Friends (2013) - Adams, Robert

Lisah and White Feet both had sufficient time to wish they had been able to bring a pack mule, when the road curved enough to present them with an unexpected sight. Through the darkness and her mare’s insistences that she was a war-trained destrier and not a great, sexless Northorse, Lisah caught sight of what seemed to be a battle, between perhaps fifteen defenders and nearly twice that number of attackers. As she rode nearer, wondering which side was in the right and therefore the side she should join, the clang of weapons grew clearer and also the curses and screams of the wounded. It was an insane melee, swirling like a dance of death ’neath the moon, and then the madness music turned them so that she had not the least of doubts who was there.

A great axe swung, seemingly without effort, taking both head and shoulder from a man, and a great, silent cat leaped upon another, removing face and life together. Her father’s guests were under attack, and still outnumbered despite their efforts.

Without further pause Lisah turned in her saddle, yanked on the slipknots securing the bundles to her kak, turned back to unsheathe her sword, and was encouraging White Feet in her forward leap almost before her gear had hit ground. Who the attackers might be was still unclear, outlaws having been discouraged from the area years agone, but it mattered no more than that scale remained bundled rather than worn.

The approach of horse and girl was as silent as possible, fully as silent as her arrival behind the attackers was noisy. White Feet then screamed challenge as she voiced the Cambehl cry, leading the attackers to believe that they, in turn, were being attacked, and so they were, but not by the large force they at first imagined. Their attention, however, was diverted long enough for half a dozen of their number to be accounted for by their erstwhile victims, and another two downed by the unexpected new arrivals. Lisah’s blade took the arm from one cleanly before the backswing opened his throat, and White Feet’s teeth sank into a roan neck much like her own but scarcely as well trained. The frightened, wounded horse screamed and reared, unseating its rider into the midst of the still-raging destriers of the intended victims, and steel-shod hooves quickly stamped the life from him.

From that point on the battle was turned about, as Lisah quickly saw would have been the case even had she not arrived. The attackers were, for the most part, riffraff from the city, none fully armored and few even in boiled leather, the sort who counted a battle won merely because they possessed superior numbers. Those they had hoped to overwhelm were fully armored, well-mounted, experienced warriors, unimpressed by mere numbers and coolly pleased by the unexpected diversion. Duke Hwill, especially, chortled with pleasure as he lay about him with a well-crimsoned blade, then laughed aloud when Lisah’s swing took the guts from one who had chosen to face her rather than him. The craven screamed with pain and disbelief as he tumbled from the saddle, leaving the battle in a way he had not expected. He had thought to save his life by running, but had chosen the wrong route.

Others also attempted to flee once the tide had clearly turned, but their efforts proved no more successful. A small number of the nobles’ escort, led by Sir Bryahn, pursued them back up the trail, and a few moments later a shrill, high scream rent the darkness. With none left to face their weapons, Lisah and the balance of the party trotted after pursuers and pursued to see what had occurred, and found that the fleeing few had led their would-be victims to the one who had set the attack. The dog had sat his horse well away from the battle rather than join it or lead it, and had attempted Sir Bryahn’s back while the Dunkahn heir was engaged with the last of the cur’s followers. Sir Bryahn’s plate had turned the weak, craven blow, and then Sir Bryahn had turned, to smash the skull of the thinly armored fool with the edge of his blade, bringing forth a scream shrill as a woman’s even before the blow landed. Afterward the man was no longer able to scream, his unmoving body and wide-staring eyes making that clear.

Lisah looked down at the body of Lhestuh Theros where it lay sprawled on the ground, moonlight washing it to a purity it had never had in life, and felt somewhat shaken. She and her brothers had laughed at Lhestuh’s attempted pursuit of her, never dreaming that the fool would go to such lengths to remove other suitors from his path. She truly should have departed the city a good deal sooner, to avoid a happening such as that if for no other reason. Had any of her father’s guests been harmed because of the attack, the fault would have been hers.

The girl silently bespoke White Feet, and the mare backed from the press of men and horses, then the two quietly paced back to the place Lisah’s gear had been left. White Feet’s thoughts were a satisfied swirl of battle pleasure and high interest in the war stallions she had fought beside, but Lisah was more concerned with wiping her blade on her leather-covered thigh as best she could before sheathing it. As she halted before her bundles and dismounted her thoughts were already taking her up the road to her earlier-chosen destination, the place where her company was gathering, a destination suddenly centered about with worry. She had been considering it a haven and an opportunity not to be equaled, but would it instead become a nightmare?

White Feet’s soft nose nuzzled her hands as she stood in the moonlit dark, staring down at gear her eyes failed to see. She knew it was more than time she left her father’s city, Lhestuh’s nauseating attempt enough to convince her of that had she needed convincing, but the attack had brought her another, brand-new thought to consider. Captain Fredrix had been so achingly heart-sick to be leader of and a part of another company that he hadn’t balked long over allowing her to join the one she had proposed to fund, but her brother Dharrehn’s words now rose up in her mind to cloud her joyful confidence.

My company would soon be decimated, were I to allow you to join us, he had said, and that before any commission was accepted. And in no manner have you been deprived, Lisah.

Would such a thing occur in her company, the one she had so long dreamed about? Would there be those like Lhestuh, willing to go to any lengths to possess her? Returning to the city was out of the question, but if she could not join the Crimson Cat Company, where, then, would she go? Was there no place in all that world she might call home?

“You should not have ridden off so quickly, Lisah,” a voice came from behind her, calm and even. “We have not yet had opportunity to thank you for your assistance.”

The girl turned to see Sir Bryahn Dunkahn astride his war stallion, both pairs of eyes resting on her with interest. A third, yellow pair regarded her from beside the stallion, a long red tongue leaving off its paw-cleaning for the purpose. Lisah felt the chuckling in the mind of Wind Whisper, but as the prairiecat made no attempt to bespeak her, she also remained silent. Her eyes returned, instead, to the Dunkahn heir, but found that the man now looked on the bundles behind her, the odd smile on his face saying that he knew what lay wrapped in them. With helm already doffed he had no more to do than dismount, and then he stood facing her.

“The reason for your being abroad at this hour of the night is no longer a mystery,” he said, removing his gauntlets as he looked down at her. “As you so clearly prefer riding off to wedding me, I wonder that you took the time and trouble to aid us.”