Part 9 (1/2)

Thunder pulsed beneath her feet, a looming wall of spears. The enemy drew close, a tidal wave of death.

Kath set her s.h.i.+eld, bracing for the clash, sweat dripping from her forehead.

Then the screams started.

Squeals of terror erupted from the horses, a chaos of thras.h.i.+ng hooves. The disciplined line shattered. Warhorses bucked and bellowed, throwing their riders. A wild madness gripped the horses. Rearing, they turned on their fallen riders, las.h.i.+ng out with iron-shod hooves. Kath watched as a foam-flecked stallion trampled his rider, crus.h.i.+ng the man's head like a ripe melon. The rider lay still as death, yet the horse kept stamping, churning the body to a slushy red gore. The grisly scene repeated across the battlefield. Enraged warhorses fought like demons on four legs, biting and kicking, a frenzy of hooves slas.h.i.+ng in all directions, pounding their riders to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp. Soldiers fought against their own mounts, a desperate slash of steel. Hamstrung horses bellowed in pain, struggling to stand. Screams of the dying mingled with the squeals of the maimed. The gra.s.slands became a killing field, a blood-soaked horror.

Kath and her companions gaped in shock, held spellbound by the carnage.

A battle horn sounded, a wild trill of notes.

The slaughter began to slow, the numbers thinned by death. A stallion reared, bellowing a challenge. A lone officer answered, raising his sword in defiance. A straggle of soldiers formed a circle, fighting back to back, a desperate bristle of spears holding the horses at bay.

Quick as summer lightning, the madness fled. Blood-spattered horses stamped and snorted, milling across the field but they did not fight. A foam-flecked stallion reared and whinnied, issuing a clarion call. The remaining horses answered. Together, they fled into the steppes, galloping as if chased by h.e.l.l-d.a.m.ned demons.

A harsh stillness settled over the battlefield. Mangled bodies covered the field, blood and gore soaking the steppes. Only seventeen soldiers remained standing, seventeen out of a hundred, all of them wounded. Surrounded by a sea of carnage, the survivors turned their weapons toward the companions. Issuing a guttural growl, they threw down a gauntlet of hate.

For a moment, neither side moved.

Duncan's voice broke the spell. ”Finish them.” Lifting his longbow, he loosed a shaft. His arrow whistled straight for the enemy. A lone scream marked another death.

The enemy charged, releasing a blood-curdling yell.

”Stand your ground! Let them come to us!” Kath waited, letting the enemy come, letting the arrows do their work.

They charged like berserkers, racing across the b.l.o.o.d.y ground. Arrows thinned their numbers, but still they came, screaming a wild howl of vengeance.

Kath reached for a throwing axe, waiting till she could see the hatred in their eyes. She picked a worthy target. A big brute towered above the rest, wielding a sword in each hand, his face a snarl of rage. She threw her axe and reached for the second. Two whirls of steel flew towards the brute. He deflected the first, but the second took him in the face, one less enemy for her sword.

The charging line was nearly upon them, black-fletched arrows sprouting from s.h.i.+elds.

Kath unsheathed her sword. Crouched behind a dead horse, she hurled a prayer to Valin.

Five strides and the battle was joined. The first blow struck her s.h.i.+eld, a mighty sword stroke that nearly drove her to the ground. Struggling to keep her footing, she dodged sideways. Her s.h.i.+eld arm went numb but she kept her sword raised. Seeing an opening, she lunged under the man's guard, stabbing at a weak point in his armor. A sword blocked her thrust. Steel clanged against steel, locked in a dance of death.

Beside her, Blaine bellowed, ”For the Octagon!” but Kath kept her stare on her opponent, her world narrowing to the clash of swords.

Parry and thrust, she fell into the wild rhythm of war. More than once, the chainmail saved her life, deflecting a fatal blow. The wolf fought beside her, snapping and snarling, darting in to hamstring her opponent. As the soldier's leg crumpled, she lunged for the kill. Wrenching her sword free, she pivoted to face the next threat. Another sword sliced toward her face. She ducked and parried, striking the enemy across the face with her s.h.i.+eld. The fight became a blur, a flurry of sword thrusts. Her muscles began to ache, her lungs gasped for breath, locked in a desperate struggle.

The footing became treacherous, the ground slick with blood. The battle seemed never-ending, a test of endurance. The chainmail weighed her down. Her sword arm ached. Her left thigh throbbed with pain. Wiping the sweat from her eyes, she parried a sword thrust but lost her footing, slipping to the ground. The soldier leered above; a big man with a beard, moving in for the kill...but a blue sword took his head in one mighty stroke. Headless, the body staggered for two steps then toppled at her feet, releasing a gush of blood.

