"You?" Caramon demanded. "You're no archer, girl."
"Maybe, but at least I can aim without my arrow waving about."
Scowling, he handed her the bow, then shifted his shield onto his arm and readied his spear. Dezra raised the bow, drew back the arrow, and held it, aiming carefully. "I've got the one on the left," she hissed. "Trephas?"
"All right," the centaur replied. "Be ready."
Caramon hefted his spear. Beside him, Borlos nodded.
Trephas turned, sighted his target, then held his breath, waiting for the gusting wind to calm. When it did, he wasted no time. "Now," he said.
His and Dezra's bowstrings thrummed, and their arrows flashed out of the trees. Trephas's shaft hit a Skorenos in the eye and exploded, snapping the creature's head back as it collapsed. Dezra's shot struck her target in the chest. The creature looked down, at the bright blood welling from its wound. Then the shaft broke, and the Skorenos sank to the ground. The other four Skorenoi stared in shock at their fallen fellows.
"Go!" barked Caramon.
The companions broke from cover, weapons raised. The Skorenoi fell back a step, then turned to face Trephas and the humans. Two of the surviving beasts were archers, but they loosed their arrows in a hurry, without aiming. One shot flew long, streaking over Dezra's head. The other homed in on Caramon. He batted it aside with his shield.
Trephas fired a second shot as he ran. His arrow caught one of the archers through the throat, exploding in a burst of flinders. At the same time, Caramon slowed his pace and heaved his spear with all his strength. The archer had enough time to cry out as the spear drove through its breast, then fell in a shower of splintered wood.
Dezra was the first to reach the remaining pair; they were ready for her, standing side by side before the pass. One thrust its lance at her, but she dove beneath the blow. Rolling, she rose nimbly to one knee, raising her sword to parry the second Skorenos's cudgel. The lancer drew back his weapon for a second thrust, then saw the rest of the companions bearing down and turned to face them. He swept his spear before him as Borlos lunged in, and the bard stumbled back, the lance's head narrowly missing his face.
Trephas charged in next, tossing aside his bow and pulling his broad-bladed spear from his harness. He and the lancer traded a flurry of blows, the hafts of their spears cracking together. Each of them took a bloody cut in the skirmish-Trephas across his chest, the Skorenos to the cheek-then they fell back, breathing heavily.
Dezra and her foe fought hard, sword and cudgel swiping viciously. They were well-matched, but then Caramon entered the fray, his face red and streaming with sweat. He shoved his daughter aside and lashed out with his sword. The Skorenos dodged the swing and reared, kicking with its forelegs. One of its hooves struck Caramon's arm, jarring the sword from his grasp. The blade spun away, landing well out of reach. Caramon fell, armor clattering. He foundered on the ground, trying to rise.
The Skorenos glanced away from him, looking for Dezra. She lunged back into the fray, sword whirling. The creature brought its cudgel to bear, blocking the attack easily-
Then its eyes widened as it saw the dagger in her other hand, flashing toward its unprotected flank. It tried to bring its club around, but was too slow. Dezra drove her dirk through the Skorenos's ribs, then released it, leaving it buried in the creature's side. The blade exploded, tearing a hole in the creature's side as it fell.
"Well done," Caramon groaned, struggling to his feet. He glanced over at Trephas and Borlos, who fought the last of the guards. As he looked, Trephas opened a long gash down the creature's forearm with his lance, then jabbed it in the stomach. The Skorenos doubled over, and Borlos leapt in, bringing his mace down on its head. It collapsed, Borlos's weapon smashing into countless fragments. The way into the vale stood clear.
Dezra was at Caramon's side, holding his sword. "Thanks," he said, taking it from her.
"You're not as young as you used to be," she said, grinning crookedly.
Then she turned and walked away, toward the pass. Trephas and Borlos joined her, the bard picking up one of the Skorenoi's cudgels as they went.
Caramon hesitated, sheathing his sword, and winced at an unpleasant twinge in his shoulder. He rubbed his arm, willing the pain to go away, as he followed the others.
The sun set. Night fell over the mountains, and the Skorenoi horde tried to ford the river again.
At a shouted command from Gyrtomon, the centaurs fired on them once more, peppering them with arrows. Leodippos's warriors tumbled in heaps and splashed in the water. Killing shafts exploded, filling the air with splinters. But this time the Skorenoi didn't rout; instead, their own archers shot back, across the stream. One the other side, centaurs began to fall, killed or wounded by the bombardment.
Leodippos laughed cruelly. He'd cursed both his warriors and himself for not expecting the ambush. It had been a terrible blow, but he'd known, just like Gyrtomon on the river's far side, that he had the upper hand now.
He could already taste victory as his warriors waded across the ford. The return fire threw the centaurs into disarray. They scattered among the trees to avoid being shot. With fewer arrows in the air, the horde's advance became inexorable. Though the river slowed them, and those in the vanguard continued to fall, the Skorenoi pressed forward, toward the far bank. Soon they'd be back on solid ground, free to ride up the slope and slaughter the foe.
The horsefolk did all they could to keep that from happening. Gyrtomon barked an order, and the centaurs galloped downhill to the stream, brandishing lances and cudgels. They fell into line along the riverbank, hoping to keep the horde in the water.
Leodippos could see clearly that the horsefolk lacked the numbers to hold him back. He saw figures he recognized- Gyrtomon and Nemeredes here, Eucleia there, Pleuron elsewhere-and smiled. Before the sun rose, he'd wear all their tails on his harness.
"For the Forestmaster!" shouted Gyrtomon as he galloped down to join his warriors.
The centaurs echoed the cry, raising a thicket of clubs and spears. Shouting in reply, the Skorenoi surged to meet them. With a crash of metal and wood, flesh and bone, the two armies met.
Bodies fell on either side, gored by spears and crushed by bludgeons. Behind Gyrtomon's lines, colts and fillies dashed back and forth, passing fresh weapons to those who lost theirs. The battlefront didn't move. Valiantly, the centaurs held back the Skorenoi, kept them in the surging, frigid water.
But it couldn't last. For each of Leodippos's troops who fell, another came forward to take its place, with even more behind, filling the river and massing on the far bank. The centaurs, however, had no such reinforcements-and, in time, they would run out of weapons too. Their ranks began to falter before the press of the enemy. If the Skorenoi broke through, the battle horsefolk would be lost-and, unlike Ithax, there would be no escape.
Leodippos stood on the riverbank now, his warriors surging past him into the water. He raised his horselike head, shouting across the ford. "It's over, my lords!" he bellowed. "Nothing can save thee now!"
He heard something strange, then: a low, fluttering sound. He looked around, puzzled. The noise was all around him, but there was nothing to see in the darkness.
Then, suddenly, there was. Overhead, hovering on silvery wings, were hundreds of small, brightly garbed figures. Each held a tiny bow, with a tiny arrow on its string. They were smiling.
With a yell, Leodippos leapt into the river. As he jumped, the air filled with music, like hundreds of harpstrings being plucked at once. Then he hit the water hard, losing his lance as he fell among his warriors. The press of bodies forced him under. He thrashed wildly, kicking with all four hooves as the current swept him downstream.