Stalking Darkness

small cliff face to the left. A thick hemlock had fallen across against the rock face, its thick branches forming a dark green palisade higher than Alec’s head.
    He could have wormed his way through, but the horse was another matter. Cursing Ranil again, and himself for listening, he dismounted again to look for a way around.
    Trees groaned in the wind around them as Alec led his horse off the trail, following the trunk to its base. A tangled network of roots twenty feet across lay exposed there, torn from the thin, stony soil in some past storm.
    His horse shied as they went around it, spooked perhaps by the gnarled fists of the roots or the roar of the storm. Gripping the reins in one hand, he pulled the animal’s head down and threw his cloak over its eyes. By the time he’d climbed the bank back up to the trail he was soaked to the skin and covered in mud.
    He had one foot in the stirrup to mount when the mare shied again. Alec staggered awkwardly, pulling his foot free in case she bolted.
    The move probably saved his life. He’d just gotten both feet on the ground when he caught a hint of motion out of the corner of one eye and instinctively flinched.
    Something struck his left shoulder hard before he could turn, hard enough to knock him sideways. Scrabbling backward, he tugged his sword free and got it up in time to make his attacker pause.
    The ragged bandit held a club in both hands, grinning wolfishly as he circled for another strike. He was gaunt but sinewy, with a long reach behind the long club he wielded. Alec suspected he was overmatched, but that his sword had surprised the man, judging by the wary way he watched it, still not pressing the attack.
    “What do you want?” Alec demanded as the first shock of the attack passed.
    The bandit gave him a nasty, gap-toothed grin. “What else you got?” he sneered, jerking a thumb down the trail. “We already got yer ’orse.”
    Alec glanced quickly in that direction and saw a harsh-faced woman leading his horse away.
    “I have gold,” Alec told him, ignoring the dull pain that ran down his left arm as he pulled his purse from his belt and shook it so the coins inside jingled. “You’re welcome to it, but I need that horse.”
    “Did you hear the fine young gentleman’s offer, me love?” the bandit exclaimed gleefully. “He wants to buy back his ’orse!”
    The woman gave a listless shrug and said nothing.
    “Give us the bag, then, and we’ll shake on the bargain,” the bandit offered, sidling closer.
    Alec lowered his sword and held out the purse, as if he’d been gulled into the bargain. As he’d expected, the bandit immediately struck at him. Jumping back, he blocked the blow and swung a slashing stroke that opened the front of the man’s jerkin and some of the skin below.
    “Bilairy’s Collops, the little bastard cut me!” the bandit snarled in surprise. “Got teeth, have you, you whelp? I’ll soon blunt ’em!” Gripping his club in both hands, he flew at Alec and swung another blow at his head.
    The bandit was strong; blocking the swing with a two-handed parry, Alec felt a nasty jolt down both arms. Pushing him away, he fell back, letting the man push him toward the deadfall. Rain ran down into his eyes as he blocked blow after blow, hoping to make his attacker think he was a novice swordsman.
    Still moving backward, he felt branch tips graze his neck. It was time to hazard his one gambit.
    He lowered his sword and turned slightly, as if he meant to run for it. As Alec had hoped, his opponent struck at him, and hit the springy branches of the hemlock instead. Overbalanced by the force of his own swing, he stumbled.
    Alec whirled and struck him a savage blow to the shoulder. The blade glanced off bone, flaying the muscle from shoulder to elbow in a great bloody flap.
    Alec had expected the blow to stop the man in his tracks, but it didn’t. With a howl of pain, the bandit dropped his club and grappled Alec, locking his good arm around the boy’s neck and dragging him to the ground as he choked him.
    Raw, severed flesh slapped against Alec’s face, and the hot blood pulsing from the wound spurted into his mouth and eyes. His sword was useless at such close quarters. Dropping it, he tore at the arm around his throat, but the man held on, pinning him down as he locked his hand around Alec’s windpipe.
    Blood loss alone should be weakening him
, Alec thought grimly as his vision began to darken. Through a red haze he saw