Clayton Emery - Sword Play

"I don't smell nothing but cedar resin. And a bear can't hurt us," the dwarf growled, looking to his right.

"This one might. It's big. Gashes on the tree where it sharpened its claws stand higher than a rearing horse."

"Wonderful," groused Dorlas. "Just what we need. But maybe it's out hunting-Here they come!"

Clapping down their visors, the dragon riders banked their metal mounts and swept in to the attack. At the same time, two of the huntsmen skittered their disks close, then abandoned them. Hopping to the rocks, the two armored men descended on Dorlas and Sunbright. As if we were rabbits, thought the barbarian, to be flushed into the open and killed by the masters.

One hunter had a spear with a long barbed head, the other a flail, and they worked as a team. Whirling a whizzing wall of wood, one picked down the rocks and vines while the other poised, the spear ready.

"Split!" Dorlas refused to play their way. Clambering one-handed, he scrambled like a brown spider to the left. Sunbright propped his bow-he was out of arrows-drew Harvester, and swung right.

The Neth paused at such canny prey. In that second, Dorlas leveled his crossbow from six feet away and pulled the trigger. His eye was good. The bolt slammed the spear wielder just below the hip at a juncture of the armor plates. A squeak rewarded him; he'd hit flesh.

At the same time, Sunbright flummoxed the whirling flail by simply thrusting Harvester straight out. Steel screaked a protest as the flail's chain wrapped around and around the harder sword blade. Then came a grim tug-of-war, as the huntsman leaned to yank back on the long flail handle. Sunbright let him haul, then helped him out by stepping sideways and lashing out with an iron-reinforced boot. The armored man, already unsteady on hidden rocks and crushed leaves, let go of the flail to grab for balance. He caught only the tip of a cedar, which bent like a lily, and he pitched to crash on his side. Sunbright jumped after him, took careful aim for another armor chink, and stabbed down with Harvester…

… but leaped backward as a golden flash blotted the sunlight.

A hiss like an iceberg dropping into the sea roared by his hand. As the barbarian crunched amidst fragrant leaves and lumpy rocks, a searing blast of cold scorched the ground. Vines, a tree, the legs of the fallen huntsman, all were blasted a harsh, glistening white. Then the dragon rider with his deadly lance had swept on. Sunbright clambered up to strike at the Neth, but he levered himself off the rocks with his hands-his legs couldn't move-and tumbled headlong down a rock face to crash like a crate of dishes ten feet below.

Dorlas grappled with the spear wielder. He'd dropped his crossbow, crowded inside, locked the spear in his armpit, and now hammered with a stony hand on the end of the bolt to drive it deeper. The plagued huntsman strove to push the dwarf aside and dodge his punishing hand and was still backing off when Sunbright tripped close, took a short chop, and slammed Harvester's blade at the base of the Neth's helmet. The sword came away bloody, and the huntsman dropped.

But there was no time for congratulations. "Jump, boy!"

Without looking, Sunbright jumped as a fire flashed in the spot where they'd stood. The flying bird hovered not seven feet high, its rider's lance lipping flames like a water pipe. The barbarian landed, sprawling against the same rock face where the half-frozen huntsman lay. The Neth raised a hand, either for succor or attack, Sunbright didn't try to divine which. Slinging Harvester, he stabbed the man's armpit, shearing chain mail and knocking him flat. There was no time for a second blow, for a dragon rider swept at him. The rabbits had indeed been flushed, at the cost of two huntsmen.

Pelting over slippery rocks and ducking cedars, arms pumping, Sunbright raced around the ledge, flames kissing vegetation just behind him. Ahead he saw a long-limbed oak that leaned far enough to almost touch the rocks, and he dove headlong for the space underneath it. Flames licked his legs as he bounced into the tree's shadow, but he knew he was safe: the dragon rider couldn't follow here.

Spinning, he looked and listened for his companions, wondered how short-legged Dorlas fared. He hoped the dwarf had fled to the left.

Continuing right, under the brief shelter of the trees, Sunbright mounted the rocks, then paused, sniffing. The fuggy, wet-dog stink of a bear came to him. Above a narrow shelf, he saw the cave. It was not too high, though he'd have to duck double to enter, so perhaps the bear wasn't that big. He debated gathering the others and sheltering inside, then dismissed the idea. With those lances, the dragon riders could squirt fire and lightning and cold inside and roast, crisp, and freeze them all at the same time. And the humid odor of bear was strong; the animal might still be inside, despite a fine day for hunting.

And from above came the clash of steel. He bypassed the cave, grabbed vines, and climbed.

It looked bad.

Near the top of the outcrop was an abrupt shelf a dozen feet square. Somehow Greenwillow and two other bodyguards had been herded onto it by the paired huntsmen. Probably the elf had risen naturally, since high ground was always valuable, making it hard for the enemy to strike you, easier for you to cut down on them. But with enemies that swooped from the sky, it was a disastrous choice. Even as Sunbright climbed, he saw a bird-mount drop like a stone, halt nine feet up, and then its rider stabbed with a lance. One of the bodyguards was shocked with lightning and dropped her sword. The cracking lance pinned her through the gut like a butterfly, hoisted her a dozen feet, and dropped her down with a force sufficient to break her legs.

Greenwillow cut and thrust at a huntsman, trying to get past, to descend and escape, but the lackey simply flickered his flail in and out like a lizard's tongue to keep the elf back: the master would make the kill. Cut off, the other bodyguard was wounded by a spear wielder and dropped to his knees. The other two dragon riders hovered nearby to get in their shots.

Briefly, Sunbright wondered where the other bodyguards had gone, but decided they'd either hidden or hightailed it through the woods. He couldn't blame them: to stay was to die. Still, he hoisted Harvester, topped the rise on slipping boots, and charged with a barbarian war cry.

He didn't bother to slash at the armored flailer besieging Greenwillow. He hit the Neth with something bigger and heavier: himself. Shoulder first, he cannoned into the huntsman, who hadn't been expecting a rear attack. The flail flipped and rattled as the huntsman grabbed air. Greenwillow drove her cattail-slender sword into the eyehole of the man's wolfish visor. Blood spurted as a scream-a woman's-rang inside the mask. She toppled backward and slammed hard, skidding in the vines.

Sunbright watched the dragon riders, who crowded one another to fly at him on the shelf. The last bodyguard had been frost-blasted and lay huddled and still. He had no idea where Dorlas was. "Come on! Get down and under the trees!" But it was too late.

The sole huntsman braced his spear sideways to cut them off on the left, and a dragon rider hovered to the right like a giant bumblebee. The dragon and bird mounts flashed in the sunlight centermost, hovering slowly backward. Sunbright saw their plan: taking turns, they were backing for a slicing run.

"Take the bird; I'll take the dragon!" he shouted.

A shocking laugh sounded. Greenwillow's nose dripped blood that she spit off her lips. "You must be human to be that dumb! Might as well throw rocks! But let's make a good account!"

Yet the aspiring shaman never heard the last, for something was rumbling under his feet-or in his mind. A wave of fur-fug filled his nostrils, a brown hulk his vision. He blinked, trying to shake his eyes clear, but it persisted. What…?