Forest Kingdom Trilogy 2 - Blood and Honor

them, barely moving their heads.
    'Bandits?' said Argent.
    'Unlikely,' said Roderik. 'I had my people check this whole area out before we came in. There are a few footpads and liers-in-wait, but no armed gangs. There aren't enough steady pickings here to support them.'
    'They could be agents working for the other Princes,' said Argent.
    'It's possible, I suppose,' said Roderik, 'but what would they be doing in a backwater place like this? No one but us knew about Jordan. How many are out there, Gawaine?'
    'Five, maybe six,' said the knight calmly. 'They're lying low in the heather up ahead. They're pretty good.
    I almost missed them.'
    'What are we going to do?' said Jordan hoarsely.
    Gawaine chuckled quietly, and let his hand fall to the axe at his side.
    'No one knew we were coming here,' said Roderik. 'I'd stake my life on it.'
    'You did,' said Gawaine. 'Now it looks like someone's planning on calling in the bet. One of our people must be a traitor.'
    'That's not possible,' said Argent. 'Every one was carefully chosen—'
    'Don't be naive,' said Gawaine. 'There's always someone who can be bought, or broken. We'd better look into it when we get back to Castle Midnight.'
    'Assuming we ever get there,' said Jordan. 'Whoever those people are out there in the heather, they outnumber us, remember?'
    'They may have the numbers,' said Roderik, 'but we have Sir Gawaine.'
    Gawaine smiled nastily. Jordan tried hard to feel reassured.
    They rode on down the beaten path. The heather stirred ominously as the wind moaned briefly. Jordan searched the surrounding shadows as best he could without being too obvious about it, but couldn't see anything. He wondered if he could take advantage of an ambush to turn his horse round and race back to town. If by some chance Roderik's people survived, he could always emerge later when all the fighting was over, and swear blind his horse had run away with him. It only took him a moment's thought to see the plan wouldn't work. First, the others would never believe it, and secondly, Smokey was too damned lazy to run anywhere. Jordan swallowed hard, and loosened his sword in its scabbard. When it came to violence, Jordan always believed in seeing the other person's point of view, or, if that failed, he tended to favour kicking the other guy in the nuts and running away terribly quickly. It wasn't so much that he was afraid of violence, though he was, it was more that Jordan had too good an imagination. He found it far too easy to visualise all the terrible things that could go wrong, and just what it would feel like to have your head ripped clean off your shoulders. He swallowed hard and wished he was somewhere else.
    Anywhere else. He eased his boots out of his stirrups so that he could jump free of his horse if he had to, and flexed his arms surreptitiously to check that the flare pellets and smoke bombs in his sleeves were within easy reach if he needed them.
    A dark figure suddenly leapt out of the heather before Gawaine's horse, and grabbed for his bridle. The horse reared up on its hind legs, and Gawaine tumbled backwards out of the saddle. He landed on the packed earth of the trail with a heavy thud, and rolled away into the heather. The dark figure went rushing after him. Moonlight shone brightly on his upraised sword. Jordan and the others reined their horses to a sudden halt as more dark figures rose up out of the heather on either side of the trail.
    Jordan glared wildly about him. He counted six figures,
    including the one that had gone after Gawaine, and they all looked to be armed. In the dark, they looked more like demons than men. Jordan reached into the hidden pocket in his left sleeve, and pulled out one of the small wax pellets. He nicked the wax coating with his thumbnail, and threw the pellet on to the ground between him and the nearest of the advancing figures. The pellet split open on impact, and the liquid within burst into flames as it was exposed to the air. Flames roared up in the middle of the trail, lighting the scene in vivid shades of crimson and gold. For a moment the ambushers stopped dead in their tracks, stunned by the unexpected heat and light. The dancing flames reflected brightly from their chain-mail and blank shields. Mercenaries, thought Jordan sickly. We're up against professional bloody killers. He groped frantically for another flare pellet.
    There was a horrid scream from out in the heather, and then Sir Gawaine stood up, his axe dripping
    blood.