A Time Of Omens Part 24

The dun turned into an orderly madhouse. The warband ran to fetch their gear and horses. Servants frantically loaded the last pair of carts left in the dun and commandeered extra horses for pack animals to carry what supplies they'd been able to sc.r.a.pe together. Yraen collected his horse, donned his armor, and realized that everything he'd wanted was about to come to him. Soon he would test himself and all the weaponcraft he'd teamed; soon he would discover for himself what battle and battle-glory had to teach a man. Mow that the time was upon him, he felt preternaturally calm and oddly light, as if he floated through the crowded ward to Rhodry's side. Only his heart refused to quiet itself; he could feel it knocking in his throat, or so it seemed, like some wild creature in a trap.

"We'll be at the rear, no doubt," Rhodry said. "Silver daggers always eat the whole cursed army's dust"

Yraen merely nodded. Rhodry gave him a look as sharp as a knife blade, "Tell me somewhat, lad. Have you ever fought before?"

The time was past for bl.u.s.ter. Yraen shook his head in a no. Rhodry swore under his breath and seemed to be about to say more, but at the head of the line the horns sang out the order to mount and ride. As the men swung into their saddles and started moving, trying to sort themselves into warbands in the too-small s.p.a.ce, Yraen ended up separated from Rhodry, and there was no time to find him again as the riders began filing out the gates. When they first reached the road, Yraen made a futile try at spotting him, then fell back with the squad a.s.signed to guard the supplies.

Once the moon rose, bright and swollen just a night off her full, the lords led their men off the road and began circling to the north through the hills and ravines, good hiding from their enemies. Thanks to the carts and the pack train, they moved slowly, the carters cursing as the carts banged through the rocks and brush. Riding at the very rear, Yraen was the only one who realized that someone was following them.

As they started down the side of a hill, Yraen saw movement out of the corner of his eye, turned to look, and caught the unmistakable shape of a man on foot slinking through the tall gra.s.s behind them. He must have left his horse somewhere behind-a mistake that cost him his life. With a shout of warning, Yraen turned his horse out of line and drew his javelin in the same smooth motion. The enemy scout turned and raced downhill, but Yraen galloped after, plunging through the gra.s.s and praying that his horse wouldn't stumble and go down. Twisting in a desperate zigzag, his prey ran for the trees at the bottom of the valley, but Yraen gained on him and rose in the stirrups to throw. The point gleamed in the moonlight as it sped to the mark and caught the scout full in the back. With an ugly shriek he went down headlong into the gra.s.s. Yraen trotted over and dismounted, but he was already dead. A couple of men from his warband rode up and circled round them.

"Good job, lad," one of them shouted. "We're cursed lucky you've got good eyes."

Yraen shrugged in pretended modesty and pulled the javelin free with a welling up of the enemy's blood. In the moonlight it seemed like dark water, some strange and dreamlike substance. Yraen wondered how it could be possible that he'd killed a man and yet felt nothing, not grief nor gloating.

"Just let him lie," the rider went on. "We've got to get back to the warband, but in the morning, I'll make sure Lord Oldadd knows what you've done."

But apparently the n.o.ble-born already realized what had happened. When Yraen returned to the warband, the lords halted the march and had a hasty horseback conference up at the head of the line. Yraen strained to hear as Erddyr leaned over in his saddle to make his points with the wave of a gauntlet. All at once Lord Comerr laughed and gave Erddyr a friendly cuff on the shoulder. Erddyr turned his horse and trotted over to bellow at the warband.

"With their scout dead, we've got a chance to wreak a little havoc, lads," Erddyr called out. "I want fifty men to risk their cursed necks. I'll be leading you in a raid on Adry's camp, just to stick a thorn up the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's a.s.s."

Yraen turned his horse out of line to volunteer. As a squad a.s.sembled round Erddyr, he kept watch for Rhodry and finally saw him on the other side of the group, or saw, rather, his silver dagger, catching the moonlight with an unmistakable glitter. Although he waved, he had no idea if Rhodry had seen him or not.

