When Isabel opened her eyes, she had a strange look on her face. “The mind of a horse is much different than the mind of a bird. I always felt some of Slyder’s cravings, instincts, and impulses when I was connected to him. It’s similar with the horses only they want entirely different things for completely different reasons. They’re all feeling fine and are good for several miles at a gallop, except they would like a drink of water sometime soon.”
Alexander smiled. “Good. Let’s find them some water and then we’re going to run that watch line. Isabel, call Slyder down here, please. I’d like him to carry a message north to Erik and his men. They should be in the vicinity of Blackstone Keep by now and I think we could use their help. How many men did it look like the enemy had in total?”
“I’d estimate almost a hundred, all on horseback and well armed,” she answered.
Alexander nodded in thought as he looked out over the desolate grassland. The last of winter was still hanging on here and the new starts hadn’t yet ventured forth, leaving the place looking bereft of life or purpose. The sky was a dull, monotone grey that looked like it went on in every direction forever. The position of the sun could not be discerned nor the fact that a sun even existed, for that matter. The daylight was even and lifeless through the indifference of the cloud cover. The air was still and just a few degrees below comfortable. The day matched Alexander’s mood.
“When we run the line, take what opportunity you get to kill any enemy you can without slowing to fight them. Once we’re through, we run for Blackstone Keep. Isabel, I need you to talk to the horses and tell them our plan. Let them know we’re going to need all of their speed and stamina. Also, while we ride, check on them from time to time to make sure we aren’t injuring any of them.”
She nodded and closed her eyes to talk to the animals. Slyder landed on her shoulder, looking at her quizzically.
Jack eased his horse forward and handed Alexander a note. “I took the liberty. Is there anything you’d like to add?”
Alexander read the note: “Being pursued—come south along road with haste to assist. Alexander Ruatha.” He nodded approval, rolled the slip of paper tightly and handed it to Isabel. She tied it to Slyder’s leg and sent him on his way. He gave one shriek when he took to wing and grew smaller against the grey backdrop as he ascended toward the clouds.
“We’ll walk our horses until we see the watch line, then we charge them.” Everyone nodded agreement. “Once we’re through and have some distance, we’ll slow to a steady gallop. When darkness falls, we’ll walk in the night along the road. The enemy probably knows we’re headed for Blackstone Keep. They also know we’ll be much harder to attack once we’re there. I doubt they’ll stop for dark tonight.”
It was midday when they crested a small rise in the low rolling grasslands and saw the squad not a mile away. Alexander urged his horse into a gallop. He saw the enemy become aware of them and heard a whistler arrow streak into the sky. To his left and right in the distance, he thought he could just see the stirrings of other men mounting up to give chase. He led his charge straight ahead. He was tired of being the defender. He knew from long hours of study that battle is decided by attack, not defense, that life itself is action, not passivity. He meant to take action. He meant to attack.
The four-man squad, seeing the charge, chose to meet it head-on. They came in a line at Alexander and his companions. Anatoly pulled up alongside Alexander and barked orders to Abigail and Isabel to form the second rank of a wedge formation and then to Lucky and Jack to form the third.
“At close bow range, break away from us and flank them,” he shouted.
They thundered across the rolling plain toward the four soldiers wielding long spears. Alexander drew his sword, and everything else faded away. The world narrowed to this moment. He was in a fight and he had a blade in his hand. Nothing else mattered.
He could hear the pounding of his heart even over the roar of the galloping horses and the rush of wind. When they closed the distance to thirty feet, Abigail and Jack on one side and Isabel and Lucky on the other broke away from Anatoly and Alexander, veering off at forty-five degree angles. Alexander fixed on his opponent. He could see the stubble on the man’s face and the grime in his stringy hair. The men on the left and right of the charging line simultaneously pitched backward off their horses with arrows protruding from their chests; Isabel and Abigail had drawn first blood.