Stunned, Kath lay on the b.l.o.o.d.y ground, gasping for breath. A man screamed and another yelled a curse and then the clash of steel fell silent. She gripped her sword, looking for the enemy. Struggling to rise, she slipped in the b.l.o.o.d.y muck.

Blaine loomed over her, offering his hand, bloodstains on his surcoat.

”Is it over?”

He nodded, pulling her to her feet.

Weariness. .h.i.t her like a warhammer. She could hardly stand.

Blaine steadied her. ”Are you harmed?”

Everything ached, especially her left thigh, but she was alive. ”I'll live” She gave him a weak smile. Struggling for breath, she tried to make sense of the blood smeared field, a nightmare from h.e.l.l. The sounds. .h.i.t her first, wounded men crying for mercy, the faint nicker of dying horses. Bodies lay everywhere, the dying next to the dead, men next to horses, a b.l.o.o.d.y swath of carnage. Kath shuddered; amazed to be alive...but then a new fear seized her. ”Duncan? The others?” She gripped Blaine's arm, terrified of the answer.

”This way.” He turned her around, leading her back toward the vee of dead horses.

Limping, she clutched his arm, amazed that she'd come so far into the killing field. Her memory was a fog, full of blood and steel. Kath shook her head, struggling to clear the fog of war. But then she saw him, broad shoulders in black leather, kneeling with his back toward her. ”Duncan!”

She half-ran, half-staggered toward him, needing to know he was unharmed.

He turned, a smile lighting his tanned face. ”Kath.”

His voice was a balm, easing a weight from her heart. But then she saw the blood...and the body lying on the ground. She gasped, ”Will he live?”

Duncan's face turned grim. ”That remains to be seen.”

Her heart hammered. ”What can I do?”

”I need a fire, two strips of leather, flasks of wine, and some blankets.”

Blaine said, ”I'll get the blankets.”

Kath nodded. ”I'll look for the rest.” She turned to survey the battlefield. Their packhorse was long lost, sacrificed in the mad flight from the h.e.l.lhounds, but the field was strewn with the enemy's slain horses, a battlefield of supplies waiting to be harvested. She sheathed her sword and walked out into the killing field, searching for dead horses with fat saddlebags. Finding a likely candidate, she knelt, fumbling with the buckles, cursing her fingers for their slowness. Slicing the strap with her dagger, she tumbled the contents onto the b.l.o.o.d.y gra.s.s. Searching through the jumble, she tried to ignore the personal items, preferring to think of the slain soldiers as enemies instead of men.

A hand grabbed her ankle, yanking her off balance.

Kath spied a flash of steel as she fell. Kicking sideways, she knocked the dagger from his hand. The ground hit hard, stealing her breath. Gasping, she reached for her sword but the soldier rolled on top, his weight crus.h.i.+ng her down. He pinned her sword hand with his knee and wrapped his hands around her throat. A veteran with gray in his beard, he glared at her, his face contorted in hate. ”Die, witch!”

She bucked beneath him, trying to win free, but his weight was too much. His hands tightened to a deadly choke. She pounded him with her left fist, but he only sneered, his hands squeezing harder. Desperate for air, she stretched her left arm, reaching for a gleam of steel.

His rank breath hissed in her face. ”You bewitched the horses. You murdered my men.”

Darkness threatened. Her hand reached the dagger. She plunged it into his neck, all the way to the hilt. His eyes widened in surprise. She jerked the dagger free, releasing a fountain of hot blood. His hands went to his neck, as if he could holdback the tide of life. Gasping, she pushed him away, and rolled to her feet.

Blaine rushed to her side, his blue sword in his hands. ”Are you hurt?”

Kath struggled to keep her voice steady. ”Be careful of the dead.”

He nudged the dying soldier with his boot and then swung his great sword in an overhead arc. Blue steel descended in a rush, severing the head. ”Good advice.”

Shuddering, she took a deep breath and resumed the search; careful to make sure the nearest bodies were truly dead. Keeping the dagger in her fist, she ransacked the saddlebags. It took six horses before she found everything she needed.

She carried the load back to Duncan. ”I found a surgeon's set of tools.” Unwrapping the leather bundle, she displayed a set of sharp knives and bone crackers, instruments fit for a torturer.

”Good. I'll need them.” He sent a pa.s.sing glance toward her but then his eyes widened, staring at her blood drenched chainmail. ”Are you hurt?”

”One of the dead got rowdy.”

He studied her face and then nodded, reaching for a flask of wine. ”I need a fire.”