Leaning forward in his saddle, Erddyr explained the situation. Comerr and the pack train were going to head for his dun in hopes of meeting the reinforcements on the road, while Erddyr and the squad tried to slow their enemies. It was going to be a quick raid-Erddyr emphasized that repeatedly-one fast sweep down, then an equally fast retreat.

"The whole point, lads, is to panic their horses, not to make kills. Go for the herd and try to scatter it. If anyone gets in your way, kill him, but leave the real slaughter for later. All we want to do is keep them busy chasing their worm-gut stock instead of chasing us."

Erddyr sent Rhodry and some man Yraen didn't know out in front as scouts, then led his squad back the way they'd come until the scouts rejoined them. At that point they left the road to dodge through the brush and down a narrow valley. On the far side they climbed a hill and found the camp down below, the rough circles of sleeping men and the bulky dark shapes of the supply wagons. Off to one side drowsed the horse herd. At the edge of the camp, guards walked in a circling patrol. Erddyr whispered something to Rhodry, who whispered it to the man behind him. The order made its way back: charge through the guards for the horses, then circle and wheel for the retreat before the men grab their weapons and join the fight.

Steel flashed in the moonlight as the squad drew their swords. Yraen settled his own and felt his heart pounding in his throat again, but he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever see a real battle, the sort he'd heard bards sing about, with proper armies and strategies and all that sort of thing. They walked their horses over the crest of the hill, paused for a moment like a wave about to break, then started down with the jingle of tack and the clank of armor. In the camp, the guards looked up and screamed the alarm.

"Now!" Erddyr yelled.

In a welter of war cries and curses, the squad spurred their horses and galloped full-tilt downhill. When they reached the valley, they spread out in a ragged line and swept toward the horse herd. Although the guards raced over to make a futile stand against them, the line ignored them and charged past. As he galloped past a guard, Yraen swung wildly at him, but he missed by yards. When the squad screamed and plunged into the herd, the horses panicked, rearing up and stretching their tether ropes so tight that it was easy to snap them with one swing of a blade. Yraen cursed and shrieked and made every unG.o.dly noise he could think of as he sliced ropes and set horse after horse racing away from the attack. At last his wild ride brought him to the edge of the valley. As he turned his horse, he saw men pouring toward the raiders with their swords and s.h.i.+elds at the ready. It was time to run.

Yraen kicked his horse and galloped back across the valley with the rest of the squad. Here and there, a panicked horse still at tether bucked and kicked. Yraen cut one last rope, then turned his attention to the men racing to stop them. All at once, one of the panicked horses slammed into the rider ahead of him. That horse reared; the rider went down, with the flash of a gold-trimmed s.h.i.+eld that said Lord Erddyr. Yraen pulled his horse up just in time to avoid running right over him. The armed and furious enemy was charging straight for them. Yraen swung down and grabbed Erddyr's arm.

"Take my horse, my lord," he yelled. "I'll guard your mount."

"By the h.e.l.ls, we ride together or die together! Here they come, lad."

Yraen set his back to Erddyr's and dropped to a fighting crouch as the first enemies reached them. Four of them, and in the gauzy moonlight, it was hard to see their swings, impossible to detect all those subtle movements that reveal an enemy's next thrust. Yraen could only hack and swing blindly as he desperately parried their equally blind strikes. His s.h.i.+eld cracked and groaned; Erddyr was screaming his war cry at the top of his lungs; but Yraen fought silently, coldly, dodging forward to make a slash across an enemy's arm, then dodging back, slamming into Erddyr's back as the melee thickened. Screaming Erddyr's name, the mounted squad was cutting and trampling through the mob on the ground.

In front of him an enemy feinted in close. Yraen lunged fast and got him, almost without realizing it in the bad light. He felt rather than saw his sword bite deep into something soft and stick. When he yanked it free, a man fell forward at his feet. He flung up his s.h.i.+eld to parry a blow from the side, slashed at another man, missed, and saw him fall, cut down by a thrust from a mounted man. Erddyr was laughing aloud as riders swirled round them in a kicking, bucking confusion.

"Mount behind me, lad!" a man yelled.