Alexander smiled grimly at the look of uncertainty that ghosted across his opponent’s face. He didn’t give the fourth man a moment’s attention; he belonged to Anatoly, and Alexander knew that the man’s fate was already decided.
The space closed between them. The enemy’s spear came up for the strike.
The battle spanned the moment of a blink. Alexander’s opponent thrust forward with his spear. Alexander swept his sword vertically across his body from left to right, catching the blade of the enemy spear and driving the point past his right shoulder, tipped his blade over the haft of the spear just before his opponent passed on the right, then brought his blade horizontally at the level of the man’s neck and thrust forward hard. The man’s head came free and spun idly, forehead over neck nape. The corpse rode out from under its severed head before it remembered gravity’s pull and thudded to the ground.
Anatoly held his war axe in his right hand with the haft running down the side of his horse. He flipped it sideways just before the enemy struck, causing the point of the enemy’s spear to strike the side of the axe blade and glance wide across his body. The impact turned the spike on the back of Anatoly’s axe forward, bringing it into perfect position for a quick thrust into the man’s chest. Without missing a step, Anatoly lifted the man up and off his horse, then casually tipped his axe forward to let the man slide off the spike.
Alexander and his companions continued running toward Blackstone Keep. More whistler arrows rose into the sky shrieking the alarm to all of the soldiers stretched out along the watch line.
By midafternoon, the enemy had fully regrouped and were pursuing with reckless abandon. They didn’t seem to be concerned for their horses. Like a man in a footrace pours every last scrap of energy into the final stretch, the enemy ran their horses like tomorrow wouldn’t matter, but Alexander knew it would.
He kept a measured and steady pace, checking with Isabel regularly about the condition of the animals. They were still strong and eager to run, but Alexander knew that just one wrong step and they would be facing far too many enemy soldiers to defeat in a fight. He rode as cautiously as he could while still keeping the gap between them from closing too quickly.
When he looked back he imagined that the enemy force numbered at least a hundred. They were maybe twenty minutes behind and gaining slowly. He told himself he just had to make it until dark. Once they had the cover of night they would all have to slow to a walk at best or risk hobbling their horses. He knew the enemy wouldn’t stop. They could see their quarry. They had them on the run and they smelled blood. They would ride through the night but they didn’t have Alexander’s vision. He could see them coming. He could fight them at night like a man who can see fights the blind, with unfair advantage.
He chuckled at the thought of fairness in relation to a fight, remembering another lesson his father had taught him: The only fair fight is one you live to walk away from. There were no rules in the realm of violence except the most basic moral laws that governed the conditions under which violence was acceptable.
Once the threshold was reached, once it was decided that force was necessary to protect life, liberty, or property, then half measures and restraint were imaginary concepts best left to childish fantasy. Violence was a contest with death. The stakes were life itself. There were no rules worthy of being taken seriously in such a contest, only the singular, primordial command to survive.
Alexander rode, feeling the rhythmic motion of his big powerful horse beneath him, and focused on that most basic purpose, survival. He knew he would not win his
future with force but with thought. His mind was his only weapon. Everything else was a tool to be wielded by his free will. His ability to choose, to act, was his power.
He discarded his assumptions and looked at the situation facing him with fresh eyes. He knew little of the political reality of the other islands. Since the fall of the Reishi, the Seven Isles had become little more than a collection of disparate territories, each vying for its own interests by whatever means was convenient. There were still areas where the principles of the Old Law held and men could count on justice from their neighbors, but there were many places where the only rule was brute force and intimidation, or worse, a stifling morass of regulation and bureaucracy masquerading as justice. Even on Ruatha, every extreme could be found from the basic fairness and justice enforced in New Ruatha to the endless political machinations of Headwater to the outright rule by force in Kai’Gorn.
