Chapter 6

When Robert crashed through the sturdy wooden front door of the inn, he encountered two difficulties that he had not previously contemplated. The first was that even though the door was unbarred to freely allow guests to enter, a smaller but sturdy external metal latch yet held the door in place to be proof against wind gusts. By crashing into the door without lifting this barrier, the Hunter found that the metal latch was in fact sturdy enough to deter his immediate entrance and a second more determined thrust of his shoulders was needed to break through this admittedly slight barrier. In his impatience to reap justice, he had neglected to simply and quietly lift up this latch, thus making his entrance swifter and with more of a certainty of obtaining surprise. Having failed to do this, Robert discovered that his forcible and less than swift entry would now be promptly challenged by the bandits within.

Bursting through the doorway, the former poacher recognized immediately that he had lost most of the element of surprise that he had counted upon, so rather than continuing his forward motion to charge into the inn as he had previously contemplated, he instead hastily reconsidered and substituted guile instead. This sudden impulse to abandon his planned direct attack quite saved his skin entirely, as the small but powerful crossbow bolt flew but inches over the diving hunters head and quite would have pierced his chest if he had remained upright. The bolt struck deeply into the wood of the doorframe as well, suggesting that although this weapon was slight of size, suitable in truth usually only for a woman's use during a hunt, it possessed more than enough force to kill a man as well.

Falling in a controlled dive to the wooden floorboard, Robert didn't tarry to seek cover. The wicked bandit Gerlock would need but a few seconds to draw back the whipcord string to mount a fresh bolt and the hunter would need to make his own strike first!

After completing his roll, he was able to arrive back upon stable footing and springing upwards from a crouch he arose from behind a heavy serving table and flung his dagger into the best available target, a large, stout, hairy and ill-favored man who bearlike body was unclothed and currently sporting, or rather raping, one of the serving women from behind as he forcibly held her down across one a table near the tap. Robert would have preferred to have made the bandit leader Gerlock his target, but the villain had partial cover behind the bar counter and was also using a great wooden support pillar for protection.

This removed one immediate threat, but now Robert faced two different dangers as Gerlock had fitted another bolt into place and was starting his aim towards the hunter, while the other henchman, a thinner weedy sort of rogue was charging toward him with a naked sword in hand, with his hose somewhat rolled down, quite exposing his own privates. He had just finished his own sport with another serving wench, whose bleeding neck was only just now starting to cease its flow of heart's blood. From the momentary glance that Robert could spare, the slattern had been young and pretty, perhaps even the tapster's own daughter. The murderers hadn't cared. Within another hour or two, they'd have picked every copper coin clean and sated both their lusts and their murderous urges, leaving no witnesses. The hunter had delayed too long in seeking and slaying his quarry Long-Knife outside, and now at least one young woman had paid for his tardiness!

With the sword wielding rogue's hose pulled into a bunch below his arse, his gait was unwieldy and more of a shuffle than a run, but the villain didn't dare risk stopping to hike up his hose, fearing (quite rightly) that the implacable rain drenched warrior before him could do him in as well with another thrown blade. Indeed, the hunter considered this very option, but as he watched Gerlock train his small crossbow upon him and move to pull the trigger, he was once again forced to dodge rather than pursue a direct attack. For safety, Robert surmised that he needed to interject the body of the sword wielding henchman in front of him, to block any clear crossbow shot that Gerlock might wish to take, but the bandit leader anticipated this, but fortunately he slightly hurried his shot, firing where the hunter currently was, and not where he was once again diving towards!

The second bolt missed the hunter by a comfortable foot, also imbedding itself into the wall of the inn, as Robert did a half-roll past the shuffling legs of the swordsman. Had Phillipe been better prepared for a fight, instead of fucking, he might have been able to exert his advantage of height, standing above his evasive foe. The villain was an adequately trained swordsman, but his footwork was considerably impaired now. It also didn't help that his naked groin was within an easy comfortable blade's swing of his opponent!

Naked, vulnerable and exposed, the dangling tender objects were really much too easy of a target for the hunter to ignore, but with his sword now in his right hand, this did free up his left to draw and use Long-Knife's second matching and extraordinarily sharp dagger. It sliced through the rogue's genitals like a soft sausage, quite lopping off that insidious member that had so recently offended the Almighty by its rapage.

Crouching now and doubled over, howling with pain, it was a simple spin stroke to dispatch the bandit, as the hunter arose back upon his feet to the emasculated scoundrel's side, and with a sharp arc of his sword he sliced it downwards to decapitate him.

Fearing he had given Gerlock time once again to reload and take aim, Robert at once fell face first onto the floor, but saw and heard nothing, other than the cries of a woman. Probably the same older woman, the tapster's wife perhaps, that the hairy bear of a villain, the one called Jack, had been raping. Robert rolled sharply more to his right to hide below the next serving table, but no bolts were fired at him.

