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bulge under his cloak, and Gallen realized it was a breastplate; this robber breathed heavily and bent low to the ground on legs that were tense, ready to spring. The last of the five closest was their leader—a tall man with a longsword who likely would avoid joining the fray with such a weapon for fear of lopping the head off one of his own men.
    Gallen heard the scuffling feet of a robber lunge behind. The robber grabbed Seamus’s arm and tried to throw him to the ground, but Seamus twisted away at the last moment and made a stab. The robber yelped in pain, and hot blood splattered across the back of Gallen’s neck.
    “Take that for your trouble!” Seamus jeered, as if he’d won something, and then more robbers surged behind. A sharp blow from a club sent Seamus to the ground.
    Gallen had been watching the man who tossed his knife from hand to hand. The knife was in the air, and Gallen leapt up and kicked it away, disarming the robber. He whirled and kicked an attacker off Seamus, slashed another across the throat. The lad with a club raised his shield to protect his face, and Gallen could have dropped beneath the boy’s guard and lunged past, run to win his freedom. But Gallen knew he had to keep the highwaymen from slitting Seamus’s throat.
    Gallen dodged and came up behind the young robber, grabbed the boy’s hair and put a knife to his throat. “Hold where you are,” Gallen shouted. “I don’t want to have to murder this lad!” The boy struggled, but Gallen was ready for any move he tried. Gallen wrestled him still. “Now, off with you! Give me a clear road.”
    The highwaymen moved around them, keeping a safe distance. Gallen could see from their determined faces that they didn’t value the lad’s life. It wasn’t worth forty pounds.
    The boy cried, “For Christ’s sake, Paddy, tell them to back off!” The boy was panting hard, and he began to cry. The sweat pouring off of his neck made him slippery.
    Gallen looked up at the tall one with the sword, Paddy. Since it seemed that the boy was a worthless hostage, Gallen decided that Paddy might value his own hide more.
    Gallen tossed the boy to the ground. The robber who wore the breastplate leaned forward, dagger at the ready. Gallen had already slipped beneath one attacker’s guard, and the men held their weapons low, preventing any similar moves. One man lunged at Gallen from behind; Gallen sidestepped, slashed the attacker’s knife arm nearly in half, then Gallen leapt at the man in the breastplate. He put his toe at the top of the man’s throat and let it slide down till it hit the armor, then stepped up and used his momentum to somersault over the robber’s head.
    He hit ground, swung around and put his knife to Paddy’s throat. It all happened so fast that the robbers could barely react. Paddy swore and threw down his sword.
    The boy with the club sat on the ground for a moment, crying. Other than the boy, one of the robbers was dead, another was knocked unconscious, and two were nursing serious wounds. Paddy was disarmed. The last three robbers hesitated, not knowing what to do. Paddy said to his men, “All right lads, listen to him! Drop your weapons and give the man the road! Now!”
    The three robbers all dropped their weapons and backed away.
    “Paddy, you’re a lousy bastard!” the boy shouted, still sitting on the ground. “You were going to let him slit my gullet, but you’ll save your own? So you think you’re worth forty pounds, but I’m not worth a bob?”
    The boy got up and held his shield down low like a veteran, and he raised his nasty war club; its metal studs gleamed in the starlight. He advanced slowly, and the other robbers suddenly leered like the greedy thieves they were. As one they reached down and retrieved their weapons. Seamus moaned and began coughing. Gallen saw that he would have to fight these last four. The men quickly circled him.
    Gallen listened for the sound of a scuffing foot behind him, tried