by Simon Brown
“We cannot outrun them,” Ager said darkly. “Rendle’s company are mounted on good cavalry stallions. They will chase our mares from here to the other side of Theare or drop dead in the attempt.”
“We must try!” Gudon cried. “These horses were born and bred on the Oceans of Grass, and there are no more surefooted creatures on this world.” He flicked the reins, and his horse immediately broke into a gallop. Without urging from their riders, the other mares followed.
The wind blew in Lynan’s face, stinging his skin and making his eyes water, but his heart was filled not with fear but exhilaration. His excitement was sensed by his mount and she seemed to fly across the grass. Time seemed to stand still, and it was the world that passed under the mares’ hoofs, turning on its axis with their speed. Whenever Lynan spied the enemy, they seemed no nearer.
But the enemy was equally relentless in the hunt. Eventually time started again, the mares slowed, and the black figures pursuing them began to close. The moon, which had seemed so high and bright, now hung near the horizon and the night grew darker and colder. With his crooked fate once more catching up with him, Lynan’s exhilaration ebbed, replaced by a rising dread.
Gudon had been leading them west the whole time. Directly ahead in the distance Lynan could see a hill that rose higher above the plains than any other, and knew that the Chett must be taking them there for a last stand. He looked northward but saw no sign of the enemy. Then something made him look behind him, and there they were, slapping their horse’s flanks with the flats of their swords. He counted five of them, then ten, then more. Their war cries, filled with a terrible bloodlust, reached his ears and made his skin crawl. He looked ahead again and realized they would never reach that hill, would never have a last stand. They would be struck from behind like mice fleeing a cat.
Gudon cut sideways so he could shout instructions to Jenrosa, but the wind took his words away and Lynan could not hear him. He saw Jenrosa nod, rein back enough for Lynan to draw beside her. She looped the reins around her wrist and then grasped the manes of both their horses. She quickly uttered six words. The effect was instantaneous. Their mares gained fresh energy and seemed to leap forward. They quickly overtook the other three.
“Now the others!” Lynan shouted to Jenrosa, but she did not seem to hear him. “Jenrosa, help the others!”
She looked at him, and the grief he saw in her eyes turned his heart to ice. He looked over his shoulder once more and saw Gudon, Kumul, and Ager turn their horses. For a moment they paused and he knew with utter certainty they were looking at him for one last time, then Gudon drew out his bow and fitted an arrow and the three of them turned their mounts around and charged toward the enemy, their war cries so loud the stars in the sky seemed to shake.
“No!” Lynan cried. “No!” He pulled back hard on the reins and the mare screamed as the bit jagged in her mouth. As she broke from her gallop, he started turning her around.
“No, Lynan!” Jenrosa shouted at him and grabbed for his reins. Tears filled her eyes. “There is no other way! They’ve given you your last chance! Don’t let them die in vain!”
Lynan turned on her with all his anger. “And what about you? What is your sacrifice for Prince Lynan?”
She pointed to the hill. “There is where I make my stand. What little magic I have I will use to protect you as you ride farther west. Gudon says help is on its way, and if we can slow the enemy long enough, you will reach it before they reach you.”
His anger bled away. “I don’t want you to die for me!” he cried. “I don’t want anyone to die for me anymore!”
“What makes you think the choice is yours?” she asked, her voice almost scornful. “None of us had any hand in this destiny, but Gudon and Kumul and Ager won’t fly from it, and neither will I.” She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled his face next to hers. “And if you had one tenth the courage of your father, neither would you!”
Lynan pulled away. “I don’t choose this destiny!” he shouted back at her, and kicked his horse into a gallop, back toward the enemy.
“Oh, fuck,” Jenrosa breathed and drew her sword from its saddle sheath. In her present state of mind it would probably do as much good as any magic she might raise. Her friends were going to die, and she knew with a strange satisfaction that she did not want to live without them. She waved the sword experimentally above her head. It whistled in the air. That’s a good sign, she thought, and spoke a word in her mare’s ear. The horse shook her head, whinnied, and broke into a gallop, doing its damnedest to catch her sister.