He considered the reality of the world and it occurred to him that he would need much more than a sword to bring Ruatha under the rule of the Old Law once again. The Thinblade was the hereditary badge of office of the Island Kings, but in the end, it was just a sword. Those who chose not to respect the authority it represented would have to be persuaded to stand against Phane by other means. A part of him wanted to force it on them, but he knew at a deep and basic level that he could not and would not follow that course. That was the way of Phane. He needed to find another way, one that respected the free will of the people.
They rode through the day staying just minutes ahead of the enemy and slowly losing ground. When Alexander looked back, he thought that the enemy had purchased speed at the cost of numbers. They were pushing their horses beyond their limits and a number of them had fallen by the wayside. Still, there were more than fifty men behind them, more than enough to put an abrupt end to his hopes for the future.
Darkness came slowly but inexorably, bringing a sense of relief as it descended. Alexander slowed their pace. Isabel reported that the horses were tired and thirsty but still healthy. They rode until it was fully dark. Alexander could see the light of the enemy torches in the distance. Their pursuers were farther off than they had been all afternoon but they were still coming. When they came to a little stream, Alexander stopped for a break. He scanned all around while the horses drank their fill and was satisfied with the emptiness of the darkness.
They made slow progress during the night and it seemed that the enemy was gaining on them by the light of their torches, but then it started to rain. It was cold and miserable and Alexander was profoundly grateful for it. It wasn’t long before the torches were no longer visible and all he could see of the enemy was the dull smudge of their living auras off in the distance.
By morning, they were all tired. The horses were exhausted and needed a rest, but Alexander knew that he couldn’t give them one. He held out hope that they wouldn’t lose one to injury even as he urged a faster pace. The rain let up just before dawn and the slate-grey clouds showed signs of breaking up under the morning sun.
The imposing onyx-black silhouette of Blackstone Keep was looming impossibly large in the distance. Details of the battlements and towers started to become visible, but the thing that suddenly struck Alexander like a lightning bolt was the faint outline of an aura that surrounded the entire mountain. He’d heard the story that the mountain itself had been called up out of the ground by the command of some ancient and terrible magic but he hadn’t really believed it until now. The ramifications staggered him. If magic could do this, then what could it not do? There seemed to be virtually no limit in the face of such a magnificent accomplishment.
The morning wore on and the enemy gained ground at the cost of dwindling numbers. Alexander knew he couldn’t keep this pace. The horses were beginning to complain to Isabel of exhaustion and pain. They wouldn’t reach Blackstone Keep before they lost a horse and if they slowed, the enemy would catch up. Either way, they would have to fight too many soldiers.
He agonized over the decision before finally choosing to stop and fight in the belief that it was better to choose the battlefield rather than allow a hobbled horse to do it for him. Then he heard the shriek of a hawk overhead. It was Slyder. He looked to the north and saw a cloud of dust rising in the distance. Erik had received the message.
He whispered, “Not much longer,” to his horse and nudged him into a gallop toward the company of Rangers heading to reinforce him. They would even the odds considerably. If he had to fight, he much preferred a fight he had some chance of winning. Erik and his Rangers gave him that chance.
He just needed to make it a little farther. It was hard to judge distance across the plain. He couldn’t tell who was closer, the enemy or Erik, but it was clear that the horses were spent. His anger boiled over and the decision came to him easily.
“We fight!” he called out.
Anatoly looked over at him, saw his resolve and nodded, reining in his horse and wheeling about. Isabel slowed her horse as well. Alexander slipped off his exhausted horse to face the enemy on firm ground. Isabel sent Slyder to urge her brother to hurry, while Alexander slung his quiver and checked his sword in its scabbard. He stood, arrow nocked, and waited for the enemy to arrive. Only moments ago it felt like they were coming with unyielding speed, now it felt like time itself had slowed down as he counted the heartbeats until the battle was joined.
It was Jack who dismounted next. “This is unwise, Alexander. We’re hopelessly outnumbered. Erik will not arrive in time. We should run.”
Alexander shook his head. “No. The horses are spent. If we keep running it’s only a matter of time before one of them falls. We make our stand here and hope Erik arrives in time to save us.”
