Blair gave a sharp sob, which made another man laugh and join his friend bending over her. He looked more weasel than man; his face was narrow, and he had hardly any teeth left in his mouth.
“Dinnae frighten the wench, Fergus,” the weasley man said. “They make for better bedmates when they give themselves over to the enterprise with a smile.” He knelt in front of Blair and chucked her under the chin.
“Ye dinnae ken what ye talk about, Watkins. It’s much more fun when they put up a spirited fight.”
The other two men over by the saddlebags said, “Hold yer tongues, the both o’ ye. Come here and have some of this food before we eat it all. The doxy can wait!”
“That is no doxy, Bellowes,” his mate replied. “That’s a prime piece of flesh and blood. Look at the age of it. I have one shilling that says she’s still intact.”
“Done!” the other man said, and then they moved off inside the cave mouth entrance to discuss whether it was best to sell their captive unmolested and get a better price for her or to have a bit of fun first.
Blair was horrified and had recovered enough by this time to make her escape. She tensed her muscles, ready to leap up and run, then jumped up and dashed out of the cave’s camp in front, but she had underestimated how weak her fall had made her. She felt a hand grip her waist from behind, and she was back on the ground.
All four men were standing over her now. The weasel-faced one stuck his hand into the pocket next to her waist and drew out her money pouch. He was about to tear it open when a man snarled, “Her first, count the money later!”
A voice from the forest surrounding the camp said impassively, “Me first, actually.”
The men spun around, grabbing daggers from the sheaths tied to their waists.
Slaine stepped out from the shadows. He had his rapier drawn and approached the men sideways so they had less of a target if there was an archer on duty on top of the rocks above the cave. There was no archer, and after giving one another sneaky, communicative, sideways glances, the four rogues decided to attack Slaine all at once. They ran toward him at full tilt, their arms raised, daggers drawn.
Blair shrieked and closed her eyes. She was sure she was about to see Slaine’s death happen right in front of her.
Slaine waited until the very last moment, until the bandits were nearly within striking distance with their knives, then he took a long step back. The men were taken all unawares and ran into one another. During the ensuing melee, Slaine passed his sword blade silently and lethally through one of the men. Then he stepped to the side and around to the place where the men had just launched themselves from.
The three survivors looked confused for a moment as they saw one of their brethren drop to the ground and not get up. The sword thrust had been too quick to see.
They reassembled, but Blair could see they had lost all of their confidence. Now the bandits were crafty and cautious, but still too cowardly to take Slaine on one by one.
They began to taunt him.
“He’s too large to move as quick as us. He wilnae see the knife coming. He’s slowandslow-witted.”
Slaine remained unperturbed, and Blair had to admire his restraint.
They walked cautiously toward Slaine again, but this time they spread out into a semicircle around him. Two bandits had their daggers held overhand, ready to slice and the other had his knife held underhand, so as to stab better.
Slaine kept his sword held in his two strong hands, moving its lethal tip from one man to the other and back again.
The men at the left and the right attacked at the same time. Slaine tossed his sword into his left hand, stabbed the man on the left, and then threw the sword into his right hand and did the same to the man on the right, even before they had come close enough to touch him. They staggered in surprise, not sure if they were even harmed yet, his blade was so sharp. Then they fell.
The last remaining man threw down his dagger and raised his hands in the air.
“I didnae touch a hair on her head, sir, I swear it on me mither’s life!”
Slaine dropped his sword to the ground as well. It was the moment for which the rogue had been waiting. He jumped toward Slaine with a howl, pulling a small knife out of a hiding place in his sleeve.
Slaine’s hand clamped around the man’s wrist like a vice. His fist was so large, his fingers went all the way around the man’s forearm as easily as if it were a baby’s.
Slaine squeezed slowly. Knowing his life hung in the balance, the bandit tried to wriggle out of Slaine’s grasp while keeping hold of the knife. Slaine tightened his grip harder. The man screamed in pain, and the sound of bones breaking like a snapping twig could be heard ringing off the cave rocks. The struggling man let go of the knife, went limp, and slid out of Slaine’s grip like a wilted piece of spinach, very green about the gills.
“Huh,” Slaine said. “Ye rascals are all the same. Same auld tricks ye use. The only thing that changes are the dogs doin’ them.”
10
Not Quite a Hero Yet
Blair had watched the encounter between Slaine and the bandits with mixed emotions.
