Hawk Quest by Robert Lyndon Page A

edge of the clearing. Wayland heard the ragged panting of the hounds and drew his knife. The greenery trembled and Ostine appeared in front of him. She stopped and threw back her head, but before she could utter a sound the dog smashed into her, bowling her over. The other hounds broke cover. When they saw the dog they whimpered and squirmed in submission. Wayland crouched in front of them and cradled their muzzles. He looked into their eyes and smiled. Make a sound, and I’ll cut your throats. They lay down and began licking their sore limbs.
    Two riders came out of the trees. They stopped and surveyed the clearing, then one of them gestured and the other five emerged. All were armoured, wearing helmets. Two of them held loaded crossbows. Wayland’s mouth grew dry. He wiped his palms and raised his bow.
    The encircling forest made the soldiers edgy. They advanced stirrup to stirrup, peering over their shields. Wayland bent his bow, sighting on Roussel’s chest. That’s far enough. They kept coming. They were only twenty yards in front of him when they halted. Swarms of midges clouded around them. The horses tossed their heads; their flanks twitched.
    Roussel dragged his forearm across his cheeks. ‘I’m being eaten alive.’
    Drax’s head patrolled from side to side. Wayland watched his eyes. Shoot the moment he realises where he is. Shoot and then run.
    ‘Roussel.’
    ‘What?’ Roussel demanded, scratching his wrist on the edge of his shield.
    ‘I know this place. We both do.’
    Roussel stopped scratching.
    ‘Don’t you remember? There was a cottage over there. You can still make out the fields.’
    Roussel pulled back on his reins. ‘Jesus, you’re right.’
    ‘It must be a coincidence. We left no one alive.’
    ‘Don’t be so sure. Walter captured the falconer not far from here.He must have grown up in these woods.’ Roussel looked around the clearing. ‘You know what I think?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘He could have lost us any time it pleased him. We’re not hunting him; he’s hunting us.’
    Drax gave a nervous laugh. ‘One against seven. Are you serious?’
    ‘The odds might not be as good as that. The Frank must have fled south. We’ve been chasing the falconer in a circle. He could be leading us into an ambush.’
    ‘What do you want to do?’
    ‘I say we get out of here.’
    ‘Drogo will crucify us.’
    ‘We tell him we tracked the falconer until nightfall and found ourselves in a forest, with no food or shelter. What were we supposed to do?’ Roussel turned to the huntsman. ‘Call off the hounds.’
    Relief was what Wayland felt. Standing only a few yards from seven armoured horse soldiers, he’d felt his resolve leaking away. At best he would have been able to release only one arrow, and he wasn’t confident that it would have hit the mark. The effort of holding his heavy bow at full draw was making his aim waver. He slackened off and let his breath go.
    If only the huntsman had used his horn. Instead he took a bone whistle from around his neck and blew a thin note barely audible to the human ear. One of the hounds whimpered.
    Roussel lifted his sword. ‘Straight ahead!’
    Wayland drew and let fly. The arrow skewered Roussel’s mailed wrist, punched through his iron helmet and sliced through bone and brain. Wayland’s last sight of him was him leaning back, his hand pinned to his backthrown head as if scandalised.
    ‘Charge!’
    Wayland turned and ran, clawing through the poles. He’d expected the Normans to scatter, but he’d underestimated their discipline, their confidence in their armour and horsepower.
    ‘There he goes!’
    He was in the forest, breaking for the ravine, when he realised 4his second mistake. In the years since he’d left the wildwood, the familiar trails had become overgrown. Branches snagged him, thickets thwarted him. While he struggled to make distance, the horsesbattered their way through, gaining with every stride. They were so close that he didn’t