There was perhaps a full moment or two of silence as Robert looked around himself sharply for the whereabouts of the bandit leader but he was not to be seen. This suggested that Gerlock had perhaps decided not to risk a frontal combat but instead was intending to cut his losses and make an escape. Heading out the back door of the inn probably to both get Long-Knife to settle with his skilled opponent, and prepare his own escape on horseback should that duel prove to be further unfavorable.

Gerlock still had his small women's crossbow, and the hunter was wary of its accuracy and biting power. He did not risk hurling himself out that door, like he had done at the front, but instead he sharply pushed the door fully open with a hand, but kept his face and body concealed and protected behind the door frame. This was wise, as the bandit leader had held his weapon aimed and ready for such a repeat entrance, and the sharply and accurately fired bolt passed through the center of the open doorway harmlessly.

Now the hunter could strike!

Facing down his quarry near the entrance to the stables, the former poacher was at first uncertain as to how best take down his foe. Gerlock had found the inn-keeper's wife to be a poor hostage while on the run and he had dispatched her with a quick thrust into her side. The wound was not yet mortal and she yet still lived, but was lying in a heap upon the muddy earth. In her place the bandit leader had found a better hostage, the young stable lad, and he held the youth out in front of him as he backed away towards the stables and escape, with a dagger tightly held against the lad's throat.

Now the former poacher was not a fool. He knew that the lad was only still yet alive as a temporary expediency. The bandit would cut the boy's throat in a moment, once he'd reached a horse and could ride away to safety. So truthfully, the boy was already as good as dead, and with the necessity to secure justice and avenge the brutal murders, it was really for the best that the hunter should just charge into his foe and hope perhaps that during the assault that the lad could evade the certain mortal dagger thrust. No, the odds weren't particularly favorable, but the hunter could not just let this murderer escape!

Oddly, the lad didn't appear to be particularly terrified. His concern for his own life appeared to be minimal at best, and looking into the lad's eyes he could sense that the boy was weighing his options and deciding upon a course of action all of his own. The eyes are the windows to the soul and highly skilled swordsmen learn to follow their opponent's eyes ... not their weapon hands! The lad's blue-steel eyes showed that he was not afraid, and Robert held steady in place about a dozen paces away from the bandit to wait and further consider his available options.

With his necessity to keep his dagger blade upon his hostage, Gerlock could not reload and fire his small crossbow at the hunter, who was now out in the open and a clear target. The hand held weapon was small and light, even concealable under a heavy clothing, and could be held and fired with a single hand, but it needed two hands, albeit briefly to cock and load it. If the murderous villain dropped his dagger and unloosed his hostage to reload and fire, the implacable warrior looming before him could cut him down before he could even raise up his weapon ... or run for the stable. He needed some time and more breathing space!

"Drop your sword soldier, or I'll give the lad his first shave! A nice and close one!"

"Then do so." The Hunter laconically replied. "You'll kill him anyway. Cut his throat now and I'll cut yours a heartbeat later. Do you want to die here and now, in the rain and mud, or at least breath your dying breathes of dry straw and dung inside the stable? You could of course surrender to me now, if you don't mind swinging later. I'm a king's man, sworn to his justice, and I'll give you my oath that I'll take you in alive and intact, whole if not quite hearty to face his judgment."

"You'll watch the boy die, you will! Bleeding out in the rain before your eyes!" Gerlock snarled in defiance. He might even have carried out that threat too, but the lad made his own quick strike for freedom, and with an abrupt sudden thrust the boy had taken a small pocket knife that he'd had secreted in his hand and jabbed it fully into the right thigh of the bandit leader. Going then suddenly boneless, the boy then collapsed into a heap at his feet and then kicked out his feet against the bandits mired boots, rolling himself a bit further away from harm into the mud a couple feet of safety away.

Caught unaware by this attack from an unexpected quarter, Gerlock was faced with the choice of stepping forward to kill the lad or getting his own sword drawn in time to face the hunter's wrath. With the sudden spring of the hunter towards his prey, the outlaw had no choice but to stagger back in hasty retreat to find the time to draw his own sword.

Gerlock was a skilled swordsman. Not as well trained as Robert's friend Lefan, but he'd served in several wars and performed untold acts of banditry and slaughter. While he preferred his killing to be murderous in nature, preying upon those weaker than himself, he was competent enough in a fair fight and now he was fighting for his life. Robert was less skilled, but his long winter of daily duels with a sword-master like Lefan had taught him proper technical skills that could make him a match for a stronger, more violent, but less of a procedural warrior swordsman. A brawler, rather than an artisan of the blade.

The cornered outlaw had also made a significant mistake in that while drawing out his sword, he had also pulled out the lad's knife that had been stuck into his thigh. Needing his full mobility for the dance of the blades, Gerlock had removed the small but very sharp knife out of his flesh so that he could move more quickly and easily, but now the wound began to freely bleed. Being not just a minor flesh wound, the small knife had quite severed an artery in his thigh and with every heartbeat, another flow of red life's blood gushed forth and showed no signs of abetting.

