The wail of the Assassins was deafening. How they had found us, I had no idea, hidden as we were from casual passersby. There was one to our rear, leaping at us through the air, and I was sure there were at least two more in the woods beyond our camp. But their cries were so loud it sounded as if there must be hundreds of them. For a brief moment I wondered how so few men could make such a thunderous racket. It was a horrible high-pitched keening wail that I was sure must be the song of the devil himself.
Robard’s arrow took the Assassin high in the shoulder, spinning him around. He landed a few feet away on his back with a resounding thud. The twin daggers he held in each hand bounced on the ground, spinning away from his body.
Almost before I could see it, Robard pulled another arrow from his wallet, and it was nocked and ready as he turned to the front of our encampment, facing the break in the boulders. I could still hear the wailing noise, but it seemed to be coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.
“Tristan!” Robard shouted. “We need to move. We’re too vulnerable and trapped. Head for that opening yonder.” He pointed with the arrow on his bow toward a small clearing in the woods, perhaps thirty yards from where we stood.
I had seen my share of battle with Sir Thomas and the knights, and I knew that Robard had as well. But it seemed foolish to me to leave the safety of the rocks. Then from behind us I heard a clawing sound, clearly another Assassin climbing the boulders to come at us again. At that moment, Robard’s plan seemed the best of several bad options.
“You take a running start and tuck and roll out of the opening. I’ll follow behind with the bow. I expect there will be at least two of them on either side, thinking they’ll capture us as we run out. We’ll need to surprise them. You go first and take the one to the right. I’ll come behind you and take the one on the left.”
“Me first?” I said. “Why not you first?”
I found several parts of Robard’s plan to be lacking, starting with the part where I rolled out of the boulders first.
“Tristan!” he shouted again. “I’ll cover you!”
“Okay, ready!” I yelled back. Obviously it was a lie, as I was most certainly not ready!
I wanted to take a moment to think of a different plan. But the wailing grew louder, more insistent, and I had no better suggestion. I backed up toward the rear wall of the rocks, keeping an eye over my shoulder, lest the Assassin behind us show himself. Reaching down I slung the satchel over my neck and shoulder.
With a running start, the short sword firmly in my hand, I sprinted toward the opening of the boulders. Just before I cleared the gap, I dropped to the ground and rolled through. I did not see, but heard, and swore I could feel, the whooshing sound of a scimitar swooping through the air where my head had been only an instant before. I heard the clang of steel on rock as I came to my feet, spinning to face my attacker.
It happened almost exactly as Robard had predicted. Two robed Assassins stood on either side of the opening. In an instant they both leapt at me, scimitars raised, and I ducked underneath their wild swings. I heard and felt something go whizzing past my ear. Then an arrow appeared in the back of one of the Assassins. Robard had found his mark quickly.
The remaining Assassin came at me with his sword moving in a vicious downward arc. I blocked the first swing, but as before in the streets of Acre, a scimitar is a much heavier weapon than the small sword I held, and the force of the Assassin’s blow sent it spinning from my hand. Now I was defenseless, for I had left Sir Thomas’ battle sword inside the ring of boulders.
The Assassin’s momentum toppled him into me, and I grabbed at his arms, grappling with him, too late realizing I was between Robard and the attacker. He would not have a clear shot.
The Assassin broke free of my grip. Jumping backward, he screamed in fury, raising his scimitar again and lunging at me. I darted backward. His eyes, all that I could see of his face through his turban and veil, went wild with anger. I was momentarily frozen in fear.
Behind me I heard Robard yell, “Tristan, move! I can’t get a clear shot!” But there was nowhere for me to go. The Assassin was lunging again, driving me back between the rocks. I spotted my sword a few feet away. Too far. I wanted to remind Robard that I had been against this plan from the very beginning. However, I doubted the Assassin would allow me any time to rebuke my friend.
The Assassin swung his scimitar at me with two hands. I dodged this first swing while looking wildly about for a rock, a tree branch, anything I could use as a weapon. Then remembering the satchel, I pulled it off my neck and shoulder, wrapping the strap tightly in my right wrist.
