Part 7 (1/2)
Ambrosia was about to laugh at his pessimism when a certain thought occurred to her. She decided to hold her tongue. Morlock knew the horse better than she did.
One of the armed riders below sounded a horn call. Velox's head snapped in that direction, and Ambrosia saw the charger's nostrils flare with anger and delight. With a serpentine movement the warhorse swung himself about in midair so that his head faced the imperial horse soldiers.
This maneuver nearly unseated Ambrosia. Because she could not grip with her shattered hands, she reached forward and hooked her forearms around her brother's midriff.
”With your permission, brother,” she said, resting her chin on his left and lower shoulder.
Morlock grunted.
”We're not going to make it, are we?” she said into his ear. ”Velox won't retreat.”
”Do they have bowmen?” was his unexpected reply.
”I don't think so,” she said. ”Bowmen are infantry.”
”Bad tactics,” he observed.
”Shut up.”
”We'll make it.”
”We won't!”
”You'll see.”
They struck the ground and rebounded, leaping over the crown of the hill where the imperial riders were gathering. Velox's scream broke through a storm of horn calls. Ambrosia felt Wyrth's hands tighten reflexively on her arms. Morlock suddenly shouted, a refrain of nonsense syllables carried on a deep-throated roar. When they struck the ground in the center of where the cavalry group had been, there was nothing there but dead hillside and some clouds of dust. Ambrosia could hear the hoofbeats of the imperial riders departing in various directions through the dusk.
”What was that spell?” Ambrosia demanded as they sprang up toward the first stars of evening.
Morlock cleared his throat, seemingly embarra.s.sed.
”An Anhikh cattle call, I believe,” Wyrtheorn observed.
”We'll have Wyrth shout next time-,” Morlock began.
”Cattle call? Next time?” Ambrosia felt the conversation was getting away from her.
”It might be anything,” Morlock explained. ”So long as they believe dire Ambrosian magic is being worked on them.”
”It won't keep working, Morlock,” Ambrosia said. ”These are imperial soldiers.”
”Oh, I think you underrate your reputations, Lady Ambrosia,” the dwarf disagreed cheerfully. ”Some of the stories I heard about you in the Great Market were enough to make one swear off sausages.”
”Sausages?”
”You haven't heard that one? Well, never mind. The point is, these soldiers are quite prepared to see Ambrosii exact a dreadful revenge by means of dreadful magic. They have their heads crammed full of such stories from the time they're born. And here we have a flying horse screaming horribly as it hurls through the darkness while on its back a three-headed silhouette chants ominous but unintelligible words-oh, yes, they'll run like rabbits.”
”But a whole cavalry wing ...”
”The more do run, the more will run,” Morlock said flatly. ”Our chief danger is that Velox will break a leg, or overturn in his enthusiasm. I think as it gets darker we will even be safe from bowmen.”
”They won't have bowmen.”
Morlock shrugged.
”Shut up!” Ambrosia insisted.
Velox spotted another group of hors.e.m.e.n deeper in the hills. Snorting, he lowered his head and-as they fell toward the ground-struck off with all four hooves, bounding toward the hapless enemy.
After dispersing the greater part of the cavalry wing, Velox seemed to grow restless, and even a little bored. At that time, well after full night had risen into the sky, Morlock managed to persuade the charger to direct his bounds toward the smudge of light on the western horizon that was the imperial city.
”That was rather easy,” said Wyrtheorn suspiciously.
”New horizons,” Ambrosia speculated. ”Think of all the traffic he can disrupt in the city. What do you say, Morlock?”
Morlock grunted. From Ambrosia's viewpoint his expression looked even more saturnine than usual.
”I see what you mean,” said Wyrtheorn reflectively. ”I hadn't thought of that.”
Ambrosia held her silence through two more long leaps. Not even Velox screamed. The lifeless hills below issued no noises into the night air; the only sound was the chill persistent sea breeze, whispering over the dead lands toward the south.
Eyeing the western horizon she said finally, ”We're not headed directly for the city, are we?”
”Gravesend Field, I think,” said her brother, in a burst of volubility.
Ambrosia grunted.