With the two warriors fairly evenly matched, the outlaw with greater mania and strength for battle and years of battlefield experience facing the faster and more professionally instructed hunter of men, the duel of the blades could have been entertaining and an martial education for most observers, but the lad was ill-inclined to remain a passive observer for long. Seeing that the duel could in fact turn either warrior's advantage, the boy picked up the discarded crossbow, mounted a bolt for it, and with a seemingly casual aim fired the missile directly into the central back of the outlaw. The sharp bolt bit hard and deep into the spine and perhaps did not quite penetrate through that mass of spinal bone into the forward chest cavity.

The injury was critical, dropping the villain boneless into a heap on his back, with his legs insensitive. His spine now shattered where the bolt had struck had brought the outlaws career of murder and flight to a permanent end.

The lad seemed neither pleased nor displeased at the vengeance he had wrought and he stood there looking down upon his crippled former tormentor, idly fidgeting with another bolt as if debating whether or not to reload and finish off his foe.

"I did have the situation under control." The hunter calmly informed the lad, gently taking away the small crossbow from his unresisting hands. "He was bleeding sharply, with a bright red flow that wasn't to be easily staunched. I was intending to keep him moving, to force him to dance and let him bleed out a while before I took him. There was no hurry. In a fight to the death my young friend, things can always become uncertain, so accept whatever certainties you can. If you can make your opponent weaker, do so, but not expose yourself unnecessarily to risk if it can be avoided. Tonight I in truth faced little risk ... but your shot was well aimed, and I must give you due credit for your skill. If you had missed, I might have been in its path instead! Keep the crossbow lad, you may have something of an aptitude for its use, but first, always finish off what you have started, no matter how unpleasant the task might be!"

With that advice, Robert bent over with his dagger to the outlaw's throat and asked the villain if he had any final words or prayers for his soul, but the evil man had none and spat upon the hunter instead. With a casual shrug he eased outlaws passage, cutting his throat quickly and expertly, then for good measure he chopped off Gerlock's head with his sword.

"Grab a sack from the stables for this, lad. This wolf's-head is undoubtedly a man much wanted by the sheriff, and worthy of a short trip back to Maldun. He won't be there, but one of his under-sheriff's will. He'll be worthy of a small reward, I'm quite sure!"

The lad returned back promptly with an empty feed sack and the bounty head was secured away for its short journey. Then came the less pleasant task of accounting for the victims inside the inn. As this was likely the provenience of the local nearby manor lord, Robert sent the lad forth into the rain to go into the nearby small village of Woodham to seek out the manor lord and bring him back so that an accounting of deeds could be made. The boy rushed off into the gloom and the rain just seemed to come down harder that foul night until he was lost from sight.

While with a little time to dally, the hunter took time to first gather up Long-Knife's corpse and bring him to the rear of the inn, where with a lit lantern, he and the other three bandits could be more carefully inspected and their goods examined. Robert felt no compunction against taking all four of their purses, one of which, Gerlock's was quite satisfyingly heavy. He slipped all four sacks of coins into his own saddlebags, an appropriate and just payment for his risks and services.

None of the other gear, excepting for Long-Knife's two exceptional daggers was of much interest or quality, and the hunter was content to allow these goods to be confiscated by the local lord of the manor, whose tenant the tapster here had undoubtedly been. As for the former Mine Host, the innkeeper and his family, all but the wife were found to be dead. The inn-keeper had been murdered first, then his daughter. The ale-wife, taken as Gerlock's first hostage and then stabbed in her side outside, still clung on to life.

The hunter gathered her up and placed her upon one of the serving tables so that her wound could be inspected and treated under better lighting. The wound appeared deep and extremely painful, but other than a dark red bleeding discharge from the woman's punctured liver, no other vital organs had been perhaps pierced. Robert had no experience with treating war wounds and could not rightly say whether the unfortunate woman was likely to either live or die, but he did his best and cleaned the wound with good wine and then once again with the strongest hard spirits that he could find behind the bar. When he'd cleaned the wound inside and out to the best of his limited skill he covered it for now with a clean white cloth until the wound could be sewn closed. The lord of the manor could find a local healer to treat her thereafter, but he'd done his best.

The lad and the lord of the manor, a minor knight named Galbreath made their prompt arrival, and several of the knight's retainers took control of the place of murder. Robert presented his credentials; a letter from his master Sir Hugo Lambert, the king's own spymaster and bearer of the Sigillum Secretum, the king's own privy or secret seal, whose orders written upon red ink and sealed with red wax could order the life or death of any subject within the kingdom, or his enemies across the channel. Sir Galbreath was knowledgeable enough to recognize Sir Hugo's penultimate authority, second only to that of the king himself, and he deferred at once to the young hunter, calling him Sir as well.

"Alas, in truth I am but a squire in title, under Sir Hugo's authority, and also before that in submission to the will of the Earl Aubrey of Essex. But your praise of my handling of this unfortunate situation is warmly appreciated." Robert laughed.

With a quick review of the unfortunate corpses of the innocents, Sir Galbreath made orders for the dead to all be buried and for the wounded ale-wife to be taken into the village, to the small local chapel where the local priest could tend to her wounds, being the most skilled in medicine of anyone locally available.