Chapter Thirty-Five
Watching S’ythreni ride, Druadaen had the distinct impression that she would have been just as capable without a saddle. If not more so. But the reverse was true of Padrajisse, who, although trained, always sat her horse as if she were on a parade ground.
Never was that more evident than when they had to lay low along their mounts’ necks as they approached the burning buildings. They remained in the lee of a tall, thickly tangled hedge that lined one side of the paddock, its grass stained black-red with the blood of bludgeoned goats and axe-hewn sheep. But Padrajisse kept forgetting to lay forward on her mount, even though Druadaen whispered patient reminders that the success of their plan depended upon it. She dutifully complied—and forgot again within the span of a minute.
S’ythreni edged forward until her horse’s nose was almost in the tail of Druadaen’s. “Tell me why we’re doing this, again?” she muttered.
Druadaen sighed. “Firstly, to help the refugees we encountered earlier today.”
“Well, see, there’s a problem with that. All the ones who survived are leagues away and running for the border as fast as they can. And the ones left here…well, they’re beyond helping.” She raised her head enough to peek over the hedgerow. “Same for this farm, from the look of it. I suspect the others are no different.”
“Still, it is the right thing to do.”
“Right does not mean profitable or even survivable.”
“That is true. But this is also the smart thing to do.”
She sneered. “You are hoping to extract information on the giants from hyek? Really? Did you fall and hit your head when I wasn’t watching? Because that is a very foolish idea.”
“My head is quite intact, and no, I don’t expect to gain any useful information from the hyek.”
“Then how is this the smart thing to do?”
He turned so that she would see that he was losing patience. “Would you rather go up-country to seek giants having left all these Bent behind us?”
She frowned, glanced aside. “Well,” she muttered as she let her horse fall back from his, “our actions here are only sane in that they make your insane plan safer. A bit like bringing a pillow to break a fall from a cliff, if you ask me.”
“But I didn’t ask you.” He reined in his horse. “We are at the limit of cover. We must be silent.”
The other two drew their own mounts to a halt, looked over the top of the hedge carefully.
Not a great deal had changed since they’d split off from the others half an hour earlier. The hyek were still in two rough groups. However, they had drawn further apart. The first, and larger, group remained close to the burning house with occasional forays into the barn, which had also started smoking.
The second group had wandered further north into the fields, searching for…something. They occasionally burst out with great yells and howls, but those invariably faded into disappointed snarls and, eventually, silence. They were now within two hundred yards of where Ahearn, Elweyr, and Umkhira were crouching, having left their own horses tethered in the gully about a hundred yards behind them.
Advancing closer to the Bent had seemed essential when Druadaen’s group had split off to creep up along the enemy’s flank, concealed by the hedge and often blocked by the barn, the house, and the smoke. But halfway through that wide movement, the second group of hyek had become intensely interested in the northern field and had been drawing closer to Ahearn’s group. Tall and rangy, hyek were significantly faster than humans, so it was becoming increasingly likely that if Ahearn’s group had to flee, they would lose any footrace back to their mounts in the gully.
Which was not something Ahearn had specifically foreseen, but his general misgivings over Druadaen’s plan now sounded ominously proleptic. When tasked to lead Elweyr and Umkhira into bow range, the swordsman had looked askance. “Dividing forces in front of the enemy, Dunarran? Not in your rule books, I’d wager.”
“It’s only ‘in front of’ if they see you. Which the hyek clearly have not.”
“You’re gambling a lot on that,” Ahearn retorted, “including my very pretty neck.”
Druadaen nodded. “There is always danger in luring out an enemy. But with Elweyr’s abilities, you should have enough time to retreat, remount, and withdraw, if the plan doesn’t work.”
“And if it doesn’t,” Ahearn insisted sharply, “then we’ll try it my way.”
Druadaen had shrugged and offered a single nod. He did not point out that Ahearn still hadn’t advanced any tactical solutions other than a direct charge. Or that if Druadaen’s plan did not work, there wouldn’t be the time or opportunity to try a new one. The only option would be swift flight.
