Brian Staveley - The Providence of Fire

“I’m the deader,” Valyn said, considering the contours a moment more, then pointing, “right there. Four horses most likely means two riders, with two remounts.”

Laith nodded. “You want to go with a V or a half-hatch?” Once the flier got his griping and theatrics out of the way, he actually liked to fight. Not as much as he liked to fly, but then, there wasn’t much flying to be had without a bird.

“Half-hatch,” Valyn said, indicating a gnarled trunk and a waist-high line of scrub on the far side of the road.

“It’s going to be tight,” Talal said, turning an ear toward the drumming hooves.

Valyn nodded.

“What’s the play?” Laith asked.

“After the halt,” Valyn said, spinning out the possibilities as he spoke, “I’ll take the dismount.…”

“ If there’s a dismount,” Talal said.

“No dismount, and we ditch it,” Valyn said. “We let them ride.”

“You take the dismount,” Laith urged, waving a hand impatiently, “then-”

“Spark and bang,” Valyn replied. He glanced at Talal.

“Yeah,” the leach replied. “I can manage it.”

“All right then. Standard. One moves for the bridle. The other takes him down. Don’t worry about sound. We’ve got to be five miles from the river by now. Just make sure he doesn’t bolt.”

“And if there are more?” Talal asked.

Valyn paused to listen to the drumming hooves. It was tricky to unthread the different gaits, but the horses were close now. He was all but certain there were only four beasts. “Four men means no remounts,” he said, “and that pace without remounts would be idiocy.”

Laith nodded, then turned to jog into position.

Talal hesitated.

“Say it or stow it,” Valyn said. “They’re almost on us.”

“Seems right,” the leach said after a moment. “Standard protocol. Four horses. Two men.” He turned to follow Laith.

* * *

Valyn realized the approaching soldiers had buggered the ’Kent-kissing protocol the moment the horses hammered into view.

Four horses. Four men.

Either they had a remount not far to the south or they were utter fools. It hardly mattered. Valyn lay just to the side of the road. Had there been even a little cover, his blacks might have concealed him-the men were riding hard, and couldn’t expect a body here, near the very fringe of the empire-but then, Valyn had chosen his spot precisely for the lack of cover. A dead-man ambush wasn’t much good if the mark rode by without noticing the deader. Cursing under his breath, he rolled toward the low gully a few paces distant, but the soldiers were on him before he was halfway there, the leader calling out to his companions over the clatter of hooves, all of them hauling up short, horses blowing.

“Stand and show yourself,” one of the soldiers called out. The command was followed by the uneasy scrape of steel over leather as the men freed their swords.

Valyn rolled slightly onto his side, slipping his belt knife from its sheath as he tried to recalibrate tactics. Three on four made perfectly acceptable odds for the Kettral, especially in an ambush, but you had to be willing to cut some throats.

“It’s an Urghul, Kidder,” another soldier said, voice high and tight. “A ’Kent-kissing scout.”

“What’s he doing here then?” A third voice. “Where’s his horse?”

Valyn risked a glance at the riders. As he suspected, they wore the light leather armor of legionary messengers. The leader’s horse was out in front, but the other three were clustered tight together. Laith and Talal were on the far side of the road, which meant two of the four men were partially shielded from attack. If the first man dismounted, if Valyn could take him down quickly enough, he might be able to hamstring the nearer horse, which would solve one of the problems.…

“Stand,” the closest rider said again, “in the name of the regent, or I will ride you down.”

“No,” Valyn moaned, raising a hand, “please. No. I’m wounded. I’m Annurian. Legion.”

“Sound like an Urghul to you, Arin?”

“They don’t all talk nonsense,” Arin replied stubbornly. “Maybe this one’s a spy.”

“All the legion up this way is tied to the forts,” the leader, Kidder, said carefully, turning back to Valyn. “Are you with the Thirty-second?”

Valyn hesitated. Legionary deployments were constantly shifting-generals didn’t want their men to get too comfortable in a single place-and the Kettral rarely bothered studying the latest configuration. There was nothing to do but throw the dice.

“Tenth,” he groaned. “Please. I’m hurt.”

Kidder reined in his horse. “Tenth’s way west in the Romsdals,” he said guardedly. “What’re you doing here?”

Valyn paused. The longer they talked, the more time Talal and Laith had to shift position and rethink tactics, but a large part of the success of the ambush relied on surprise. Even as they spoke, the other riders were spreading out, staring worriedly into the surrounding terrain.

“Messenger,” he moaned. Paused. “The Urghul hit me. My partner’s dead.”

His mention of the Urghul caused some consternation, the other men circling warily. It seemed, however, to earn him some trust with the leader, who dismounted after a moment, then approached slowly, sword drawn. He stopped a couple of paces from Valyn, blade leveled between them.

“What’s your message?” he asked.

Valyn shook his head weakly. “For the garrison commander…”

“Where’s your horse?”

“South,” Valyn moaned. “Maybe a mile. I crawled.… Please .”

The man glanced over his shoulder, and in the short moment his head was turned, Valyn rolled to his feet, knocked the sword aside by the flat, then struck out at the soldier’s neck with the heel of his hand. It wasn’t a killing blow, wasn’t intended to do much more than stagger the man for a few heartbeats, but Valyn felt something crunch, and the Annurian sagged, gagging. There was no time to think about what he’d done, not while the other riders were in play, and Valyn stepped forward, twisted the long blade free of the soldier’s grip, then spun away, slashing through the neck of the nearest horse. He needed three mounts, not four.

The beast recoiled, then, before its rider could leap free, collapsed thrashing. The soldier screamed as his leg broke, and then Valyn was on him, knocking him unconscious with the sword’s pommel.

That made two down. He turned to find that Laith had already knocked a third clear of his saddle. The fourth, however, the one farthest from the center of their attack, had broken free, and was hammering up the road to the north, his companions forgotten. Valyn cursed and cast about for one of the two remaining horses. The beasts were panicked, rolling their eyes and snorting, and when Valyn edged close to the nearer of the two, it reared up, lashing out with a hoof. He sidestepped the blow, trying to come in close, but the animal pivoted, keeping him at bay.

“Talal!” he called. The whole thing was a goat fuck already, but if the last rider got away they’d have half a legion on them by the time the sun rose.

The leach stood a dozen paces off, chin lifted, eyes fixed on the rapidly retreating figure. As Valyn watched, Talal made a slight gesture with his left hand, like swatting a fly away from his fingers, and, with a scream, the horse collapsed, front legs buckling abruptly. The rider, suddenly free of the saddle, soared through the air, arms scrabbling at nothingness, then hit headfirst with a vicious crunch. Talal went after him, but it was already over. Though the horse thrashed furiously, lost in pain and panic, the slumped shape of the man beneath remained horribly still.