“Robard! The battle sword!” I screamed. I could not see Robard, but heard him shouting behind me. I had no idea what he was saying. Probably something about how I had ruined his perfectly good plan by trying to wrestle with an enraged Hashshashin.
I had only one advantage: although the scimitar is a fine weapon, it is heavy and not made for quick thrusts and jabs. It is wielded like a club, crashing down on its victim to break bone and steel or puncture armor. When the Assassin stepped in and swung the sword again in a long looping arc, I moved back and away from the sword tip. As it went by and the attacker’s momentum carried him with it, I stepped in and swung the satchel with all my might. I hoped that it wouldn’t break my precious cargo, but it was well padded and at the bottom of the satchel. And right now I needed its heft.
It swung out from my wrist like a mace, and I watched it connect solidly with the head of the Assassin. I heard a sound like a melon dropped on a stone floor, and the attacker crumpled to the ground.
“Go!” shouted Robard. He tossed me the battle sword and I caught it by the hilt. I turned and ran, throwing the satchel over my shoulder and scooping up the short sword as I passed by. We sprinted to the clearing and stood back-to-back, making a slow circle, watching the woods for any sign of more Assassins.
We knew that at least four attackers had set upon us. Robard had shot two and I had managed to knock one unconscious. The woods went quiet. The keening wail of the Assassins had stopped as instantly as it had started. The night grew darker, and it was getting harder to see.
A black-clad figure plunged through the opening in the rocks. No arrow protruded from him, so it must have been the one I had heard climbing from the rear. I yelled and Robard turned, letting loose a shot, but the Assassin darted to the side as Robard’s arrow struck the rocks behind him. Reaching to the ground he pulled his now-conscious companion to his feet. They dashed into the forest away from the rocks, zigzagging from tree to tree, making it difficult for Robard to shoot. In moments they had vanished.
Robard and I kept quiet, slowly circling in the hushed clearing, waiting for another attack. Silence. For several seconds there was very little sound. Then the noises of the night began to return. The chirp of insects. The call of birds.
“I think they are gone,” I said.
Robard still held his bow at the ready. He was tense, arm held in front of him, the muscles coiled. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Al Hashshashin do not run. They fight to the death.”
“Yes. Strange,” I agreed.
We circled again, but there was nothing more to see or hear.
“We need to leave,” Robard said.
“Agreed.”
Robard lowered but did not completely relax his bow, and we cautiously made our way back to the boulders. I held a sword in each hand and we kept a sharp eye, but the woods around us felt empty.
We quickly gathered up our blankets. Our plan was to move as far away from there as quickly as possible. I rolled our blankets together, slinging them over my shoulder. I would carry Robard’s blanket tonight, giving him quicker access to his bow and wallet.
We had turned toward the freedom of the woods when I heard a small gasping sound coming from the Assassin who lay on the ground inside the circle of boulders. Robard’s arrow had hit him high up in the right shoulder, and as I looked, I could see him moving. Not to attack, but not dead yet either.
“Wait,” I said. “He’s not dead.”
Robard stopped and I approached the Assassin, kicking the daggers out of reach. Another groan, and then his eyes flew open; two black ovals stared up at me in both alarm and hate.
“Careful, he may still be armed,” Robard said.
I looked at the wound where the arrow had entered his shoulder. I didn’t see much blood, but he wore a black robe and it was hard to tell. When I touched the shaft of the arrow, the Assassin cried out in pain and his eyes shut.
“What do we do now?” I asked, not looking at Robard as I spoke. “He’s not dead. If we leave, and if he lives, he may be able to find his companions. We don’t need them following us.”
Robard had remained quiet while I checked the Assassin’s wounds. And as I turned to look at him, awaiting his answer, the blood drained from my face.
“There’s only one thing to do,” he said.
I felt as if I were falling into quicksand. With my back turned, Robard had pulled an arrow from his wallet, nocked it on his bowstring and pulled it taut. It was now pointed directly at the heart of the wounded Assassin. I struggled to stand, but it felt as if my legs weren’t working properly.
Robard drew the bowstring to his cheek, and I could see his fingers twitch as they were about to let it go.
“Robard! No!” I shouted, launching myself toward him. To my horror I saw his fingers release the arrow, and I could only gasp as it flew through the air headed directly for my chest.