocking him from his horse into the dirt, covering his bright green Malvern colors with a coat of earth and blood. Two more men rode forward, one wielding a deadly mace, another a razor-sharp battle-ax.
In his rage, Ral’s strength was so great they posed little problem, though each was well-armed and obviously skilled in battle. He dispatched them easily, running one of them through, decapitating the other. Spatters of blood glittered crimson against his chain mail, but the fiery heat of anger colored his vision a brighter haze of red.
Who could have done it? Only Odo and Caryn knew their final destination, or even the hour that they would move. Could the wench from Camden have returned to warn her lover? Even if she had, how had word passed to Malvern?
He swung his broadsword in a blinding arc that stopped a blow from one of the outlaws. The band’s missing men had appeared on horseback, riding into the valley with Malvern, obviously in league with the devil who had plagued him for so long.
