“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ager demanded angrily, but Lynan’s horse was carried forward in a sudden surge and he had no time to reply. He swung his sword to left and right, hitting leather armor and steel helmets, but making no effective strikes. Suddenly the area around him cleared and he found himself outside of the melee.
Two mercenaries, one with a face like a bear’s backside and the other with a scar running along his nose, saw him isolated and charged. Lynan wheeled his mount in the opposite direction, looking desperately for a way back in to the squabbling confusion and some kind of anonymity. Then someone rushed past him, holding a sword in a most unusual fashion. He heard a blade smack into flesh, and wheeled around again. Jenrosa’s mare had kept on going, taking her well away from the man whose face she had bruised, while his companion—scarface—clumsily swiped at her as she galloped by.
Lynan charged now. He drove his knee into the thigh of the man Jenrosa had attacked to keep him off balance, and at the same time brought the edge of his sword directly into the middle of the second mercenary’s face, right in line with his scar. The man had no time to scream. His blood sprayed Lynan as his horse carried him away from the battle. Lynan wheeled a third time, and rising slightly in his saddle, used all his strength to swing his blade into the neck of bear face, scooping out a wedge of muscle and tendon. The mercenary automatically opened his mouth to scream, but the air whistled uselessly through the gash in his throat. His horse reared, stumbled, and fell on top of him.
Jenrosa had gotten her horse under control and was looking for more likely targets. Lynan had no time to worry about her. He had seen another group of five mercenaries riding hard toward the fight. He knew that with their arrival the weight in numbers finally would be too great for his friends. He did not think, he just reacted. He galloped toward them, sword held out in front again. He chose the man on the left, but instead of charging in turn, the mercenaries parted, and Lynan found himself riding between them, his sword swinging at nothing but air. He wheeled around and saw the five were circling him.
One of them shouted out: “We wish you no harm, Prince Lynan. Throw down the sword and surrender!”
In response Lynan charged again, but once more they moved out of his way, then closed in around him as he pulled back.
“Then we’ll have to do this the hard way,” the same mercenary said, and nodded to his fellows.
They all rode in at the same time, holding their swords so they could use the flats of their blades. Lynan concentrated on one of them and swung for his head but missed. Then the others struck. Lynan felt steel slap into his back and both his arms, and then his right hand. His sword dropped from his numbed fingers. He tried to turn, to grab at one of the mercenary’s swords, but they eluded him, wheeling in turn to bring the flats down again, this time on his thighs and shoulders. All his muscles were locking in shock. He felt one foot come loose from his stirrup and started to fall. He grabbed for one of the enemy’s saddles and dragged himself free from the other stirrup. The mercenary whose saddle he held growled at him and brought the pommel of his sword down on Lynan’s hands.
Lynan screamed in pain and let go. He fell, hit the ground, and tumbled. He tried to scrabble to his feet, but the blades came again, belting him into submission, their horses crowding around him and barring any escape. He felt himself sliding to the ground again, drowning in a series of flashing blows. Then the attack finished, and a pair of rough hands grabbed him by the poncho; a second pair knocked his hat off his head and grabbed his hair. His whole body felt as if it had been trampled. He tried breathing in, but the air caught in his throat as pain spasmed through his chest.
He heard a high and wild scream but did not know or care where it came from or what it might mean.
To start with, Kumul was actually enjoying himself. The knowledge that he was going to die freed him to revel in his yearning to kill Lynan’s enemies, to give the boy he had loved as a son for over fifteen years the only chance he had to escape. He felt invincible. His sword passed through limbs and necks like a scythe through wheat, and when he caught a glimpse of Ager carrying out mayhem of his own, he could not help shouting his joy.
The mercenaries crowded behind him to attack without being attacked in rum, but the giant seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He countered every assault, and every time he swung his sword, it seemed to end in the scream of yet another of their fellows. As more and more of the mercenaries joined in the fray, it simply became more confusing. There were nine of them now, crowding in around the giant and the crookback and the wild Chert, but they just seemed to get in each other’s way. And then a fourth enemy appeared, small and agile with a terrible sword. They had no time to recognize the prince, but then suddenly he was gone as quickly as he had come.
For Kumul, though, Lynan’s appearance had been a terrible shock. Suddenly, the joy of battle was replaced by a terrible fear for his charge’s safety. He saw Lynan get squeezed out of the melee and tried to join him, but now the mercenaries’ numbers were too great, and he could do little more than defend himself.
Eventually, even his great strength started to ebb. He tried to break out of the mass to give himself more room to use his size more effectively, but someone always got in the way. Ager must have sensed what Kumul was trying to do, for he tried to plough a passage through the enemy using the weight of his mare, but even their combined efforts were failing.
Then Gudon shrugged off an attacker and drove into the swirling maelstrom. The enemies in front of Kumul wavered. He took his chance and charged. Just as he broke through, he saw Ager go down beneath a blow to his head. He wheeled around again, but then from the corner of his eye saw Lynan surrounded by five mercenaries. He hesitated, and in that moment two of the enemy rushed at him. Gudon moved quickly to take down the first, but the second got through and Kumul wasted precious seconds disposing of him. He quickly glanced around him. Ager was still in his saddle and, despite blood streaming down the inside of his hat from a savage cut to his crown, his sword was still in action.
Gudon swung by Kumul, shouting, “Go! Save Lynan!” then disappeared again. More mercenaries were peeling off from the main battle to take on the giant, but Kumul wheeled his horse around and charged the group circling Lynan. He saw with despair that the prince was unhorsed, and that the swords of the enemy were rising and falling like the arms of a windmill. He heard a scream of hate and fury, and suddenly another rider entered the fray around Lynan. He recognized Jenrosa, using her sword like a whip, thrashing from one side to the other. Her blows did little damage, but temporarily scattered the mercenaries.
The giant had time to see Lynan collapse to the ground, and then he was within striking distance of the first enemy. He brought his sword down in a crashing blow that took off the man’s arm. Kumul pushed past him to get to the next mercenary. He did not have time to raise his arm for another swing, so drove his sword’s hilt into an eye. The man fell away from him, crying in pain and shock. Kumul saw Jenrosa get off her horse and try to lift Lynan on to her saddle, but she was not strong enough.
Fearing the worst, he circled behind her and reached down for Lynan, grabbed him by the back of his poncho and with one mighty heave lifted the prince across the neck of Jenrosa’s horse. Jenrosa leaped back into her saddle, but before she could ride away the surviving mercenaries who had tried to take Lynan reformed and attacked again, two taking on Kumul and the third going for Jenrosa. Kumul killed one easily, but the other knew what he was doing, merely parrying Kumul’s assault and not trying to close in for his own attack.