Part 24 (2/2)

”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.”

<script>