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deserted them. They were upset, but at the same time their behavior conveyed a
strong undercurrent of relief.
"If I'm going to take orders from someone, I want him to be strong. But not
crazy." It seemed that
Tamarack had never revealed to these followers, or had never succeeded in
convincing them, that he was
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Fred Saberhagen - The Book of the Gods 1 - The Face of Apollo indeed the God
of Death.
This time, when a dozen or so bandits came at Jeremy in a group, casually
surrounding him, calling him sharply to throw down his weapon laughing at the
way he was holding his borrowed sword it was plain to him that trying to fight
was useless.
One of them grabbed up the weapon as soon as he had cast it down. "Where'd ye
get this?"
Even before Jeremy's answer left his mouth, he could feel, up-welling in him,
the sense that something was about to happen, an event after which his world
would never be quite the same. And then he surprised himself by what he said,
the words coming out in a flat, cold tone of challenge: "I met a man back
there who paid a good price for me to take it off his hands."
He saw eyebrows rising on the faces in front of him, expressions changing.
What was going to happen now had a whole lot to do with Jeremy's silent
partner, though at the moment the Intruder was sending no gem sparkles to
brighten Jeremy's left eye's field of vision. And at the same time sharp in
Jeremy's memory was the image of Sal lying dead. She'd been killed with
terrifying ease, by enemies no more formidable than these folk were, and the
Face shard of Apollo had given her no help. Of course Sal hadn't been carrying
it inside her head.
But in a moment the bandits' laughter burst. It was plain that whatever had
happened to Professor
Tamarack wasn't going to lose them any sleep.
The moment of tension among the bandits had passed. This time the Intruder's
challenge was going to be ignored, rather than accepted.
The men (there were no women among them) who now surrounded Jeremy and tied
his hands behind him treated him almost tenderly; the arguments he had started
to practice, to the effect that he was someone worth ransoming, proved to be
unnecessary. With his hands bound, they brought him back to a place near the
site of the original ambush, where the main band of bandits were now gathered
with their other prisoners.
"A servant of the Lugard family! Likely they'll pay something to get him
back."
As soon as they reassured Jeremy that he was in no immediate danger, the
interior upwelling of what was it? power? whatever it had been receded, so the
boy once again knew himself to be no more than a tired and frightened
stripling. He knew that if they were to continue their questioning, the next
answer he gave them was going to be a very meek and timid one.
* * *
The boy felt a greater relief than he would have expected to see that Andy
Ferrante had survived the ambush without serious injury, as had Arnobius.
Ferrante was plainly steaming; had his hands been free, he would probably have
done something to get himself killed. His face had some new bruises, and he
had a crazy look about him. Evidently everyone else in the party was dead or
had escaped.
Both of Jeremy's fellow prisoners were glad to see him alive, sorry that he
had not got away. Soon they were all three seated together, all with their
wrists tied behind them.
Arnobius informed the latest arrival that the bandits had evidently known all
along that he was Lord
Victor's son. "I think we're safe for the moment, Jonathan. They know who I
am, and they plan on holding us all for ransom. My father will pay since he
really has no choice." Arnobius was taking care to sound confident on that
point, on the theory that at least one of the bandits must be listening.
"He'll
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