Gregory Keyes - The Blood Knight

“This was very well planned,” Neil said to Aspar. “A main assault to distract us, sorcelled horsemen to take the girls, and a series of rear guards to slow us down while they escaped. But why not brave it all on a single assault?”

Aspar shrugged. “Maybe they’ve heard tell of us and think we’re stronger than we are. More likely you’re wrong. Could be their plans didn’t go as well as it seemed. I think they did mean to kill us all in a single assault, and if you think about it, they came pretty close. We had near forty men when we left Dunmrogh. Now there are nine of us left, but they don’t know that. What with the snow and us separating, they’re as confused as we are.

“For all we know, we outnumber them now. That could be the last three of em there, over on that ridge, and the girls might be with em. No way to tell, now that it’s getting dark.”

“There are six of them,” Stephen said, “and I do hear a girl, though I can’t swear she’s one of ours.”

“It must be,” Neil said.

“Werlic,” Aspar agreed. “So we’ll just have to go and get em.” His eyes traced lazily through the trees, down into the small valley, up to the opposing ridge.

“Aspar…” Stephen murmured.

“Yah?”

“There’s something—something else. But I can’t tell you what it is.”

“With the men?”

Stephen shook his head. “No. It might be very far away.”

“Then we’ll grab the first branch before reaching for the next,” Aspar said. “But if you make out anything more clearly—”

“I’ll let you know,” Stephen promised.

Neil was still studying the terrain. “They’ll have plenty of clear shots at us before we can get to them,” he noted.

“Yah,” Aspar said. “That would be a good reason not to charge them through the valley.”

“Is there another way?”

“Plenty of other ways. They’ve got the highest ground, but this ridge joins theirs up to our left.”

“You know this place?”

Aspar frowned. “No. But that brooh down there’s pretty small; see? And I can smell the springhead. And if you look at the light through the trees—well, its high ground up there, trust me. The only thing is, if we all go that way, they might bolt.

“If they follow the ridge down, it’ll take em to the marshes on the Warlock, and we’ll get them there. But if they go north, down the ridge, they’ll find themselves breaking out of the woods onto prairie, and there they’ll have a choice of crossing the river and taking the Mey Ghorn plain or heading east.

“Either way, we’ll have to catch them again, if we can. Right now we know where they are.”

“But why are they waiting there?” Neil asked.

“I reckon they’re lost,” Aspar said. “They can’t see the open ground from where they are. If they ride a hundred kingsyards, though, they will. Then we’ve got trouble.”

“What do you propose? Have someone sneak around on the high ground?”

“Yah,” Aspar said.

“And I suppose that person would be you.”

For answer, the holter suddenly bent his bow and let fly a shaft. A sharp cry of consternation echoed from across the dale.

“Ney,” the holter said. “I’m needed here to convince em that we’re still on this ridge. You and Cazio go. When Stephen hears you near, we’ll make our run down the valley and back up the other side. You just be sure and keep them busy.”

Neil thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “That’s worth trying,” he said.

“Can you keep it quiet?”

“In the forest? I’ll leave my armor. But still…”

“I’ve no sense that they’re woodsmen,” Aspar said. “We’ll try to keep things lively here.”

Neil glanced over at Cazio. “Stephen,” he said, “could you explain to Cazio what we just said?”

Stephen did, and when he was done, the swordsman grinned and nodded. Neil stripped down to his quilted gambeson, took up Draug, and a few moments later they were skirting the ridge east, wincing at the sound of each broken twig, hoping Aspar was right about everything.

They needn’t have worried. The ridge turned, just as the holter had predicted, forming a sort of cul-de-sac below. The hill dipped again as it curved, then began rising toward the high point where their enemies waited.

Now and then Neil heard shouted exchanges between Aspar, Winna, Stephen, and the men ahead of them. That was a relief, because it provided a further guide.

Neil found himself holding his breath. Annoyed, he forced himself to breathe evenly. He had attacked in stealth before; in the strands and high meadows of the isles he had fought many a night battle, positioning himself for surprise. But the islands were sand and stone, moss and heather. Moving with the easy silence of Aspar White through these treacherous hills and trees was well beyond his abilities.

He glanced at Cazio and found the Vitellian stepping with the same exaggerated care.

The shouting up ahead was growing nearer now. Crouching lower, Neil reached for his sword.

Aspar turned when he heard Stephen gasp.

“What?”

“All around us,” Stephen said. “Moving from every direction.”

“More of them? An ambush?”

“No, no,” Stephen said. “They’re quieter than they were before, much quieter, almost like wind in the trees. His power is growing, and theirs is, too.”

“Slinders,” Winna gasped.

“Slinders,” Stephen said.

“ Sceat ,” Aspar grunted.

Cazio stopped when he caught a glimpse of color through the autumn-shorn trees. The understory was thick and brambly with wild blueberry, harlot creeper, and cruxflower vine.

To his right he saw that Neil MeqVren also had paused.

The brush was both a boon and a problem. The archers among their enemies would have difficulty finding a target until they were nearly in the clearing. However, it would slow Cazio and the knight as they made their approach.

Wrong . Suddenly Sir Neil was charging, whirling that eerie butchering blade of his in front of him like a gardener’s bill, and the underbrush was no more resistant to it than was flesh or armor.

Wishing he could have known a little more about the plan, he fell in immediately behind Neil, excitement winding in him like the cord of a ballista arming.

The instant Neil burst into the clearing, Cazio dodged around him, neatly stepping into the path of a black-feathered shaft. It skinned along his belly, leaving a deep score of pain. He couldn’t tell if he’d been eviscerated or merely scratched, and he didn’t really have time to check, since a piggish brute with a broadsword came snuffling quickly toward him.

Cazio put Caspator out in a line; the rapier was easily twice the length of the hacking weapon his opponent carried. The fellow was bright enough to understand that and beat fiercely at the narrow blade to move it out of his path. He wasn’t smart enough to stop charging, though, apparently confident that his wild attack on the blade would succeed.

But with a deft flick of his wrist, Cazio avoided the searching weapon without withdrawing his line so that the man obligingly ran straight onto the tip of his weapon.

“ Ca dola da ,” Cazio began, customarily explaining to his foe what deftness of dessrata had just wounded him. He didn’t finish, though, because—impaled or not—the pig aimed a ferocious cut at Cazio’s head. He avoided it only by ducking, which sent a fresh sear of pain along his wounded belly.

The blade missed him, but the momentum of the swing carried the man’s sword arm into Cazio’s shoulder. Cazio caught the arm with his left hand and held it as he twisted Caspator free from the man’s lungs. For an instant sea-green eyes filled Cazio’s world, and with a shudder he understood that what he saw there wasn’t hatred, or anger, or even a seething battle rage but horror and desperation.