Trarnmaz turned to the group, arms spread in victory. He turned the point of his blade on the group. “No human?” he roared. “Scout say men at camp search for human. They want human very much. Human must be important. We find human, we become important.”
It was slowly starting to make sense to Teldin. The draconians, undoubtedly out raiding by night, must have overheard Vandoorm talking about him and Gomja. Whatever Vandoorm had said, the draconian scouts reported it back to their leader, Trammaz. The aurak clearly had come up with the plan.
One of the draconians, a broken-toothed haaz, spoke from the ranks. “We find, we kill human?”
“No kill, stupid baaz!” Trammaz bellowed. He lunged into the group, which parted like tall grass. Seizing the offending draconian by its scaly throat, Trammaz lifted the creature until only the tips of its claws reached the ground. “No kill. Trammaz want human alive!” The aurak said his words slowly, letting the baaz choke in his grip. Finally when the gurgling draconian’s claws could only weakly scratch the dirt, Trarnmaz cast him aside. “Alive! Remember, I want human alive!” The other draconians only watched fearfully.
Suddenly there was a whoop, a wild whinny, and clatter of hooves. The spell Trammaz held over his companions was broken. “Riders!” spat one of the draconians near the edge of the circle.
“There he is, men, in the center!” bawled Vandoorm’s voice. There was a sudden blaze of light as the mercenaries unshuttered lanterns. The draconjans howled as the unexpected glare temporarily blinded them. Teldin stood in their midst, blinking at the unexpected gleams.
“Take them!” Vandoorm shouted. There was a twang, a soft hiss, and a thud. A baaz, its fanged mouth gaping in surprise, reeled backward, clutching at the arrow that transfixed his collarbone. Even as the draconians stumbled back, the flashing lights of the riders drove wedges through defenders.
“Fight them!” Trammaz howled, but with the riders tearing through his ranks, Trammaz’s orders were pointless. Already a rider, his broadsword held back for a slash was bearing down on the aurak. Standing his ground, Traxnmaz hissed with rage and swung his toothed sword in a powerful arc, tearing through the charging mare’s chest. The horse’s front legs collapsed, knees grinding into the dirt. The rider, unprepared for the fall, was hurled forward. Teldin dove to the side as the man crashed into a knot of draconians. The dazed mercenary was hurriedly slain under a cascade of swords and axes, his gurgling scream mingled with the wet thuds of their savage blows.
“There he is!” Teldin heard Vandoorm shout again. With his eyes now adjusted to the lights, the farmer saw Vandoorm pointing at him. Even as he did, the bearded captain shifted slightly and slashed at a baaz impeding his way.
“Fight, stupid baaz!” Trammaz snarled at Teldin. The aurak stood next to the horse he had brought down. The mare was still jerking, futilely trying to stand as the blood ran out of its chest. “Your fault-riders want you. Now fight or I kill you!”
Teldin was caught between the savage aurak and murderous captain. Teldin whirled about with the cutlass in his hand and looked for any immediate threats. Most of the draconians had already fallen or fled. The few that remained were already hard pressed by the riders. Only the aurak, holding off two of the riders, seemed to be getting the upper hand. “Fight here, baaz!” Trammaz ordered, indicating that Teldin was to come to his side.
“The beast is mad,” Vandoorm shouted in amazement. “He wants the farmer to help him!”
Teldin, even while he knew that all around him were enemies, could not bring himself to fight on the draconian s side. Instead, he carefully began backing up, working toward the bushes, where he hoped Gomja still lurked. Teldin held the sword awkwardly, the hilt high near his head.
Trammaz, seeing that Teldin was not coming to its aid, howled in frustration. “Coward baaz!” it shrieked. Catlike eyes gleamed with berserk rage as the aurak hurled itself forward with no care for its own safety, slashing its way toward Vandoorm. Several riders fell before the mercenaries finally brought the raging draconian down.
Teldin was thankful for the aurak’s death fury, for it looked as if he might escape Vandoorm’s men unnoticed. But, just as he was nearing the edge of the bushes, a lance dug into his back. He could feel the hot breath of a horse over his shoulder. “Forward, mule skinner, not back,” the rider instructed, prodding the lance gently to spur Teldin along. With great reluctance, Teldin started back toward Vandoorm.
In the center of the road, the battle was over. The draconians had been defeated, though at a cost to Vandoorm’s men. The captain and two others were off their horses, seeing to their companions. Two men were clearly dead: the rider hacked to death when he fell and the other slain by Trammaz in the aurak’s final attack. Another man sat on the ground, clutching his side. His face was pale blue and his eyes were glazed. Blood seeped through his fingers and he mumbled in a low moan. Vandoorm looked at him, then turned to one of the other survivors. “We have no healers. Othork is a dead man. Offer him the blade or let him sit there until he dies.” The man nodded, then knelt to whisper in the dying man’s ear.
Several other men sported wounds-bloody gashes and punctures-but seemed fit enough to ride. All told, there were perhaps five fit men left. One man bled heavily from a large gash in his leg. Vandoorm came over and looked at the injury. “Can you ride?” he demanded.
The soldier looked toward Othork, dying in the road. “Yes, sir,” insisted the soldier through gritted teeth.
“Good. Fix him up,” Vandoorm ordered. “We leave soon. Vandoorm turned to Teldin. “So, you have cloak, Tel, and a most interesting one, I am sure. You know, someone wants this cloak very much. They offer a fine price for a farmer with a strange cloak-just the cloak, that is. I even heard news of it in Kalaman.” Vandoorm took the edge of the cloak and rubbed it between his fingers. “I wonder why this is so valuable?” The mercenary grabbed the chains that fastened the garment in place.
Teldin felt a tingle up his back, then there was a sharp crack and a burned smell. “Ahhh!” screamed Vandoorm as he snatched his hand back from the chains. The mercenary shook his arm, trying to drive the pain from his nerves. “It sparks at me!”
Suspecting treachery from the farmer, there was a waver of swords as the men closed their ranks behind their captain. The faces were grim and hostile. The spear point dug once more into Teldin’s back, this time drawing blood.
“What happened to friendship, Vandoorrn?” Teldin hotly demanded. “I was like your son, you said. What about the war?” Vandoorm was his friend-not this, the man who stood before him. Teldin clenched his fists in rage. There was little else lie could do, ringed by men with swords.
“Steel. Lots of steel pieces, Tel,” the captain answered curtly, still massaging his numb arm. “But, because you are a friend-take off the cloak and I will let you live.”
Teldin stiffened. “1 can’t,” he futilely tried to explain. ‘‘It’s-’’
“Too bad. That’s just too bad,” Vandoorm interrupted the farmer. “I am sad you say this. I think I cannot take the cloak off you-alive.” He turned and walked back toward his injured men, only to stop halfway and look back. “Kill him, then I’ll take cloak,” he ordered the rider at Teldin’s back.
Teldin sucked in his breath, braced for the thrust.
There was a loud crack, followed instantly by a scream. The lance jabbed forward in the final thrust, only to drop suddenly from Teldin’s back and clatter to the ground. The cloak must have done something, like the shock before, was Teldin’s amazed thought. At the same time, the farmer could see Vandoorm and the others turning in surprise when, all at once, the man’s heavy body crashed across Teldin’s shoulder, smearing blood and knocking the farmer to the ground. The horse, panicking, reared with a snort and galloped away.