But even that looked questionable, now. S’ythreni had dismounted and kept trying to wave at Ahearn and the others from the side of the hedge away from the hyek. After several tries, she turned, frowning. “I don’t think Ahearn’s group can see us.”
Druadaen risked a peek. “It’s the smoke,” he agreed. “The drifts that hid us as we approached have started shifting.”
Padrajisse sounded concerned. “Toward Ahearn?”
“Not directly,” S’ythreni muttered. “They’re spreading slowly into the field between us.”
The sacrista frowned. “So Ahearn’s force can still use their bows against the hyek but are unable to see that we are in position.”
Druadaen nodded. “Which means they can’t tell when it is safe for them to begin their ambush.”
S’ythreni swung up into the saddle, squinted into the drifting smoke—but quickly rose in her stirrups to look beyond it. “Well,” she muttered, pointing with her fine chin, “we have a new problem.”
Druadaen followed her gaze. Another half dozen hyek were rising above the crops, farther off than the ones approaching Ahearn. They were still well out on his right flank, and their maws were soaked red.
S’ythreni answered his question before he could ask it. “Ahearn and the others haven’t seen them.”
Druadaen nodded. Because they are watching for us on the opposite flank and keeping an eye on the hyek to their front. So much for my fine plans. He turned toward Padrajisse. “I presume that the bestowals of Thyeru will not reach so far as either of those groups of hyek?”
She shrugged. “The few miracles that could would be weakened by the distance and achieve little.”
“Is it possible to send even a brief message to Ahearn or those with him?”
“It would be had I linked with any of them. That step was not taken.”
Druadaen nodded, all his attention focused on holding back the question trying to push open his mouth into a shout: And why do you only tell us about that now? Instead, he turned to S’ythreni.
She was already shaking her head as she returned to her horse in a crouch. “The range is too great to shoot accurately—or quickly—enough to do much good.” Once beside the saddle, she threw back the strap that kept Ahearn’s longsword snug in its sheath. “It seems we’ll be making a cavalry charge after all.” Ahearn had loaned her the blade inasmuch as he intended to use either his bow or bastard sword.
Druadaen sighed. “Agreed. We can no longer wait and hope that Ahearn’s and Umkhira’s arrows will attract the attention of the first group of hyek while we near their flank. We must intercept them, now.”
Padrajisse nodded her understanding. “Once the others need not watch those hyek, or for our signal, they are more likely to see the new group approaching from their other flank.”
Druadaen tightened the straps on his shield and held the sword low and well out to the side; raising it was the universally recognized sign that the charge was imminent. If only we’d had some way to reach Ahearn’s group…
Just as he was about to raise the sword, both Umkhira and Elweyr started as if struck. The thaumantic turned directly toward him; impossibly, he seemed to know right where to look.
S’ythreni waved vigorously. Elweyr waved back.
At that same moment, Umkhira, who’d turned in the other direction, caught sight of the new threat on their other flank. She pointed them out to Ahearn. After a moment’s consideration, he gestured for Elweyr to watch the closer group to their front, and then he and Umkhira began loosing arrows at the half dozen which had appeared unexpectedly to their right. Hyek responded to the attack with surprised and outraged howls, turning to and fro as they sought the archers who were beginning to score hits on them.
That noise attracted the attention of the larger group of hyek that had been wandering closer from the south. Their reaction was pure outrage; some shouted urgently at the last cluster of hyek near the buildings while the rest coursed unevenly forward, snarling what were presumably curses and mortal threats.
Druadaen nodded to S’ythreni and Padrajisse, but only half-lowered his sword, urging his mount into a forward trot rather than spurring it into a charge.
As he’d anticipated, it took the main body of hyek several seconds to reorganize themselves, locate Ahearn and Umkhira, and begin moving toward them, their flank threatening to overrun Elweyr where he crouched, waiting. As their howls grew louder and they charged, Druadaen lowered his sword the rest of the way, leading the other two in an arcing sweep that brought them onto the Bent’s rear flank.
