“Meet our chief,” one of the men who was holding Blair said with a chuckle.
19
A Fitting Ending
“Ye blasted jade!” the man cursed when he saw the woman, then he spied Blair with the other two men. “What’s this? Ye’ve brought a wee friend back wi’ ye to share the betrothal bed tonight? Well then, lass, all is forgiven.” He grabbed the woman by the arm and pushed her into the tent.
Next, he beckoned Blair to come toward him. “Dinnae be a-feared, girl,” he said coaxingly, “the whip’s for the auld lady. Come here.”
Blair was given a hard push and stumbled to where the chief waited for her. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her into standing position. “Well, I’ve yet to meet such a fresh young rose as yerself,” he gloated. “Off with ye to the tent. It promises to be a grand wedding night!”
Slaine stepped out of the bushes and stood in the middle of the clearing. His sword was drawn, and he had removed his doublet. Wearing only his leather trews, boots, and white shirt, he was ready for battle.
“Nay, Blair. Come and stand behind me and then walk back to where yer faither is waiting for ye with the horses,” he commanded.
For possibly the first time in her life, Blair did as she was told. Except she did not leave the camp; she stayed behind Slaine with an anxious expression. There were six bandits, not counting their gigantic chief. Blair decided to stay and help.
As she predicted, all six men attacked Slaine at the same time. The chief stood in the middle of the camp, with his arms folded, one hand still clutching the whip.
The first two men to reach Slaine had barely time to draw their daggers before they were dead. Slaine lunged to one side and pierced the man on the left with the long blade of his sword, and then spun away, ducking the three men on the right and one in front who came in fast with their knives, slicing the remaining man on his left as he did so. The movement of his sword was too quick to follow. The first man to die grabbed his stomach before folding over; the second held his gushing throat, trying to staunch the blood, before expiring alongside his companion.
Slaine shifted away so his boots would not slip in the blood, but it looked to his remaining four attackers as if Slaine was afraid and moving away from them.
They came in again with knives ready. One man had a cudgel that he hefted in his hands with deliberation.
Without warning, the man threw the cudgel at Slaine’s head. When he ducked, the other three men rushed in to stab him. Two of the knives, Slaine was able to ward off with his sword; the other knife broke through his guard and missed his arm by a hair’s breadth. Slaine took the opportunity of his attacker being so close. He tossed his sword into his left hand and punched the attacker so hard in the face with his free hand that the man’s teeth imploded into his mouth with a wet crack. It was only then Blair saw Slaine had removed Maximus’s bridle harness and wrapped the leather around his right hand’s knuckles.
Three men were left standing, and one was left with blood pouring out of his mouth, the indescribable pain of smashed teeth felling him like a tree.
Slaine held his sword sideways and patted his left palm with the blade. It was a clear taunt. The men were not skilled swordsmen, but thugs used to attacking unarmed victims. They were driven to mad rage when they saw Slaine’s cocky gesture.
All three men rushed to where Slaine stood, his legs astride as though bracing himself for the onslaught. Except, he was not. When they were near enough, he dropped to one knee, sliding a hidden dagger out from behind his back, turning both of his outstretched arms into lethal weapons.
The man on the left got the dagger in his gut; the man on the right was sliced open by the sword. They both dropped where they stood.
Once again, Slaine moved from where he had been standing as the ground became slippery with blood.
“Go an’ get the bow an’ arrows, ye fool!” the chief screamed.
Not sticking around to mourn his fellow campmates, the last man standing did as the chief suggested.
Slaine approached the chief at a leisurely pace. “I wondered when ye were going to find yer fighting spirit,” he said to the giant of a man. “I mistook ye for a lump of lard when I first set foot in the camp, but now I’ve heard ye speak, I have hopes to finally get a good fight out of this band o’ sleekit dugs.”
The chief bandit had never been spoken to like that in his life. He had grown up large enough to be a bully from the first time he had measured himself against other children. It had stood him in good stead for over forty years. But he could no longer bully himself out of facing down Slaine in armed combat. He looked over his beefy shoulder for any sign of the man returning with the bow and arrows.
“He’s long gone, coward,” Slaine said. “It’s only ye and me now.”
The chief raised his whip and lashed out at Slaine. The action was quick enough to make Blair grit her teeth in fear, but Slaine simply stepped out of range of the whip’s end.
“Come now, are ye too much of a milksop to drop that fancy whip o’ yers and stand and face me head-on?” Slaine wanted the chief to receive as many insults as the man had most likely said to others through the years.
“Ye have a sword, it’s hardly fair,” the chief muttered.
“I’lltell ye what’s fair!” a furious voice said behind him, and the woman stuck her peeling knife into the chief's back. She used both hands to drive the short blade as deep into his spine as she could and did not stop until the entire shank had disappeared into the mass of flesh.
Blair shrieked when she saw the chief seemed not to even notice the stab wound. He stretched around his hand to where the handle stuck out of his back as though scratching an insect bite. Then he grabbed the woman by the hair and tried to snap her neck.
The thunder of an arquebus shot echoed in the clearing. The bandit chieftain crumpled and laid at the woman’s feet, a gaping bullet wound in his back.