Yraen sheathed his sword still b.l.o.o.d.y and swung up behind him, scrambling awkwardly onto his bedroll. The rider turned his horse and spurred it on, slas.h.i.+ng down at an enemy in their way. Yraen leaned forward and got a cut on the same man as the horse carried them past at a clumsy gallop.

"Ride!" Erddyr screamed. "Retreat!"

Shouting, swinging, the mounted squad cut its way across the valley and headed for the hills. Yraen saw a couple of Erddyr's men driving what was left of the enemy horses straight for the camp. Howling in rage, half the enemy line peeled out of the battle and ran for the camp to save their gear from being trampled. The squad cut grimly on. Yraen leaned and swung randomly at unhorsed men who had little appet.i.te for a fight. At last they gained the hillside, and the horse stumbled wearily up toward the crest. There Rhodry rode to meet them, leading a riderless bay.

"Transfer him over," Rhodry yelled. "We've got to make speed."

As Yraen mounted the fresh horse, he could tell from the gear that it had once been Lord Erddyr's, who, of course, still rode his own gray. Ahead, the squad was already cras.h.i.+ng its way through the underbrush and heading downhill. As he followed, Yraen saw Lord Erddyr, rising frantically in the stirrups as he tried to count his men. They trotted across the next valley and finally a.s.sembled in a laughing, shoving mob at the crest of the farther hill.

"Where's that lad whose horse I'm riding?" Erddyr called out. "Come ride next to me, lad, and then we'd best get our a.s.ses out of here."

Yraen guided his horse through the warband, which showered him with good-natured insults to show their respect for the way he'd saved their lord. Erddyr waved the line forward. Carefully they picked their way along the dark valleys until they reached the place where they'd left the main column. No one ever tried to follow them. Doubtless Adry and his men were chasing horses and swearing all over the hills round their camp.

"Well played," Erddyr called out as the warband gathered around him. "It's a pity your lord here almost ruined the whole maneuver, but we're born to our place, not picked by wits."

The men laughed and cheered him.

"It's a cursed good thing I hired this silver dagger's apprentice," Erddyr went on. "But we're a bit short on time to have the bard make you a song, lad. Let's get on our way."

When the warband rode out, Yraen and Rhodry rode together. By then the sky was beginning to pale into gray, and in the growing light Yraen could look round and see that their squad had suffered no losses. He remembered then the man who'd fallen at his feet when he'd been defending Lord Erddyr. I must have killed him, he thought-he lay so still. He shook his head hard, wondering why nothing seemed real or even important, then looked up to find Rhodry watching him.

"Not bad," Rhodry said. "You've got sharp eyes, and a cursed good thing, too."

"The scout, you mean?"

"That, too, but I was thinking about Lord Erddyr. Well done."

Yraen felt himself blus.h.i.+ng like the rising sun. The fulsome praise heaped upon his princely self by his father's weaponmasters had lost all its meaning, compared to those two words.

"That's true, good herbwoman," Lady Melynda said. "My husband did indeed hire a silver dagger named Rhodry, and young Yraen, too. Of course, you've arrived a bit late to speak with them. The army rode out in the middle of the night, you see."

For a moment the lady's careful calm nearly deserted her. With shaking hands she wiped tears from her eyes, then composed herself with a long sigh that came close to being a gasp. Dallandra looked round the great hall, empty and echoing with silence. Aside from a handful of male servants, the only guards the lady had were three wounded men.

"Well, my lady, before I ride on, I'll see what I can do for these men here."

"My thanks, but I'd be most grateful if you did catch up with the army. You see, my husband doesn't have a proper chirurgeon with his warband, so your aid would be most welcome."

"In the morning, then, I'll be on my way. No doubt they've left an easy trail to follow."

Since it had been some years since Dallandra had tended wounds, she was dreading the job, but once she got the clumsy bandages off her first patient's injuries, her old professional detachment set in. The man's gashed and b.l.o.o.d.y flesh became merely a problem for her to solve with the medicinals and other means she had at hand, rather than an object of disgust, and his grat.i.tude made the effort well worth it. By the time she finished with the wounded, it was late in the day. She washed up, then joined the lady and her serving women at the table of honor. As they tried to make conversation about something other than the war and the lady's fears for her husband, Dallandra found herself oppressed by a sense of dread so sharp and miserable that she knew it must be a dweomer-warning of sorts. Of what, she couldn't say.