Lynan had by now drawn his own sword. He leaned hard over the saddle, the blade parallel with the horse’s head, and prayed to God his courage would hold. He saw his three friends engaged in a confusing melee with at least five of the enemy, their weapons rising and falling, their horses wheeling around each other. Another three or four of the enemy lay dead around them, all with arrows sticking from throats or eyes. More of the mercenaries were joining in as they caught up with the fight, but they were too disorganized for their greater numbers to truly tell. His friends used the enemy as shields, and their nimble mares let them maneuver more easily in the mass of stamping, champing horses.
Lynan shouted no war cry but hewed straight in. His first target was a mercenary circling the melee searching for a way to get in, and Lynan’s swinging sword caught him on the side of the head, taking off his helmet together with an ear. As he passed Lynan swung the blade back and felt it sink into the man’s face. He jerked it free and straightened his arm, pointing the sword directly to his second target, a mercenary who had already lost his helmet. He kept the hilt in line with his face, just as Kumul had taught him, and bore down on the man. Six inches of steel slid through the mercenary’s neck and spine. The collision jarred Lynan’s arm, and as he pulled the blade free from the falling enemy, he cursed himself for not bending his elbow before the sword point struck home. He had not remembered all of Kumul’s lessons.
By now more of the enemy had ridden up and, seeing Lynan, were determined to disarm and capture him. Lynan saw only one way out. Or, rather, in. There was a gap in the central mass of struggling horses and men, and he spurred his mare through it. He caught a glimpse of Kumul’s horrified face when the giant saw him, but had no time to shout a greeting. A sword seemed to come from nowhere, probably aiming for Kumul. The constable was too fast, however, and easily deflected the blow. Lynan was not fast enough, and the flat of the blade whacked him in the ear. He shouted in pain, riposted, and felt the blade strike something solid.
Another mercenary was going for Kumul, swinging a short mace above his head. Lynan twisted his horse around and lunged, sending the tip of his sword through the enemy’s armpit. The man screamed and fell, but quickly scrabbled to his feet. As Lynan was about to swipe at his face the man was knocked down by a horse. He screamed one last time as a pair of hoofs trampled his chest and head.
Lynan found himself squeezed between two mercenaries, his sword arm jammed against his side. The mercenary on his right raised his own sword and used its pommel to strike against Lynan’s skull. Lynan heaved sideways, unbalancing the man, and as he righted himself, he whipped his head forward, breaking the man’s nose with his forehead. The mercenary pulled back on his horse’s reins and was swallowed up in the melee. His sword arm free, Lynan now struck at the enemy on his left but missed. His opponent, made aware of the threat, tried to punch Lynan away, but then Ager appeared beside him. The crookback’s short sword made a single thrust and the man slumped over his saddle.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ager demanded angrily, but Lynan’s horse was carried forward in a sudden surge and he had no time to reply. He swung his sword to left and right, hitting leather armor and steel helmets, but making no effective strikes. Suddenly the area around him cleared and he found himself outside of the melee.
Two mercenaries, one with a face like a bear’s backside and the other with a scar running along his nose, saw him isolated and cha
rged. Lynan wheeled his mount in the opposite direction, looking desperately for a way back in to the squabbling confusion and some kind of anonymity. Then someone rushed past him, holding a sword in a most unusual fashion. He heard a blade smack into flesh, and wheeled around again. Jenrosa’s mare had kept on going, taking her well away from the man whose face she had bruised, while his companion—scarface—clumsily swiped at her as she galloped by.
Lynan charged now. He drove his knee into the thigh of the man Jenrosa had attacked to keep him off-balance, and at the same time brought the edge of his sword directly into the middle of the second mercenary’s face, right in line with his scar. The man had no time to scream. His blood sprayed Lynan as his horse carried him away from the battle. Lynan wheeled a third time, and rising slightly in his saddle, used all his strength to swing his blade into the neck of bearface, scooping out a wedge of muscle and tendon. The mercenary automatically opened his mouth to scream, but the air whistled uselessly through the gash in his throat. His horse reared, stumbled, and fell on top of him.
