It was too late to do things differently, however, so he remained still. The steps got louder and then stopped. “It’s a woman,” said the first man. “She’s naked!”
“Huh?”
“I think she’s dead,” said the first soldier. “Someone must have killed her and stripped the body.”
“Be careful, it might be a trap,” said the second.
“She’s cold as ice. She has to be dead,” said the first, then he hissed. “She’s been tortured! Look at this!”
The second man wasn’t having it, though. “Make sure she’s dead first.”
“How?”
“Stick your blade in her. Then we’ll know for sure.”
“You’re an idiot,” said the first soldier. “Look, someone’s burned black lines into her. Her skin is charred. Damn, she’s beautiful—or was. Who would do something like this?”
“We would,” said the second man dryly. “Didn’t you see what some of us did back at that village?”
“Don’t remind me. I haven’t slept well since.” The first man added, “This isn’t normal, though. It had to be magic. There’s no sign of a fire, and these lines go all over her body.”
“Let’s get out of here. If there’s a sorcerer, I don’t want to meet him. What are you doing?”
“We have to take her with us,” said the first soldier. “If it starts snowing, we might not be able to find her later.”
“Don’t be daft! Leave her there. You heard about the group that got murdered by that old man claiming to be the Betrayer himself. What if he’s up here?”
“Someone has to bury her. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.”
As he listened, Will found himself agreeing with the first speaker. Neither of the Darrowans sounded particularly bad, and the first one seemed downright decent. He wanted to stay hidden—to let them leave and then sneak away—but he couldn’t let them take Tailtiu. He waited as the first picked her up and struggled to find a comfortable way to carry the girl.
Lifting his head, he saw that they had sheathed their swords and the first man had settled on an over-the-shoulder carry. As they turned away, he leapt forward, using his left hand to sweep his cloak up and throwing it over the unencumbered soldier’s head.
Taking the staff in both hands, he swept the legs out from under the one with the cloak over his head, then turned and rammed the end into the head of the one carrying Tailtiu—or rather he tried.
Both men were wearing heavily padded gambesons and steel caps. It was an excellent choice for winter, as the padding protected them well from cuts and blows and kept them warm in the cold weather. The end of Will’s staff struck the man’s steel cap and slid to one side, knocking him off balance but doing little real harm.
The other was scrambling to regain his feet and throw off the cloak, so Will devoted the next few strikes to beating him senseless. Again, his efforts met limited success. The padding made many of his blows ineffective, and the soldier instinctively covered his head with his arms, preventing Will from getting a clean blow to his face or neck.
The first had dropped Tailtiu by then, and Will heard his footsteps in the snow as he ran toward Will’s undefended back.
Moving forward, Will jumped over the man he had been attacking and turned, making a wide swing with his staff to keep his attacker from closing. The first soldier stepped back reflexively and tripped as one of his feet caught on his injured friend.
Seizing his advantage, Will began pummeling both men, preventing them from rising. As before, most of his attacks had little lasting effect against their padded coats, but he made up for the lack of quality with an abundant quantity of blows.
It seemed to go on forever, and Will’s stomach turned as their efforts to defend themselves grew weaker. He could imagine the pain they felt when his staff struck against their arms and legs. He winced as he heard the sharp snap of a bone breaking.
But he couldn’t stop. As sick as it made him, his fear was greater. He had to make sure they couldn’t follow him or report back to their camp. One of the men was no longer moving, and the other began to beg. “I surrender. Please stop. Don’t kill me, mister!”
Will hit him again, and the man cried out in pain.
“We didn’t do nothing to you! Have mercy!” The soldier’s words were slurred due to the damage to his mouth and jaw.
Will hit him again, and the man rolled onto his belly, trying to crawl away. Why won’t he just pass out? In the stories told by the bards, the villains always collapsed after a single blow, but it was quite obvious to Will that he wasn’t in some hero’s saga. Clenching his jaw, he moved to one side and aimed for the space just below the man’s helmet, where the soldier’s neck met the base of the skull. There was padding there as well, so he brought the staff down as hard as he could manage, closing his eyes at the last second.
The man stopped moving, and when Will knelt and felt for a pulse, he realized the soldier was dead. He nearly threw up then, but though his stomach heaved once, there was nothing in it. He was racked by guilt, something he hadn’t felt after rescuing Sammy in Barrowden. That fight had been quicker, and he’d done it in the heat of the moment. The shock of losing his cousin and aunt had overshadowed the remorse he might have felt at killing them.
But this—this was murder, cold and cruel. He couldn’t even hate them for what had happened in Barrowden, for from what they had said they probably hadn’t participated directly. It had sickened them too.
After several moments, Will got his emotions under control, or at least managed to bury them deeply enough that he could function. When he checked the other soldier, he was relieved to find the man was still breathing. A short inspection showed him that the man’s arm and jaw were broken, but aside from that he didn’t seem to have any serious injuries.
Returning to the dead man, he began stripping the body, which took nearly half an hour, during which time he worried constantly that more soldiers would come. He wrapped the surviving soldier in his dead friend’s cloak, thinking it might keep him warm enough to survive until he woke. Then he put on the dead man’s gambeson and steel cap, which made him feel a lot warmer.
It did nothing for the cold, dead place in his heart, though.
The sky was beginning to brighten as he strapped on the dead man’s sword belt. Will wrapped Tailtiu in his cloak and lifted her in his arms, then began retracing his path down the mountain. It was obvious to him now that he couldn’t get through the pass, certainly not while carrying a body.
He jerked with surprise when he heard Tailtiu mumble against his chest. “Next time, once they’re helpless, take one of their swords to finish them off. It’s a lot quicker than beating them to death.”
Chapter 33
Will walked downhill all morning, and if there was any pursuit, he saw no sign of it. He felt a profound sense of relief when he finally got back into the Glenwood. Tailtiu still hadn’t moved, but she had remained awake. “Put me down,” she said once they had entered the denser undergrowth.
He laid her carefully on the ground. “Are you starting to recover?”
She shook her head.