As fast as the hyek were, the three horses closed the distance in seconds. Druadaen, riding with sword held back and ready, was wondering if they would sweep right through the Bent before being spotted when one of the rearmost turned. He might have done so to see if the group back at the farmstead was moving to join them, or he might have heard the thudding of hooves to his rear. Either way, his eyes went wide, and he started a shrill shrieking that reminded Druadaen of the high-pitched alarm cries of foxes. Druadaen crouched lower and put the spurs hard into his mount’s flanks.
The remaining twenty yards went past in a blur, during which the hyek who’d seen them kept screaming to get the attention of his charging, roaring mates. Who finally broke stride and turned just as the three riders swept through them.
As with most charges, the carnage was so swift and savage that it was as much a matter of trained reflexes as intent. Druadaen lowered his sword as he neared the first Bent, then cut upward, coming up beneath its rising weapon arm. Its axe flew away, its blood sprayed, its shout of rage became one of agony.
But Druadaen was already using spur and knee to urge his mount slightly to the right, bringing him in line with another of the hyek as he let the sword’s upward momentum carry it from his right to his left. As he came alongside the Bent, he rolled his wrist, then elbow. The inertia brought the sword around smoothly into an overhand cut back to his right—which bit deep into the top of his target’s shoulder.
Motion to his left—high and narrow—prompted Druadaen to raise his shield and angle it outward. A billhook slammed down against it, just where his left shoulder had been exposed an instant earlier. The impact was bone-jarring, but the angle of the shield not only caught the heavy head of the weapon but sent it sliding away. He pulled his mount into a half caracole; now he was facing his attacker, who was still trying to muscle the unwieldy weapon around into a useful position. Apparently, thought Druadaen as he spurred his horse toward him, this tribe hasn’t dealt with trained riders before…
After that exchange was over, and yet another came to a similarly grisly conclusion, the tempo of the melee changed enough for Druadaen to rein in and glance around. The five surviving hyek were fleeing, two staggering as they went. Seven were motionless on the ground, two more crawling for cover into the nearby crop rows which had not been crushed by the combat. S’ythreni was following the routed Bent at a canter: just enough to keep them running away as hard as they could. Padrajisse was leaning over in her saddle to examine a wound high on her mount’s left haunch. She saw his gaze. “A long cut, but shallow. It can wait until we are done here.”
Druadaen nodded, turned toward Elweyr…but he had closed ranks with Ahearn and Umkhira. His arms were lifting in a gesture that often signified he was weaving a very ambitious thaumate. The half dozen hyek bounding through the crops almost all had arrows sticking out of them already but showed no sign of having any intent other than closing with and slaughtering their attackers. As with the group broken by the charge, there were no kaghabs among them. Which was welcome, but also worrisome.
“Druadaen.” S’ythreni’s voice was low and her tone was not encouraging. He turned.
The hyek that had been among the buildings were now moving toward them at a trot. But they had increased in number. And would continue to do so, Druadaen realized: as he watched, another half dozen emerged from the house that he and the others had thought was actively burning. Judging from all the Bent coming out, it was merely smoldering. And it held one last surprise for them. Or, more aptly, two more surprises: a pair of kaghabs stooped under the scorched lintel, carrying battle-axes as if they were just outsized hatchets.
S’ythreni’s voice did not often sound tense, but it did now: “What do we do, Druadaen?”
What, indeed? he wondered. There was almost a score of hyek in addition to the kaghabs, all heading toward them at an accelerating lope. Druadaen had no tricks left, no flanking moves or other deceptions with which to acquire an advantage. The choices were stand and fight or turn and run.
