Both distance and speed were more than the oncoming rider expected. But then, the man was not the first to underestimate the strength and weaponscraft of a kender.
The helmet crashed into his sword as the blade swung down. The blade went wild. So did the rider’s horse, for in going wild the blade nearly cut off the horse’s left ear. A few moments of this wildness were all it took to unseat the rider. He parted company with his mount in midair, descended gracefully, and landed with a mighty splash in a puddle of well-ripened mud.
He was still struggling to his feet when the other riders trotted past him.
By now Aurhinius had left off calling down curses on the raiders and was rallying his men to pursue them. The rally was short-lived, however, as the archers on the entry path began shooting-not aiming to hit, so much as to distract.
They succeeded admirably. Instead of haring off in pursuit of Darin, Aurhinius’s men went to cover, or snatched up their shields and formed a shield wall facing the archery.
This was the signal for Darin’s archers on the other side of the clearing to begin shooting, hitting the Istarians in the back-or at least in the legs. Istarians cursed, howled, and danced wildly as they tried to keep up their shields, wield weapons, and pull arrows out of their legs all at once.
Not having three arms, they understandably failed.
Most of the men on foot had begun to pull themselves into better order by the time Darin’s last rider disappeared down the outbound trail. Some had even mounted, and they spurred their horses after Darin.
At their head rode Aurhinius himself, without armor, with rents in his silk finery, as well as grass stains and mud smears all over it. He rode with sword in hand and on his face a look that would have curdled milk or turned the finest wine into vinegar.
He also rode without looking ahead of him. So it was another Istarian rider who saw the figures lurking in the trees and tried to give the alarm.
He might have succeeded, too, except that the extra weights Fertig had put on the net pulled it down before the riders could halt. They rode straight into the net, rising the height of a man above the path and securely bound to trees on each side.
Carefully sawed halfway through, so that when the mass of riders jerked hard on the net, both trees snapped off just below the net bindings and came down with a crash like a house falling. The net came down without killing any of the riders-though the horses were less fortunate-but blocking the path to mounted pursuit as if the earth had opened into a flaming pit.
Darin thought he recognized Aurhinius’s voice among the curses again as he pushed his staggering, foaming mount to a final effort.
“Hope you’re fit to survive on your own, my friend,” he told the horse, patting the sodden, heaving neck. “We’ve no time for horse doctoring.”
The horse at least was fit to stagger off out of sight as soon as Darin and Whistletrot dismounted. The other horses followed, none of them as close to dropping as Darin’s, but then none had been carrying such a load.
“I wonder if the Istarians will trail them,” someone said.
“For a while, perhaps,” Darin replied. “But those Istarians have to be able to tell a loaded horse from one running free. They’ll be seeking our trail soon enough-but not soon enough to find us, if we stop gabbing and turn homeward.”
“No more raids while we’ve got the Istarians buzzing like we’ve kicked the hive?” asked one of the men who wanted Istarian blood.
“No. We’re the bees, and we’ve stung Aurhinius enough for now. Fly around, and he’ll bring smudge pots and wizards with poison spells. And there’s the villagers to think about, for anyone who’s forgotten our debt to them.”
If anyone had, they dared not say it to Darin’s face. Instead the men fell in behind him as he led the way into the forest, taking his usual care to find ground that would not show footprints or broken branches.
They were well inside the forest when Darin realized that a familiar face was missing. The whisper went along the line swiftly:
“Where is that confounded kender?”
Darin did not add, “Where is the golden helmet?” because that could start a panic.
He was about to quietly order the column to spread out and begin searching when a slight figure swung down from the trees on a vine. He bounced up as if the ground were a feather mattress and ran to greet Darin.
“I don’t suppose I have the right to know where you’ve been?” the chief said.
“Oh, you certainly do, but it was nothing much. I tore the strap on the helmet when I swung it. Cheap work, that. Aurhinius ought to complain to the armorer and get a strap of good mail. I didn’t think you’d want me to lose the helmet because of that.
“So I went up a tree and cut some vines for carrying the helmet.” Whistletrot danced in a circle, showing Darin the golden helmet riding snug in a web of vines atop his pack. He danced in another circle while he unslung his hoopak.
Darin stopped him before he could start it roaring. Several other men swore to help him. One mentioned an old family recipe for kender stew.
“Really?” Whistletrot said. “Uncle Trapspringer said he had one, too, left over from a time when a lot of kender were besieged. I forget if it was ogres or minotaurs. No, wait, I think it was an island and there were sea trolls all around-”
“Later,” Darin said, stopping Whistletrot with a firm hand on his collar.
“Or did they find a way to eat the sea trolls-?” Darin heard, as Whistletrot danced off out of reach.
He sighed. Victories came and went, as luck and the gods would have it. Kender never changed.
Chapter 6
Preparing for a quest or even a journey was a matter of no small complexity when one was a Knight of Solamnia.
Still, it was only in rare moments that Pirvan envied his younger self. To be sure, that younger Pirvan had few possessions he could not carry on his back, and no one to whom he needed to say more than “good-bye.” And that only out of courtesy, and sometimes not at all, when he did not wish his departure known.
Also, when he reached his destination, if he was not seeking a new place for night work, he had little to do, and none of that in haste. To be sure, he needed a roof over his head and food in his stomach, but a host of cheap inns and lodging houses offered both, and in some of them fleas were rare and willing servant girls not unknown.
Now, of course, the effort required to go a-journeying sometimes seemed to Pirvan sufficient to take a large force of cavalry on campaign. Orders to the men-at-arms who remained behind, likewise the servants, likewise the stewards, bailiffs, village headmen, and all the others who could bring Tiradot Manor to ruin through malice or carelessness. Procuring horses (if any in the stables were unfit) and everything needed to turn a simple horse into a gentleman’s mount, as well as food, drink, tents, money, and all else that might be needed if a day’s journey ended short of a civilized tavern (the kind that had not been cheap when Pirvan’s purse was lean, and were no cheaper now that it was fat).
Weapons-not so many hard decisions or so long a list, Kiri-Jolith be praised! Pirvan knew that he was still some distance from the full range of weapons skills that a true Knight of Solamnia had to master. At least Haimya’s still being his master with the broadsword meant that he had a good teacher.
The armory gave up only sword and dagger for Pirvan, two swords and a shield for Haimya, and light armor-helm and back-and-breast. They also had various concealed weapons-concealed not only from the eyes of the passerby but from the armorer, who had to report such to the Knights of Solamnia.
Pirvan did not know what the penalty was for a Knight of Solamnia who carried a loaded cane or a swordstick. He did know that he much preferred to remain alive to find out.