Jenrosa had gotten her horse under control and was looking for more likely targets. Lynan had no time to worry about her. He had seen another group of five mercenaries riding hard toward the fight. He knew that with their arrival the weight in numbers finally would be too great for his friends. He did not think, he just reacted. He galloped toward them, sword held out in front again. He chose the man on the left, but instead of charging in turn, the mercenaries parted, and Lynan found himself riding between them, his sword swinging at nothing but air. He wheeled around and saw the five were circling him.
One of them shouted out: “We wish you no harm, Prince Lynan. Throw down the sword and surrender!”
In response Lynan charged again, but once more they moved out of his way, then closed in around him as he pulled back.
“Then we’ll have to do this the hard way,” the same mercenary said, and nodded to his fellows.
They all rode in at the same time, holding their swords so they could use the flats of their blades. Lynan concentrated on one of them and swung for his head but missed. Then the others struck. Lynan felt steel slap into his back and both his arms, and then his right hand. His sword dropped from his numbed fingers. He tried to turn, to grab at one of the mercenary’s swords, but they eluded him, wheeling in turn to bring the flats down again, this time on his thighs and shoulders. All his muscles were locking in shock. He felt one foot come loose from his stirrup and started to fall. He grabbed for one of the enemy’s saddles and dragged himself free from the other stirrup. The mercenary whose saddle he held growled at him and brought the pommel of his sword down on Lynan’s hands.
Lynan screamed in pain and let go. He fell, hit the ground, and tumbled. He tried to scrabble to his feet, but the blades came again, belting him into submission, their horses crowding around him and barring any escape. He felt himself sliding to the ground again, drowning in a series of flashing blows. Then the attack finished, and a pair of rough hands grabbed him by the poncho; a second pair knocked his hat off his head and grabbed his hair. His whole body felt as if it had been trampled. He tried breathing in, but the air caught in his throat as pain spasmed through his chest.
He heard a high and wild scream but did not know or care where it came from or what it might mean.
To start with, Kumul was actually enjoying himself. The knowledge that he was going to die freed him to revel in his yearning to kill Lynan’s enemies, to give the boy he had loved as a son for over fifteen years the only chance he had to escape. He felt invincible. His sword passed through limbs and necks like a scythe through wheat, and when he caught a glimpse of Ager carrying out mayhem of his own, he could not help shouting his joy.
The mercenaries crowded behind him to attack without being attacked in turn, but the giant seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He countered every assault, and every time he swung his sword, it seemed to end in the scream of yet another of their fellows. As more and more of the mercenaries joined in the fray, it simply became more confusing. There were nine of them now, crowding in around the giant and the crookback and the wild Chett, but they just seemed to get in each other’s way. And then a fourth enemy appeared, small and agile with a terrible sword. They had no time to recognize the prince, but then suddenly he was gone as quickly as he had come.
For Kumul, though, Lynan’s appearance had been a terrible shock. Suddenly, the joy of battle was replaced by a terrible fear for his charge’s safety. He saw Lynan get squeezed out of the melee and tried to join him, but now the mercenaries’ numbers were too great, and he could do little more than defend himself.
Eventually, even his great strength started to ebb. He tried to break out of the mass to give himself more room to use his size more effectively, but someone always got in the way. Ager must have sensed what Kumul was trying to do, for he tried to plow a passage through the enemy using the weight of his mare, but even their combined efforts were failing.
Then Gudon shrugged off an attacker and drove into the swirling maelstrom. The enemies in front of Kumul wavered. He took his chance and charged. Just as he broke through, he saw Ager go down beneath a blow to his head. He wheeled around again, but then from the corner of his eye saw Lynan surrounded by five mercenaries. He hesitated, and in that moment two of the enemy rushed at him. Gudon moved quickly to take down the first, but the second got through and Kumul wasted precious seconds disposing of him. He quickly glanced around him. Ager was still in his saddle and, despite blood streaming down the inside of his hat from a savage cut to his crown, his sword was still in action.
