Read Online Blades of Valor by Sigmund Brouwer - Free Book Online
Authors: Sigmund Brouwer
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sought, then this battle would be easier to fight.
Time. Retreat gained him time to seek answers.
Thomas did not shift, so intense were his thoughts. A small lizard crept from a crack in the wall to within inches of his feet, unaware that the large object above it was alive. In equal fashion, Thomas remained oblivious to his quiet guest.
And what is it they seek? Exiled in a strange land, where would he find answers to questions he barely understood?
There were only two places to begin. St. Jean d’Acre or Jerusalem. In St. Jean d’Acre, he had been raised as a child. That much he knew to be true, for those few moments in that now-burned dwelling had flooded him with memories. Whatever else Katherine and Sir William had told him might be false, but he could not deny a childhood spent in St. Jean d’Acre. Not with those memories, not when he knew the language of this land. Somewhere in St. Jean d’Acre, he would find someone who knew something. The tiniest scrap of new knowledge would lead him to another. And that to another.
It would be safer now in St. Jean d’Acre. After all, Katherine and Sir William would be in Nazareth, still waiting for him. With answers, Thomas could return and play their game by his rules.
Or, instead of returning to Nazareth after St. Jean d’Acre, Thomas could go next to Jerusalem. So much pointed to it. The Holy City. Perhaps he could find answers there.
Thomas smiled a tight smile to the silence of the room. He still had his life. He still had his health. His freedom. And enough in gold to sustain the search.
Thomas rose quickly, a movement that scuttled the lizard sideways to another dark crack in the wall.
“My little friend,” Thomas said, “I hope that my own retreat serves me as well as yours did you.”
Two days later, as Thomas traveled a road that narrowed between large rocks on each side, bandits attacked. His first warning of the attack was a slight scuffle of leather against stone. Thomas looked over his shoulder and saw two men dropping from the top of a boulder, only thirty paces behind.
There was no mistaking their intent. Swords raised, scarred and dirty faces quiet with deadliness, they advanced toward him.
Thomas glanced ahead to determine his chances of escape.
Four more bandits had stepped onto the road. Walls of rock blocked him on both sides.
More terrifying than upraised swords was their silence and slow, patient movements. These men had no need to bluff or bluster. Their purpose was profit from the victim’s death, not take satisfaction from toying with the victim’s fear. These men had no need to waste energy through haste. Their victim could not escape.
A part of Thomas’s mind noted this objectively, just as it noted that he was their intended victim—a thought that brought to him a surge of adrenaline.
Another part of Thomas’s mind noted the terrain and evaluated his chances.
The road was one that wound downward from the hills of Galilee. The plains of the Valley of Jezreel were barely an hour ahead, but that fact helped Thomas little now. The huge boulders on each side of the road were too smooth to climb.
The bandits closed the circle on Thomas, step by certain step.
Thomas drew his sword.
Fifteen
T homas did not waste his breath with threats. He, too, had the silence of deadly intent.
He began to back against a boulder for the slight protection it offered, then saw a break in the rocks beyond the four men advancing on one side.
“Use more than your sword.” Thomas could hear the words of Sir William as he had once coached him in the art of fighting. “Terrain, a man’s character, and surprise are all added weapons.”
Even in this situation, the thought of Sir William and betrayal brought bitterness to the back of his throat. It brought anger too. Anger that Thomas could direct at these bandits. He dropped to his knees and, without taking his eyes from the four men on his left, felt about for stones. He found two and
Time. Retreat gained him time to seek answers.
Thomas did not shift, so intense were his thoughts. A small lizard crept from a crack in the wall to within inches of his feet, unaware that the large object above it was alive. In equal fashion, Thomas remained oblivious to his quiet guest.
And what is it they seek? Exiled in a strange land, where would he find answers to questions he barely understood?
There were only two places to begin. St. Jean d’Acre or Jerusalem. In St. Jean d’Acre, he had been raised as a child. That much he knew to be true, for those few moments in that now-burned dwelling had flooded him with memories. Whatever else Katherine and Sir William had told him might be false, but he could not deny a childhood spent in St. Jean d’Acre. Not with those memories, not when he knew the language of this land. Somewhere in St. Jean d’Acre, he would find someone who knew something. The tiniest scrap of new knowledge would lead him to another. And that to another.
It would be safer now in St. Jean d’Acre. After all, Katherine and Sir William would be in Nazareth, still waiting for him. With answers, Thomas could return and play their game by his rules.
Or, instead of returning to Nazareth after St. Jean d’Acre, Thomas could go next to Jerusalem. So much pointed to it. The Holy City. Perhaps he could find answers there.
Thomas smiled a tight smile to the silence of the room. He still had his life. He still had his health. His freedom. And enough in gold to sustain the search.
Thomas rose quickly, a movement that scuttled the lizard sideways to another dark crack in the wall.
“My little friend,” Thomas said, “I hope that my own retreat serves me as well as yours did you.”
Two days later, as Thomas traveled a road that narrowed between large rocks on each side, bandits attacked. His first warning of the attack was a slight scuffle of leather against stone. Thomas looked over his shoulder and saw two men dropping from the top of a boulder, only thirty paces behind.
There was no mistaking their intent. Swords raised, scarred and dirty faces quiet with deadliness, they advanced toward him.
Thomas glanced ahead to determine his chances of escape.
Four more bandits had stepped onto the road. Walls of rock blocked him on both sides.
More terrifying than upraised swords was their silence and slow, patient movements. These men had no need to bluff or bluster. Their purpose was profit from the victim’s death, not take satisfaction from toying with the victim’s fear. These men had no need to waste energy through haste. Their victim could not escape.
A part of Thomas’s mind noted this objectively, just as it noted that he was their intended victim—a thought that brought to him a surge of adrenaline.
Another part of Thomas’s mind noted the terrain and evaluated his chances.
The road was one that wound downward from the hills of Galilee. The plains of the Valley of Jezreel were barely an hour ahead, but that fact helped Thomas little now. The huge boulders on each side of the road were too smooth to climb.
The bandits closed the circle on Thomas, step by certain step.
Thomas drew his sword.
Fifteen
T homas did not waste his breath with threats. He, too, had the silence of deadly intent.
He began to back against a boulder for the slight protection it offered, then saw a break in the rocks beyond the four men advancing on one side.
“Use more than your sword.” Thomas could hear the words of Sir William as he had once coached him in the art of fighting. “Terrain, a man’s character, and surprise are all added weapons.”
Even in this situation, the thought of Sir William and betrayal brought bitterness to the back of his throat. It brought anger too. Anger that Thomas could direct at these bandits. He dropped to his knees and, without taking his eyes from the four men on his left, felt about for stones. He found two and
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