Just at sunset, the answer came in a shout of alarm from the servants who were watching the gates. Dallandra ran after Melynda when the lady rushed outside and saw the stableboys and the aged chamberlain swinging the gates shut. The two women scrambled up the ladder to the ramparts and leaned over. Down below on the dusty road, Lord Tewdyr was leading forty armed men up to the walls.

"And what do you want with me and my maidservants?" Melynda called down. "My husband and his men are long gone."

"I'm well aware of that, my lady," Tewdyr shouted back. "And I swear to every G.o.d and G.o.ddess as well that no harm will come to you and your women while you're under my protection."

"His lords.h.i.+p is most honorable, but we aren't under his protection, and I see no reason to ask for it."

"Indeed?" Tewdyr gave her a thin-lipped smile. "I fear me it's yours whether you want it or not, because I'm going to take you back to my dun with me and hold you there until your husband quits the war and ransoms you back."

"Oh, indeed?" Melynda tossed her head. "I should have known that spending all that coin would ache your heart, but never did I think it would drive you to dishonor, just to get it back."

"There is no need for my lady to be insulting, especially when she can't have more than a handful of men in her dun."

Melynda bit her lip sharply and went a bit pale. Dallandra stepped forward and leaned over the rampart.

"The lady has all the men she needs," Dallandra called. "This is an impious, dishonorable, and wretched move you're making, my lord. Every bard in Deverry will satirize your name for it down the long years."

"Oh, will they now?" Tewdyr laughed. "And do you claim to be a bard, old woman?"

His voice dripped cold contempt for all things old and female both. In an icy rage Dallandra swept up her hands and invoked elemental spirits, the Wildfolk of Air and Fire. In a swarming, glittering mob they answered her call and rushed among the men and horses in a surge of raw life. Although the men couldn't see them, they could feel them indirectly, just as when a cloud darkens the sun outside and the light in a chamber dims. The riders s.h.i.+fted uneasily in their saddles; the horses danced and snorted; Tewdyr looked wildly around him.

"We have no need of armed men," Dallandra said. "Are you stupid enough to match steel against the laws of honor and the G.o.ds?"

The Wildfolk chattered among the men and pinched the horses, pulled at the men's clothes, and rattled their swords in their scabbards until the entire warband shook in fear. Turning this way and that, they cursed and swatted at enemies they couldn't see. Dallandra held up her right hand and called forth blue fire-a perfectly harmless etheric light, but it looked like it would burn hot. She fas.h.i.+oned the fire into a long streaming torch and made it blaze brightly in the fading sunlight. Tewdyr yelped and began edging his horse backward.

"Begone!" Dallandra called out.

With a wave of her hand, she sent the bolt of light down like a javelin. When it struck the ground in front of Tewdyr's horse, it shattered into a hundred darts and sparks of illusionary fire. Dallandra hurled bolt after bolt, smas.h.i.+ng them into the ground among the warband while the Wildfolk pinched the horses viciously and clawed the men. Screaming, cursing, the warband broke and galloped shamelessly down the hill. Tewdyr spurred his horse as hard as any of them and never even tried to stop the retreat.

Dallandra sent the Wildfolk chasing them, then allowed herself a good laugh, but a pale and feverishly shaking Lady Melynda knelt at her feet. Behind her the servants huddled together as if they feared Dallandra would attack them simply for the fun of it. Only then did Dallandra remember that she was among human beings, not the People, who took dweomer and its powers as a given thing.

"Now, now, my lady, do get up," Dallandra said. "The honor is mine to be allowed to be of service to you. It was naught but a few cheap tricks, but I doubt me very much that they'll return to trouble you."

"Most likely not, but I can't call them cowards for it."

All that evening the lady and her women waited upon Dallandra as if she were the queen herself, but none of them presumed to make conversation with her. As soon as she could, Dallandra went up to the chamber that they'd readied for her. Although she tried to scry, the whistle stayed hidden and Rhodry with it, giving her a few bitter thoughts on the limits of the dweomer that had so impressed the lady and her household.

