Trephas heard another Skorenos rush toward him from behind and spun, bringing up the axe in time to ward off its cudgel with its haft. Wood rang against iron, then Trephas fell back as the Skorenos pressed toward him.
Not far away, the others were having a harder time of things. Caramon took a mighty smash to the chest from his opponent's club; his breastplate turned the blow aside, making a sound like a gong. Even so, the force of the attack drove the wind from his lungs, and he gasped for breath as he fought on, blocking with his shield and making occasional, ineffectual thrusts with his spear.
Dezra fought with sword and dagger, needing both to ward off the flurry of her opponent's attacks. She cursed under her breath as she struggled to find an opening in her opponent's whirlwind defenses. There was none to be found, however; Dezra started to tire.
Trephas fought two opponents at once. One had cast aside its cudgel, which Soulsplitter had neatly shorn in half, and fought on with a bronze sickle; the other used its lance to keep out of Soulsplitter's reach. Thenidor circled around the battle, halberd upraised, staying away from Trephas's whirling blade.
Dezra yelped in pain as, finally, she missed a parry and her foe's cudgel struck her shoulder. It was only a glancing blow, but it caused everything from her elbow down to go completely numb. Her dagger dropped from her grasp. Wincing, she leapt back from her opponent, parrying its next stroke with her sword, then shifted her stance to fight one-handed.
At the same moment, Caramon's opponent slipped in the mud. Caramon seized the opportunity, driving his spear through the twisted creature's breast. The Skorenoi jerked wildly, its cudgel flying from its hand, and sank to its knees. Caramon stuck it again, in the throat, and his spear exploded. The force of the blast knocked him back, and he fell to one knee, gasping for breath.
Trephas danced sideways as Thenidor's halberd slashed the air; the movement brought him clear of the attack but put him at the mercy of his other two foes. Each struck home, the lance gouging a long, bloody furrow in his flank, and the sickle raking across his chest. Trephas stumbled, groaning, then lashed out in reply with Soulsplitter. He hit the sickle-wielder in the side, cleaving deep. The axe trembled as the Skorenos died, and again its magic kept it from shattering.
The attack had been desperate, however, and clumsy; the follow-through carried Trephas off-balance, turning him to face Thenidor and exposing his right side to his other opponent's lance. The lancer laughed with vicious glee, raising its weapon-
Twin harpstrings sounded. This time, the poison wasn't as quick; the lancer had time enough to grope feebly at the spot where the sprites' arrows had struck before it collapsed.
With a grunt of relief, Trephas wheeled, reared, and kicked Thenidor in the chest. Thenidor stumbled, then shoved Trephas aside with a sweep of his arm and cracked the butt of his halberd down on the young centaur's withers. Trephas staggered beneath the attack, bringing up the axe to hold Thenidor at bay while he regathered his strength.
Caramon stayed down, clutching his shoulder and groaning in pain. Dezra fought on, her slender sword flashing. She'd evened the odds with a lucky cut across her opponent's forearm. The blade had bitten deep, slowing the pace of his dancing cudgel. Now, bit by bit, Dezra gained the upper hand, jabbing his shoulder, then slashing across his stomach. Lunging, She drove her sword into his chest. The blade burst, and the Skorenos stumbled and fell… directly on top of her.
All she could do was twist so the creature landed on her legs instead of something more vital. She hit the ground hard, and lay beneath its weight, too dazed to move.
Across the battleground, the air whistled as Thenidor and Trephas swept their weapons back and forth, each circling the other, seeking an opening. Finally, Trephas feinted left, then shifted the attack quickly to his right. Thenidor wasn't fooled; he brought his weapon across to block. Soulsplitter struck the halberd's haft, cleaving it in half.
Snarling, Thenidor flung the pieces of his ruined weapon at Trephas and danced back, reaching for his sword. The blade rang free of its scabbard, and he lunged back into the fray. Trephas backed away, parrying-and tripped over the corpse he'd decapitated. He dropped to his knees.
Laughing, Thenidor lunged in. With an expert twist of his sword, he wrested Soulsplitter from Trephas's hand, sending it flying through the air to splatter in the mud, nearly twenty feet away. He swung the sword again, and Trephas leaned back, narrowly escaping a blow that would have disemboweled him, then fell, landing on his side.
"No!" Dezra shouted. Furiously, she twisted and squirmed, trying to get out from beneath the dead Skorenos.
For a third time, Fanuin and Ellianthe's bowstrings pinged. Thenidor twitched, groping at his rump. His eyelids drooped, but he shook his head, throwing off the effects of the sprites' poison. As Dezra dragged herself free of the fallen Skorenos, Thenidor loomed above Trephas, sword raised. He reached down, grabbing the centaur's mane, and jerked his head back.
"Now it ends, son of Nemeredes," he declared.
Dezra saw her dagger, stuck point-down in the mud. She grabbed it, felt its weight in her hand, and flung it desperately. It hissed through the air. A look of disbelief appeared on Thenidor's face, then froze there as the blade pierced his throat.
The sword fell from Thenidor's hand into the mud. A loud crack rang out, and Dezra's dagger blossomed in a cloud of steel dust. The explosion threw Thenidor backward, to lie motionless on the ground.
Silence settled over the battlefield. Trephas struggled back to his feet. He stared at Thenidor's body, then turned to gaze in amazement at Dezra.
"Thank you," he said. Not thee-you.
Dezra smiled. "Don't mention it."
Hurach watched from the shadows as Trephas retrieved the axe. He cursed his luck. If Soulsplitter had flown the other way when Thenidor disarmed the centaur. He could have grabbed it and escaped before anyone noticed. Instead, the weapon had landed on the far side of the fight, and the satyr had forced himself to watch the last of the battle unfold.
He'd felt no regret when Thenidor fell. In fact, he was somewhat relieved. He'd listened with great interest as Trephas and the humans discussed where to go next, and had overheard their talk of finding the centaurs' secret stronghold in the mountains. He thought, grinning, of how Chrethon would favor him if he returned not just with Soulsplitter, but also with the location of the horsefolk's sanctuary. Thenidor had almost ruined that with his clumsy attack; now that he was dead, Hurach was free to carry out his plans.
He shook his shaggy head. Now wasn't the time to dream of glory. He edged forward, his cloven hooves squelching in the mud, staying in the shadows to make sure his quarry didn't see him. They were gathering themselves now, tending their wounds. The bard was on his feet, swaying unsteadily and rubbing the fresh bruise on his temple. The old innkeeper had finally stopped grasping his shoulder, and color was returning to his ashen face.
They lingered a while longer, speaking in hushed voices, then they turned to walk west. Hurach's black eyes narrowed to slits as he watched them go, then he stole after them, through the shadows.
32
Arhedion's hand strayed over his shoulder, toward his quiver. He started as his fingers touched fletching, then cursed softly and lowered his hand back to his side. Chewing on a wild parsnip, he stared down into the rocky defile where his patrol stood guard.
In the month since Ithax fell, the tenor of the war had changed. When Leodippos pursued the centaurs into the highlands, Gyrtomon-who'd taken Rhedogar's place as war leader-had taken the fight to him. Again and again they'd struck, using the craggy terrain to scatter the foe. They'd inflicted heavy losses each time, fleeing into the hills before the Skorenoi could counter. Arhedion had been among the best at this, knowing how to find the best spots for an ambush. He and his twenty scouts had slain more than a hundred Skorenoi, losing only two of their number in return.