Druadaen looked over his shoulder. The less powerful bows of Ahearn and Umkhira continued to feather the leather armor and limbs of the attackers who should have already crashed headlong into them. But Elweyr was apparently using a thaumate similar to the one he had against the forces of the Unnamed Shaman and again against the creature at the Back Door. Now, as then, the Bent were moving as if burdened under immense loads. Slow and close, Ahearn and Umkhira continued to fire shaft after shaft into them; one fell over, as he watched. But the rest were coming on, and soon his friends would have to toss aside their bows in favor of sword and axe and the hope that they would prevail over five weakened, but very large foes.
Still watching that strange combat, Druadaen shook his head. “We cannot flee; Ahearn and the others would not make it to their horses in time, particularly not if Elweyr has to allow his thaumate to fall.” He turned his horse to face the oncoming hyeks and kaghabs. “We must cover them until they finish the ones behind us.”
“You hope,” S’ythreni added, but she, too, had turned her horse toward their enemies.
“What is your plan?” Padrajisse asked.
Druadaen shrugged. “We have no choice. We must fight.”
“We might,” Padrajisse amended. “But for the nonce, have one slight measure of faith, Outrider.”
“But, Sacrista—”
She cut a dismissive hand in his direction. “Do not distract me.” She urged her horse to take a few steps forward; as it did, she appeared to be on the verge of entering a trance, rather than a battle.
The hyek and the kaghab leading them were less than seventy yards away.
Druadaen and S’ythreni exchanged looks and readied their swords. They were unwounded and still fresh. There was a chance, albeit a very slim one, that they might yet survive, but…
Padrajisse sat her horse slightly stooped and still. Druadaen could not see her face, but she was muttering. Whether the words were prayers, supplications, or curses, he could not tell. Druadaen was about to draw his horse alongside her, to cover her by countercharging the Bent when they reached twenty yards, when S’ythreni hissed at him.
“You might ruin her god’s miracles just like the shaman’s,” she whispered.
Which, he allowed, was a very good point. So instead, he made sure his dented shield was tight on his arm and, not for the first time, wished he had his father’s sword. He put a calming hand on his mount’s neck, which was becoming increasingly restive as the wild sounds and distinctive carnivore scent of the Bent came nearer.
He lifted the reins to countercharge—
Three of the hyek fell headlong, shrieking in panic. Most of the others, including the kaghabs, stopped as if lost. Only the four rearmost kept coming but slowed as they arrived in the midst of their fellows who were now stumbling about uncertainly, arms outstretched—and utterly blind.
Druadaen almost spurred his mount, then reconsidered. “Will attacking them shatter the pattern in which they are caught?”
“The miracle,” Padrajisse corrected sharply, “shall not fall. But nor will it last long. Whatever we mean to do, we must do now.” She prepared to dig her heels into her horse’s flanks.
But she stopped, staring as Druadaen sheathed his sword and swung out of his saddle to ready his bow.
With a fierce grin, S’ythreni did the same, but was cocking her crossbow. “I shall see to the kaghabs.” Druadaen agreed with a shrug.
“This would be the moment to charge,” Padrajisse muttered loudly, “since we are all trained to fight from the saddle.”
“Yes,” S’ythreni called to her, “but why not feather them from here? Besides, the Dunarran and mancery don’t always get along.”
“The bestowal you see before you is not ‘mancery,’” the sacrista muttered angrily. “It is the living favor and will of Thyeru.” But rather than pressing the point, she glanced sideways at Druadaen, who saw a hint of concern in her face.
Just before he drew the bowstring to his ear and released the first shaft.
* * *
Druadaen walked alongside Padrajisse’s mount as she urged it toward the litter of Bent bodies. Most were completely still. A few still moved feebly. S’ythreni ran ahead, longsword back in her hand. She walked a distant circuit around the dead and dying, studying them carefully.
“There was more than archery at work here, Outrider,” Padrajisse said stiffly.
Druadaen knew what she was referring to but said nothing. After all, what could he say?
“Was it divine providence that the aeosti’s first two targets were kaghabs, and that, in each case, they fell dead within seconds? Convulsing?”
“I could not say,” he answered. Which, strictly speaking, was true.