In the meadows behind Lord Comerr's dun, the allies had camped their hastily pulled together army of two hundred thirty-six men. For that first day after Erddyr's dawn arrival, the men rested while the lords conferred over the various sc.r.a.ps of news that scouts and messengers brought them. Rhodry spent the day in rueful amus.e.m.e.nt, mocking himself for how badly he wanted to be included in those conferences. He was used to command, and even more, he knew that he was good at it, better, certainly, than the overly cautious Comerr and the entirely too daring Erddyr. Yet there was nothing for him to do but sit around and remind himself that he was a silver dagger and nothing more. He was also more than a little worried about Yraen, who'd made his first kills by blind luck. The lad himself seemed dazed, saying little to anyone. Finally, when they received their scant rations for the evening meal, Rhodry led him away from the other men for a talk.

"Now listen, you know enough about war to know that you're not ready to lead charges or suchlike. Every rider goes through a time when he's just learning how to handle himself, like, and there's no shame in an untried man staying on the edge of things. Everyone seems to have figured out that this is your first ride."

"Oh, true spoken," Yraen said. "But is there going to be any edge to stay on? It sounds cursed desperate to me. That last scout said that Adry's sc.r.a.ped up almost three hundred men."

"You've got a point. Unfortunately. Well, there's still one thing you can do, and that's think before you go charging right into the thick of things. More men have been saved by a good look round them than by the best sword work in the world."

On the morrow, when the army saddled up and rode out, Lord Erddyr told Yraen to ride just behind the n.o.ble-born as a way of honoring the lad for saving his life and allowed Rhodry to join him there. They were heading back east in the hopes of making their stand on ground of their own choosing. Logic foretold that Adry would be riding for Comerr's dun, but the scouts who circled ahead of the main body brought back no news of him. Finally, toward noon, scouts came back to report that they'd found Adry's camp of the night before, but that the tracks of his army led south, away from Comerr's dun and toward Tewdyr's. The n.o.ble lords held a quick conference surrounded by their anxious warbands.

"Now why by the h.e.l.ls would he circle when he's got the numbers on his side?" Erddyr said.

"A couple of reasons," Comerr said. "Maybe to draw us into a trap for one. But I wonder-he's heading back to Tewdyr's dun, is he? Here, you don't suppose Tewdyr rode away from the war, and Adry's after him?"

"He'd never withdraw now. He's too cursed furious with me for that. He-oh, by the black hairy a.s.s of the Lord of h.e.l.l! What if the old miser's making a strike on my dun?"

"I wouldn't put it past the b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Comerr snarled. "I say we ride back for a look."

When the warband rode on, they left the wagon train behind to follow as best it could at its own slow pace. Lord Erddyr rode in a cold grim silence that told everyone he feared for his lady's life. For two hours they kept up a cavalry pace, walking and trotting with the emphasis on the trot, and they left the road and went as straight as an arrow, plowing through field and meadow, climbing up the wild brushy hills. Finally a scout galloped back, grinning like a child with a copper to spend at the market fair.

"My lords!" the scout yelled. "Tewdyr's not far ahead, and the stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d's only got forty men with him!"

Both lords and riders cheered.

It was less than an hour later when the warband trotted down a little valley to see Tewdyr and his men, drawn up in battle order and waiting for them. Apparently Tewdyr had scouts of his own out and had realized that he was pretty well trapped. When Lord Erddyr yelled out orders to his men to surround the enemy, the warband broke up into a ragged line and trotted fast to encircle the waiting warband. Rhodry drew a javelin, yelled at Yraen to follow him, and circled with the others. When he glanced back, Yraen was right behind him.

Sullen and disgruntled, the enemy moved into a tight bunch behind Tewdyr and his son. Tewdyr sat straight in his saddle, a javelin his hand.

"Tewdyr!" Comerr called out. "Surrender! We've got the whole cursed army surrounding you."

"I can see well enough," Tewdyr snarled.

With a laugh, Comerr made the lord a mocking bow from the saddle.

"Doubtless the thought of paying more ransom aches your n.o.ble heart, but fear not-your withdrawal from the war will be sufficient. We all know that dishonor will be less painful to you than losing more coin."