Jack looked at him with a strange little grin. “Well, I guess it’ll make for a great verse in my next song.”
Alexander laughed.
“Spread out. Stay mounted as long as possible,” he called out to his companions. He could hear the enemy now, almost feel the thunder of the hoof beats in the ground beneath his feet. Before they were even within the realm of bow range, Abigail sent an arrow toward them in a high arc. It fell well short but still covered more ground than Alexander would have thought possible. When he looked at her, she shrugged.
“I wanted to know the range of my new bow,” she said, nocking another arrow.
The enemy numbered at least forty. Only another minute now. Abigail shot again. This time one of the enemy soldiers toppled off his horse. She smiled fiercely as she smoothly drew, aimed, and released another arrow. Alexander waited until they entered the range of his bow and joined her in the fight. She had three down before he scored his first kill. Isabel was next. They killed a dozen before Alexander tossed his bow to the ground, shrugged off his quiver, and drew his sword.
The enemy hurtled toward him like a wave of flesh and steel intent on grinding his life out of existence. He stood calmly and waited for the charge. Jack tossed up the hood of his cloak and faded out of sight. Lucky threw a glass vial of liquid fire twenty feet out in front of Alexander. It burst into a patch of flame ten feet across that rose eight feet into the air. Still the enemy came. When they reached the fire they split like a wave washing around a tree. Anatoly charged to the right side of the fire, leaving the left side to Alexander. Isabel and Abigail moved off to the sides of the charging enemy and sent a steady stream of arrows into them.
Alexander dodged the first enemy spear. Then he was surrounded and fighting for his life. They passed him quickly, stabbing with their spears, then wheeling to come around for another attack. He dodged and parried, thrust and slashed as they swarmed around him. Anatoly was at his back, still mounted, and swinging in great deadly arcs with his big war axe. Jack was to his side, still less than visible, using the element of surprise that his cloak afforded him to lash out at any enemy that got close enough.
Alexander stabbed a passing soldier. Another charged through the puddle of liquid fire and caught him on the back of his shoulder with the tip of his sp
ear. The strike would have cut deep if it hadn’t been for his armor. The force of it drove him to knees, giving the next horseman an opening. His spear point drove down hard into the middle of Alexander’s back and sent him to the ground, gasping for breath.
A soldier dismounted quickly and approached Alexander for the kill. Alexander was on his knees trying to regain his feet when he looked up at the advancing soldier and saw his face go white in shock and pain from Jack’s knife in his back. Alexander stumbled to his feet and clumsily parried away another attack when a horse crashed into him and sent him tumbling to the ground again. He struggled to gain his breath and shake off the stunned feeling. He was in a fight and needed to act. He could see the enemy closing in from all directions but he couldn’t seem to get his focus back. A soldier came up over him and raised his spear for a kill strike. Alexander saw an arrow point appear in the soldier’s chest and a look of confusion and shock wash over his face before he fell over right on top of him. Alexander struggled to roll the dead man off his chest and regain his feet, when another force crashed into the fight.
Erik had arrived.
The battle ended quickly. The enemy found themselves outnumbered and facing a superior force in both equipment and training. Erik had divided his force into three parts. Half charged into the fray wielding spears while the other half split in two and moved to Abigail’s and Isabel’s positions on either side of the battle to provide archery support. Alexander regained his feet and scanned the battlefield. Many of the enemy had fallen. Anatoly was bruised and battered but not seriously hurt. Jack was next to him and still nearly invisible. Alexander heard the command for retreat. His head snapped to the location of the voice. It was Truss with another man that Alexander had never seen before. He vowed to himself that he would kill Rexius Truss before this war was over but for now it was enough to live through the day.
Erik had just over half of his company left, fifty-seven men in total. He’d left Glen Morillian with a hundred. The ambush meant for Alexander had cost Eric dearly, but he carried out his mission and now stood before Alexander with grime coating his face and blood staining his armor.
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