Nylan had no bow. That was no great loss, since his accuracy with the weapon was less than most of the guards, especially at a distance, and the number of bows-the good composite ones-was limited. Besides, with everything else, he had scarcely practiced with the bow since winter.
He looked at Ayrlyn, also without a bow, and motioned to the ropes behind them. “We leave after they start to fire,” he mouthed.
She raised her eyebrows.
Nylan repeated his words, and she nodded.
The sun, early as it was, warmed Nylan’s back, but the end of the canyon remained in shadow.
Nylan nodded again as he realized Ryba had planned better than he had thought. Gerlich’s troops would come around the final turn in the canyon with their eyes facing right into the rising sun. Nylan bet the big hunter hadn’t even considered that fact, but he hadn’t the slightest doubts that Ryba had. When it came to using force, she tried to consider everything.
The sun climbed a bit higher, and the air remained still. Not even a bird chirped, and Nylan worried about that. Would Gerlich sense the unnatural quiet?
The faintest of clinks echoed across the rocks.
Ryba raised her hand, and nearly a score of guards nocked arrows, but Ryba kept her hand just above shoulder level.
A single rider turned the corner into the low-angled sunlight, his hand up to shield his eyes. Two more followed, their mounts walking easily. Ryba’s hand remained up until more than a score of armsmen squinted their way into the sunlight.
Then her hand snapped down.
The second snap was that of bowstrings.
Nylan saw several riders pitch forward and one reach for a shaft through his upper arm.
“Arrows!” came Gerlich’s bellow. The big man dropped down low on his mount almost as the shafts flew. “Follow me!”
Nylan scrambled back and down the rope, noting just as he ducked that the armsman he thought was Narliat had gone down with at least two shafts through him. The white wizard and his mount vanished, just as the one had in the very first battle on the Roof of the World.
Nylan came down the hillside in a haze of dust and struggled up into his saddle, trying to get the mare moving toward the canyon mouth, realizing that, for all Ryba’s training, the guards might be too slow if someone weren’t near the canyon mouth to slow the attacking armsmen.
He leaned back and whacked the mare’s flank, and she jumped forward so quickly that Nylan almost lurched backwardout of the saddle. He grabbed the front rim of the saddle with his free hand and levered himself forward, wondering what he was doing trying to hold off a charge of horsemen by himself.
Another horse drew up beside him on his right.
“Demon-damned way to run a battle,” yelled Ayrlyn.
“Not exactly the best people to blunt an attack,” he answered without looking at her, just doing his best to guide the mare around the rocky hill and toward the mouth of the canyon.
He glanced ahead to his right. The canyon opening was ahead, and none of the attackers had emerged. Maybe Ryba had planned it right. He hazarded a quick glance over his shoulder. At least a handful of guards were mounted and following them.
He looked back ahead, and the first armsman came charging out of the canyon, almost without seeing Ayrlyn, lost in the glare of the early sun. Although the invader turned toward her and raised a long blade, she slipped under it, and her own blade flashed, driving into the angle between chest and neck. Blood welled up everywhere, as did a white haze that shivered the healer where she rode, even as she beat back a feeble thrust from the dying armsman by instinct.
“Back off!” called Nylan, knowing that she could not see. That white impact of death had seemingly shivered against him, against his blade, but he shook it off. He hadn’t done the killing, and that helped.
Another handful of riders rode out of the canyon, circling south, so as to avoid riding straight into the sun, and reforming into a line.
Behind him, Nylan could hear hoofbeats. He hoped there were enough.
An arrow arched over him and toward the invaders, but passed through them. Nylan half wondered who was good enough even to shoot while riding. That took two free hands, and half the time, he needed one hand to grab the mare’s mane or the saddle to keep from getting jounced off.
A firebolt hhissssed past Nylan, its heat skin-searing. Thewizard had reappeared beside Gerlich, who waved the big sword in Nylan’s general direction.
Another firebolt flared across the distance between the mounted groups.
Aeeeiii!
The sickening scream was cut short, as if by a knife.
“Aim for the wizard!” ordered Nylan, and almost immediately several shafts arrowed toward the white-clad man.
Nylan could sense the white wizard throwing up some short of shields, and parts of the arrows flared into flame. The arrowheads tumbled forward untouched.
“More!” snapped Ryba. “He can’t use his powers while cold iron’s flying at him.”
How did Ryba know that? wondered Nylan. It made sense, but how had she known?
HHHssstttt!
Another of the wizard’s firebolts flared toward Ryba, and she raised her blade and half ducked, half parried it.
“To the tower!” ordered Gerlich, spearheading a wedge of horsemen aimed slightly to the left of the center of the guards.
The invading horsemen charged forward, and the wizard vanished. Nylan extended his senses, probing for the wizard … and finding him behind a wall of unseen white. Maybe … maybe, he could do something like that, or figure out a way to break down-
“Nylan!”
At the scream, Nylan blinked, then lifted his blade as a bearded armsman bore down. The engineer wanted to turn and flee, but he’d just get himself cut down from behind.
Nylan barely managed to get the blade up to deflect the smashing blow, and his entire arm ached. He urged the mare sideways, raising his own weapon again, and hacking the bearded man, who caught Nylan’s blade with the big crowbar. Again, Nylan’s arm shivered, but he actually gouged a chunk of iron from the huge sword.
He wished he had had the time to try his shield idea, but the armsman brought the huge blade around in a sweeping,screaming arc, and the engineer was forced back in the saddle. He could no longer see what else was happening, though he could feel the lines of white-red force flying toward and around Ryba.
Almost automatically, as the attacking armsman overbalanced, Nylan felt the moves that Saryn and Ryba had drilled into him taking over, and his blade flashed-once … twice.
The bearded man’s surprised look stayed on his dead face, even as the white shock of his death shivered through Nylan.
“Move, ser! Move!”
At the sound of Huldran’s voice, Nylan forced his eyes back open, despite the needles of pain that shivered through them, and weakly lifted his blade. Three guards had swept in before him and seemed to hold back twice their number.
His guts churned, and his eyes burned. His arm just hurt.
Another armsman rode up, circling toward Huldran’s blind side, and Nylan, again mostly reacting, threw the heavy balanced blade, and immediately grabbed for his second blade.
As the thrown blade sliced through the armsman’s chest, Nylan’s fingers groped for, and almost lost, his other blade. For a moment he sat on the mare, paralyzed, knives of liquid lightning stabbing through his eyes, and lines of ionized fire streaming down his arms.
He forced his blade up, but, for the moment, it wasn’t needed. The last armsman attacking Cessya wheeled his mount, turned, and started to flee. Cessya threw one of her blades through his back, then rode after the trotting mount to reclaim it.
HHHssttt!
Nylan’s stomach churned as the ashes that had been Cessya flared into the morning air, but he forced himself to turn the mare toward the white-clad figure and raised his remaining blade. “Let’s go.”