With a howl of rage, Tewdyr spurred his horse forward and threw the javelin straight at Comerr, who flung up his s.h.i.+eld barely in time. The javelin cracked it through and stuck there dangling. Shouting, the entire warband sprang forward to Comerr's side as he flung his useless s.h.i.+eld away and grabbed for his sword. Tewdyr's men had no choice but to charge to meet them. Yelling, shouting, Erddyr tried to stop the unequal slaughter, but the field turned into a brawl. Like too many flies crawling on a piece of meat, the warband mobbed Tewdyr's men with their swords flas.h.i.+ng up red in the sunlight. Rhodry yelled at Yraen to get back, then trotted over to Erddyr, who was sitting on his horse and watching, his mouth slack in disbelief.

"At least the two of you followed my orders, eh?" the lord shouted. "Ah, by the black hairy a.s.s of the Lord of h.e.l.l!"

They sat there like spectators at a tournament as the dust plumed up thick over the battle, and this was no mock combat with blunted and gilded weapons down in the Deverry court. Horses reared up, blood running down their necks; Tewdyr's men fell bleeding with barely a chance to defend themselves. Four and five at a time, the warband mobbed them, hacking and stabbing, while the fighting was so thick that half the men never got a chance to close. They rode round and round the edge, shrieking war cries over the shouts of pain and the trampling clanging sound of horses shoving against s.h.i.+elds. When Rhodry looked at Yraen, he found the lad decidedly pale, but his mouth was set tight and his eyes wide-open, as if he were forcing himself to watch the way an apprentice watches his master's lesson in some craft.

"It's not pretty, is it?" Rhodry said.

Yraen shook his head no and went on watching. The fighting was down to a desperate clot around Tewdyr, bleeding in his saddle but still hacking in savage fury. Suddenly Yraen turned his horse and galloped down the valley. Rhodry started to follow, but he saw him dismount and take a few steps toward the stream, where he stood with his hands pressed over his face, merely stood and shook. He was crying, most like. Rhodry couldn't hold it against the lad. He felt half-sick himself from the savagery of this slaughter. When he looked Erddyr's way, his eyes met the lord's, and he knew Erddyr felt the same.

Suddenly a distant noise broke into Rhodry's mind and pulled him alert. Erddyr threw up his head and screamed out a warning as silver horns rang out on the crest of the hill. Too late for rescue, but in time for revenge, Lord Adry's army galloped down to join the battle. Shrieking orders, Erddyr circled the edge of the mob and managed to get a few men turned round and ready to face this new threat. Rhodry followed, howling with laughter, and spotted a rider who could only be one of the n.o.ble-born, a lean man carrying a beautifully worked s.h.i.+eld and riding a fine black horse. Howling a challenge he charged straight for him. Only when it was too late to pull back did he remember Yraen, and much later still did he remember that he was a silver dagger again, no longer a n.o.ble lord to challenge one of his peers.

After he stopped crying, Yraen knelt by the stream and washed his face, but the shame he felt for what he saw as womanish weakness couldn't be so easily dealt with. For a moment he lingered there alone, wondering if he could face Rhodry again, realizing that he had no choice. He was walking back to his horse when he heard the enemy horns and saw the enemy army pouring over the hill like water. He ran, grabbed the reins just before the animal bolted, and swung himself up into the saddle. None of his fancy lessons in war mattered now; all that counted was getting to the safety of his own pack of men. As he galloped down the valley, he saw the enemy army spreading out, trying to encircle his own. Just barely in time Yraen dodged through their van.

An enemy rider, carrying a s.h.i.+eld blazoned with a hawk's head, swung past. Yraen wrenched his horse after and struck at his exposed side. Although he missed the rider, he did nick the horse, which bucked once and staggered. When the enemy wheeled to face him, Yraen caught a glimpse of pouchy eyes and a stubbled face. They swung, parried, circling, trading blow for blow while the enemy howled and Yraen found himself muttering a string of curses under his breath. The Hawksman was good, almost his match-almost. Yraen caught a swing on his s.h.i.+eld, heard the wood crack, and slashed in through his enemy's open guard to catch him solidly on the back of his right arm. Blood welled through his mail as the bone snapped. With one last shout, he turned his horse and fled, clinging to its neck to keep his seat.