Gudon swung by Kumul, shouting, “Go! Save Lynan!” then disappeared again. More mercenaries were peeling off from the main battle to take on the giant, but Kumul wheeled his horse around and charged the group circling Lynan. He saw with despair that the prince was unhorsed, and that the swords of the enemy were rising and falling like the arms of a windmill. He heard a scream of hate and fury, and suddenly another rider entered the fray around Lynan. He recognized Jenrosa, using her sword like a whip, thrashing from one side to the other. Her blows did little damage, but temporarily scattered the mercenaries.
The giant had time to see Lynan collapse to the ground, and then he was within striking distance of the first enemy. He brought his sword down in a crashing blow that took off the man’s arm. Kumul pushed past him to get to the next mercenary. He did not have time to raise his arm for another swing, so drove his sword’s hilt into an eye. The man fell away from him, crying in pain and shock. Kumul saw Jenrosa get off her horse and try to lift Lynan on to her saddle, but she was not strong enough.
Fearing the worst, he circled behind her and reached down for Lynan, grabbed him by the back of his poncho and with one mighty heave lifted the prince across the neck of Jenrosa’s horse. Jenrosa leaped back into her saddle, but before she could ride away the surviving mercenaries who had tried to take Lynan reformed and attacked again, two taking on Kumul and the third going for Jenrosa. Kumul killed one easily, but the other knew what he was doing, merely parrying Kumul’s assault and not trying to close in for his own attack.
Jenrosa tried to defend herself as best she could against her opponent, but the mercenary easily got by her guard and stabbed her in the thigh. She stifled her cry and wheeled around, trying to keep her horse’s head between them, but the maneuver made her lose her grip on Lynan and he slipped to the ground. The mercenary gave a shout of triumph and pressed home his attack, forcing Jenrosa away from the prince. Even though she parried as best she could, she knew she was about to die. Strangely, she did not feel afraid, only angry that she had failed to save Lynan.
Kumul saw her predicament and could do nothing to help. Every time he turned, his opponent, the most skillful he had ever met, was there in front of him again, blocking his way and blocking his every attack. In desperation, Kumul flicked his sword in the air, caught it underhand, and threw it like a spear. The mercenary recoiled in shock and batted the sword away, but Ku
mul had the second he needed. He punched the mercenary in the face. The man’s eyes crossed and his jaw opened. Even as he started to slide backward off his horse, Kumul reached for his knife and drove it into the bottom of the mercenary’s throat, stapling his jaws. Blood spat out between the man’s teeth. Kumul pushed him aside and slid half out of his saddle to retrieve his sword. He propped himself back up and looked for Jenrosa, then saw he would be too late to help her. Jenrosa had been dismounted. She was on one knee, and her opponent was raising his sword for a killing stroke.
And then someone behind the rider reached up, grabbed him by his breeches, and hauled him off. The pair collapsed to the ground. Kumul saw the mercenary getting to his feet, and Lynan, too weakened by his last effort to get out of the way, half crouching on the ground. The enemy gave a terrible shout of rage, lifted his sword, and brought it down. Even as the edge of the blade struck Lynan on the back, the point of Kumul’s sword appeared magically in the mercenary’s chest. The force of Kumul’s charge lifted the man into the air, wriggling on the blade like a speared fish. Blood blossomed on his chest and spilled out of his mouth. Kumul whipped the sword down, dropping the mercenary on the ground, then jumped off his horse and ran to Lynan.
Jenrosa was already there, screaming and screaming, blood all over her as she cradled Lynan’s body in her lap. Kumul knelt down beside them, his heart beating so hard he thought it might explode. Lynan was deathly white, but no blood seeped between his lips. He quickly took the prince from Jenrosa’s arms and turned him over. The cut was deep, but the flesh was red, and he saw no bone or fat. He knew, though, that if they could not stop the bleeding, Lynan would certainly die.
And then he remembered the others. He saw Ager and Gudon, their horses side by side, their arms slowing with exhaustion but still managing to parry every blow, surrounded by eight mercenaries closing in with the scent of victory in their noses.