Jack Whyte - The Lance Thrower

My ruse worked, after a fashion. The rider aborted his blow and the horse snorted in surprise as I passed under its belly, the top of my head brushing the bottom of its barrel. Came a moment of confusion as I scrambled to regain my feet, and then I saw the huge horse standing erect on its hind legs, its front hooves waving in the air and the rider on its back straining forward, his visored face close to his mount’s neck and his free hand clutching white-knuckled at the pommel of his saddle as he fought to stay on the animal’s back. I caught a glimpse of his two companions, still motionless at the forest’s edge, and then there came a whistling hiss and a solid, meaty thump as an arrow smacked into the rearing beast’s throat, taking it beneath its upraised chin and toppling the animal over backward so that its rider had to fling himself free, scrambling to avoid being crushed as the creature fell.

He managed, somehow, to retain his balance and stay on his feet, but a mere moment later he was sent flying as Ursus drove his horse right into him, smashing him with its shoulder. I watched Ursus wrest his mount to a sliding halt and then spring off, dagger in hand, to roll the downed man over onto his stomach, plant one knee in his back, then grasp the crest of the fellow’s helmet and pull it back as hard and as far as he could, placing the edge of his blade against the stretched skin of the exposed throat.

“Now, whoreson,” he hissed, hefting the dagger again and placing it more firmly where he wanted it, “all you have to hope for is that your friends there place more value on your life than I do.” He looked up at the other two riders, who were still coming, but showing signs of hesitancy in the face of such a sudden reversal.

“Stay away,” he roared, “unless you want to see your friend here lose his head.”

The two riders stopped, glancing at each other for guidance that neither would provide.

Ursus spoke to me then. “Get your bow. No, get mine. It’s strung. Don’t aim at them but be ready to let fly if they don’t listen to me. Try to take one of them down, but if you can’t, then aim for the horses and we’ll take them on foot. But move slowly now, as you go. Don’t panic them into putting up a fight.”

As I moved toward his horse he pulled back again on his prisoner’s helmet and shouted again to the others.

“We are friends here, not enemies. Can’t you see that? Had we not been, this one here would already be dead. As it was, I took his horse instead of him. Look at the boy there. Don’t you know him? He’s Clothar, youngest son to Ban and brother to Theuderic and Brach. Brother to Gunthar, too, but that’s not his fault. He’s been up north and just came home, to this. But his fight is not with you. He now wants vengeance for his brother, Theuderic.”

One of the two men facing us hefted his spear slowly and threw it down into the ground, where it stood swaying as he reached up and undid the strap securing his helmet. He pulled it off and I recognized him immediately, although I could not recall his name. He was staring at me, narrow eyed, and then he waved one hand in a gesture to his companion to lower his weapon.

“It’s true,” he said. “I recognize the lad. It’s young Clothar, right enough.” He looked then at Ursus and nodded. “So be it. Let Charibert go. No more harm between us. Why are you here and whence came you?”

Ursus stood up, freeing the man called Charibert, who rose to his feet without a word or a look at his captor, fingering the skin of his neck and grimacing as he moved his head cautiously from side to side. I had not even had time to collect the bow Ursus had sent me for, and so I left it hanging by his saddle and went instead toward the man who had recognized me, trying to remember his name and recalling it as soon as I reached his side and his eyes turned to meet mine.

“Corbus,” I said. “Corbus of Renna. Well met. I’m flattered that you should remember me, for the last time we two met was the day I left here with Germanus, to attend his school, and that was six years ago.”

“Aye,” Corbus said quietly, smiling. “And you have changed much since then, grown up and put on some meat, but those eyes of yours are unmistakable. That color struck me the first time I ever saw you and I’ve never forgotten it.” He turned to his two companions. “Look at those eyes. Have you ever seen the like? They’re violet, my wife said when she saw them first; the color of the flowers. The only other eyes I’ve seen like them were Theuderic’s, but his were bluer. These things are purplish … unmistakable.” His face hardened then. “But you still have not told me where you came from and why you’re here. You know what’s been going on?”

I shrugged and glanced at Ursus, who stood watching, saying nothing, his face thunderous.

“Aye,” I said. “We have a fair idea. My friend here is called Ursus, and he comes from a place south of here, a town called Carcasso. He was separated from his military unit, which was supposed to be escorting me. He and I have been together ever since.” I paused, collecting my thoughts, then spoke again directly to Corbus. “We found the King and Chulderic encamped on our way here, and the King was wounded, as you probably know by now.” Corbus nodded. “Aye, well the wound was fatal. King Ban is dead.” I paused again, waiting for their reaction, but there was none, and I realized they had been expecting to hear of the King’s death. “Before he died, and while we were there, the King issued a decree.” I went on and told them about everything that had happened since then, up to the point of our meeting.

“Aye, well you have the right of it,” Corbus said. “Gunthar heard the word and made the choice to gamble. He must have been afraid that Ban would do what he did, giving the succession to Samson at the last. God knows what he was thinking, for he has damned himself to a course no man in his right mind could ever choose to follow. Anyway, he set out to find his mother the Queen a bare hour before we arrived back at the castle, and when Lord Theuderic heard of it he set out after him immediately. We thought we had a chance of catching him before he could do anything foolish. But he knew when he left that we were due to arrive at any moment, and he knew, too, that we would be bound to follow him because Theuderic was already deeply suspicious of Gunthar.

“He must have had it plotted in advance because I have never seen a better-marshaled operation or a trap so cunningly set. Gunthar planned his brother’s death, very carefully … and that, in turn, means inescapably that he has also planned the elimination of his other brothers, Samson and Brach. He’ll add your name to those, Clothar, once he knows you are here. All of you will have to die, and quickly, if he is to sit in safety on the King’s seat.”

The fear that flared up in me at that almost took my breath away. “I have to find my mother. Now, instantly, before it’s too late, because he must mean her death, too. He cannot leave her to live.”

“Breathe easy, lad. We have the Queen.”

“You have—?”

“Aye, she is safe with us, right here, concealed from all the world.” He saw the question in my eyes and answered it before I could ask. “We met her on the road, between here and where your brother fell, and purely by accident. The Lord Brach rode with her, accompanied by his original escort. They had concluded their business at Vervenna and were on their way homeward, bringing the Lady of Vervenna and her newborn child with them to await Lord Ingomer’s return from patrol. It was an unbelievable stroke of fortune. They turned around and came with us.”

“Where are they now, then?”

“Behind us, almost within bowshot, save that there are rock walls between us and them. One of my scouts was born close by here and knows these woods better than his own wife’s rump, and so in your mother’s hour of need he brought us to the refuge he and his family have used in times of danger for a hundred years and more. His brother still lives nearby and has made us welcome.”