They continued along the road as it left the village behind. The road emerged at the other side and took the long path through farm roads.
There was a patch of woodened area that spotted a part of the road, a quarter mile that the locals named “the plunderers path”. The thick forestry was perfect cover for the robbers to pounce on unsuspecting travelers.
Ruben made sure his sword was in early reach but as they rode through, not a flicker or a shadow was out of place.
He did not his guard down as he rode around the corner, only to see a horse sprint down the road, the saddle on its back unmanned. The animal’s panicky gait told him that someone had been attacked, and its fear of death was palpable.
Galan swiftly turned his horse away as the frightened animal plunged into the forestry behind them. The two shared a look before they began to look around for the unlucky person who had been attacked.
Slowing their horses, they peered into the shrubs and tall grasses for the person.
“Me laird, ye ken this is a?—”
“Ruse to get us to drop our guard,” Ruben said. “But we’re nae distracted. If it is an ambush, we’re ready and if the poor soul is hurt, we are also ready.”
A soft groan came from a clump of bushes, and Galan swung his leg around before dropping to the ground. He waded to the bush while Ruben kept watch. Galan lifted the man from the bush and helped him limp up the graded ground.
“What happened to ye, good man?” Ruben asked.
“They came out of nowhere, me laird and I?—”
Four men dropped down from the boughs above, their war cry piercing through the night air. Galan hastily dropped the man to the ground again while he met one’s blade.
Leaping off his horse, Ruben yanked his sword from its scabbard at the same time he punched one of the men in the side of his head. He met the thirds man swords meeting with a grating scrape as they came chest to chest.
Ruben pushed, his strength greater, though the man remained on his feet. Breaking away, they parried, but only for a moment before he sensed another attacker behind him.
It had been a while since he’d faced two assaults at the same time but this one had a dirk, not a sword, easier to slip in and under his ribs without him being able to defend from it.
Wasting little time dancing with the first man, Ruben put his sword through his enemy’s gut, while simultaneously pulling his dirk from his waistband. Armed with both weapons in hand, he could attack and defend at the same time.
“Who sent ye?” he demanded, sparing one eye to Galan who was defending himself from an axe and a halberd at the same time.
“We only want yer coin,” the man snarled. “Nay one sent us.”
It was possible he was telling the truth, but an ember of doubt still rested in Ruben’s gut. “Ye’ll die here,” he said, leaping away to meet the other attacker.
He feigned to the left to avoid a wild swing, but failed to block, in time, the dagger flinging up and scoring a deep slice down his arm. The pain was ungodly .
Roaring, Ruben flew into a controlled rage. He was determined to end this ambush as quickly as possible. He flung the sword to his left hand and went on a rampage of blows.
The power, control and force he used had the man clearly weakening. With a swing so forceful it not only knocked the sword from the robber’s hand but dropped him to the ground as well.
Unwilling to keep this dance go on, he rushed in, with one slash, he chopped the hand off and then quickly gutted the man. Kneeling, Ruben twisted his sword, “I told ye ye would die here.”
Swiftly, he spun to meet the third assailant— only to see another, unknown man, was fighting him.
All Ruben could see of his was short hair and that he was wielding a club.
Having no time to wait and investigate further, he leaped in to take the second man off Galan’s hands and managed to dispatch him.
He found the third man dead and the stranger who had jumped into help— was gone. There was something though, and Ruben knelt to pick it up as Galan slew the last raider.
There was a small, sheathed dagger on the man’s chest and wrapped around it was a golden pendant. The golden square had a Celtic knot edged into it, while in the middle of the knot was a rose. The banner below it read, Fortis et fidelis .
“Me laird, ye’re bleedin’,” Galan said, worriedly.
Still looking at the chain, Ruben muttered, “Strong and faithful.”
Dropping to his knee, Galan said, “Ye’re bleedin’ hard. We need to bind this wound, now .”
Ruben finally looked to his arm, then said, “Do what ye can.”
As he examined the pendant, he heard ripping cloth, most likely the clothing from the slain men. He felt Galan binding his arm above the wound and winced at the tight knot. It stopped the blood flow, but he needed to get to the healers soon before his arm went numb.
“What is that?” Galan asked as he worked.
“A pendant of the MacPherson Clan,” Ruben replied as he got to his feet with both objects in hand. Holding the pendant up to the moon, he frowned. “Doesnae this look like somethin’ ye give to a child?”
“Aye,” Galan agreed. “T’is somethin’ ye would give a lad or lassie.” He turned away to wipe his sword on the clothing or one of the dead men, then trotted over to where the old man sat huddled into himself.
“Let me help ye up, old boy,” Galan said. “We’re takin’ ye with us. T’is a cryin’ shame that the robbers had to use ye as bait to trick us.”
“T-thank ye,” the man whispered. “I had prayed someone would find me before the wolves did.”
The dried blood on the man’s temple worried Ruben but he had some of the best healers in the land. He knew he’d get the man all the help he needed.
Tucking both items into his saddle bags, Ruben swung into his saddle, and they galloped to the castle, forcing his vision to not slip into black.