Yraen let him go and rode on, weaving his way through the combats, looking desperately round for Rhodry. His fear had shrunk to a dryness in his mouth, a little ache around his heart, and nothing more. Under a pall of dust the battle swirled down the valley. Here and there he saw clots of fighting around one lord or another. Dead men lay on the ground and wounded horses struggled to rise. When at last he heard someone calling Erddyr's name and someone laughing, a cold berserker's laugh of desperation, he turned in the saddle to see Rhodry and Renydd, mobbed by six of the enemy. They were fighting nose to tail and parrying more than they dared strike as Adry's men shrieked for vengeance and pressed round them. Yraen spurred his horse and charged straight for the clot.

Yraen slapped his horse with the flat of his blade and forced it to slam into the flank of an enemy horse. Before the enemy could turn, he stabbed him in the back and turned to slash at another. Dimly he was aware of men shouting Erddyr's name riding to his side, but he kept swinging, slas.h.i.+ng, hacking his way through the clot, closing briefly with one man who managed to turn his horse to face him. He parried and thrust, never getting a strike on him, until the enemy horse screamed and reared. Renydd had cut it hard from behind, and as it came down, Yraen killed the rider. He was through at last, wrenching his horse round to fight nose to tail with Renydd.

"I saw you coming into the mob," Rhodry yelled out.

Rhodry pulled in beside him to guard his left side. Sweat ran down Yraen's back in trickles, not drops, as he panted for breath in this precious moment of respite. It was only a moment. Five men were riding straight for them. Yraen heard them yelling at one another: there he is, get the cursed silver dagger.

Yraen suddenly remembered that he had javelins again, distributed the night before. Grabbing his sword in his left hand, he pulled one from the sheath, threw it straight for an enemy horse, and grabbed the second all in the same smooth motion. Caught in the chest, the enemy horse went down, dumping its rider under the hooves of his friends charging behind him. Yraen heard Rhodry laughing like a fiend as the clot of enemy riders swirled and stumbled in confusion. Yraen had just enough time to transfer his sword back again before the enemies sorted themselves out and charged.

When the three of them held their ground, the enemies rode round them, circling to strike from the rear. Yraen was forced to wheel his horse out of line or get stabbed in the back. Riding with his knees, he ducked and dodged and slashed back at the man attacking him, who suddenly wheeled his horse and rode back toward the main fight When Yraen followed, for a brief moment he could watch Rhodry fight, and even in the midst of danger the silver dagger's skill was breathtaking as he twisted and ducked, slas.h.i.+ng with a cold precision. Rhodry's enemy lunged, missed, and pulled back clumsily as Rhodry got a strike across his shoulder. The Hawksman wanted to kill him-Yraen could see it-this was not the impersonal death-dealing of armies but sheer blazing hatred.

"Silver dagger!" he hissed. "Cursed b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a silver dagger!"

When he lunged again, Rhodry caught his blow with his sword. For a moment they struggled, locked together, but Yraen never saw how they broke free. All at once his back burned like fire as someone got a glancing strike on him from behind. Barely in time Yraen wheeled his horse away, swung his head round, and made him dance in a circle till they could face the Hawksman swinging at them. Yraen stabbed, and his greater speed won. Before the enemy could bring his s.h.i.+eld around to parry, Yraen thrust the sword point into his right eye. With an animal shriek he reeled back in the saddle, dropped his sword, and clawed in vain at the blade as Yraen pulled it free. Yraen swung and hit him with the flat, knocking him off his horse. In a flail of arms, he rolled under the hooves of a horse just behind. When that horse reared and flung itself backward, the mob of enemies pressing for them fell back, cursing and screaming for vengeance.

Horns rang out over the battlefield. The mob ahead hesitated, turning toward the insistent shriek. Yraen started to edge his horse toward them, but Rhodry's voice broke through his battle-fever.

"Let them go!" Rhodry yelled. "It's the enemy calling for retreat this time."