“It is strange beneficence, if so,” Padrajisse continued archly. “For the aeosti’s subsequent quarrels were nowhere near so singularly mortal. Even though the hyek should have been much easier to kill.”
Druadaen saw the statement for what it was: conversational bait trailed in potentially contentious waters. And the reason was not merely plain, but predictable: those Helper deities that were most concerned with compassion, integrity, and justice typically declaimed the trade—and tools—of assassins. And unless the two kaghab had both suffered mysterious yet fatal seizures in the space of a single minute, there was only one reasonable explanation for their sudden demise: poison on the arrows which had struck them.
Clearly, S’ythreni had either acquired some while she was with the others in Menara or, more probably, had kept back a vial or two of what Elweyr had passed out before the attack upon the Unnamed Shaman. It was also possible that she had palmed some from the many bodies she had searched during their time in the Under. Whatever the source, the toxin was so swift and powerful that it had not escaped Padrajisse’s notice. And her deity, Thyeru, was, after all, the pantheon’s god of law and oaths.
After several seconds of silence, she drew her mount to a halt. “Well? Have you no speculations of your own?”
Druadaen turned. “I have many speculations, Sacrista. But they are secondary to my one great certainty.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that however S’ythreni’s quarrels slew those kaghabs, we are probably alive because of it.” He turned back to look at S’ythreni.
Who, having finished her survey of the bodies, sheathed Ahearn’s longsword with one hand as she drew her own shortsword with the other. She then slipped quickly among the fallen Bent—but not to search them for valuables, as Druadaen had expected. She went between those who were still alive, moving with the grace and long strides of a dancer, plunging her shortsword into the front or side of each one’s neck.
Druadaen started. Despite months together, he’d never seen her—or the others—so blithely dispatch wounded adversaries. In the Under, every battle was a fight to the finish; the wounded were still dangerous, and an immediate coup de grace was the only way to be certain that they did not rise up and attack from behind.
She noticed his stare when she returned. She shrugged. “Did you plan on taking them prisoner? All the way back to Treve?” she asked.
Druadaen shook his head.
S’ythreni noticed the sacrista’s pale face and withering stare. “And do you mean to ask your god to heal all of them?”
“I would,” Padrajisse replied sharply, “rather than massacre thinking beings as you have.”
S’ythreni shrugged. “Yes,” she agreed, “the same ‘thinking beings’ that came here and did quite a lot of their own massacring. I’m afraid I do not share your delicate scruples, particularly beyond the safety of city walls or border garrisons.”
Padrajisse grunted as if she had been the one slain.
“Well, that was exciting!” Ahearn’s voice announced from behind. Druadaen admired his ability to sound sardonic and merry at the same time. “Just about done tidying up, are we?”
“‘Tidying up’?” Padrajisse repeated, aghast. “Is that what you call this callous execution of the fallen?”
“Why yes, yes I do, an’ it please you, Sacrista. Because that’s nicer than they’d have done to us, I assure you. Or would you rather leave them to die slowly in the fields?”
“Yes, I would. Providence might see fit to spare them or send them some other swift end. But it is not incumbent upon our hands to finish such work. We did not come to kill, but to prevent them from doing so.”
Ahearn cocked his head as Elweyr walked up behind him, Umkhira trailing. “I’ve no wish to debate such points with one so learned and whose ears are so attentive to the words of the gods. But as a simple man of mortal means, I can only act as I’ve learned in many fights against the Bent; if you don’t finish them, you are giving them another chance to finish you. Because you may bet your gold and garters that they won’t rest until they do. So if it’s a matter of choosing between their fate and my comrades’ safety—well, there isn’t really a choice to be made, then, is there?”
He turned to the two behind him. “All well, then?”
Elweyr nodded. “And you?”
“Hardly a scratch,” Ahearn announced loudly, despite a very visible gash on his left leg. “And you, Umkhira: you seem completely unharmed.”
The Lightstrider nodded.
Then she fell over.