The right flank disintegrated in terror, surviving horses bucking and twisting, taking their hapless riders back into the teeth of the charge that smashed into them, unable to pull up in time. Horses tried desperately to jump others in their path, catapulting riders out of saddles and the slap of horse on horse as well as the agonised cries of riders with legs crushed between two beasts filled the air.
To the left, the splashing fire caused similar chaos, though less pain and only in the centre did the charge come on. Skittish but well-trained, the wild-eyed mounts drove steadily on, slower now, picking their way over the bodies of the fallen.
In front of them squatted Aeb, axe cocked and ready in both hands, his sword discarded, lying in the mud at his feet. He fixed his eyes on their strides, establishing the pattern and calculating the fast diminishing distance. At the last, he rolled left and forward, returning to the crouch and swinging up and out with his axe. He felt it slice flesh and he hardened his grip, letting the blade bite deep and his body be dragged forward by the momentum of the horse, keeping his body tucked.
The animal shuddered. Aeb looked up and saw the axe deep in its thigh. He clung on, dragging it down, its rider unable to strike out effectively as he fought his wounded mount. The horse stuttered and pitched on to its nose, other cavalry milling behind it, disconcerted by the belligerence of the Protectors. But two broke
through, bowling over the men in their path, horses clattering over bodies, riders exhorting them on.
Taken by surprise for an instant, one of the second rank was taken by a wheeling sword that whistled through his chest, lifting him from his feet. But the rest were so fast. Forming up seamlessly, Protectors crouched and swung to slow the horses while more brothers dived at the riders, bearing them from their saddles to the ground and with sharp twists, ending their lives in a snapping of necks.
Aeb wrenched his axe clear of the fallen but struggling horse.
Aeb, three brothers down. Sword underfoot. Right lower rear quarter strike.
He struck without looking. A cavalryman died.
Stooping, he swept up his sword, straightened and saw the endgame. Protectors forged in on both sides of the crumbling charge. Wide spaced and with weapons free, they struck without error, bringing down horse before taking rider, a relentless advance. Aeb moved up. In front of him, a cavalryman wrestled his blade from a tangle of reins and forced his horse around. He blanched as he saw the Protector advance but was already too late. Ignoring the animal, Aeb lashed round-armed with his axe, lifting the rider clean out of his saddle, the blow catching him high in the chest, his last breath exhaled as a fountain of blood.
They are broken. We are victorious. We are one.
We are one.
Aeb surveyed the enemy. They were wheeling and galloping away down the trail, shouts of recrimination echoing through the swirling mist that smelled so much of death. Satisfied, he turned, counted all the mages safe and knelt to take the mask from Elx.
The brother had taken a hoof clear in the face, splitting the mask and snapping his neck. His face, bloodied and bruising, stared sightless to the sky. He was released. In the Soul Tank, they would grieve. His body, they would burn. His weapons, they would take.
Aeb walked back down the path to where Sytkan sat on his horse, his young face angry, his body tired from the HellFire casting.
'Will they attack again?' he asked.
'No, but we will track them, master. Now they are running south.'
'Good. Then tend to your wounded and dead. We need to be away from here. It's still ten days to Arlen.'
Chapter 9
'Has the water clogged your ears, Ilkar? I said no.' Hirad slammed his tin cup down on the stone table and stalked to the door of his hut, leaning against its frame and looking out at the dreary night.
The rain hadn't stopped and by the time they'd found the horses, all three men were drenched and miserable. Hirad had banked a good fire in his hut and now their clothes were steaming on a rail hanging in front of it while they each wore a blanket. But despite the ridiculous picture they made and the meal they shared, Hirad's mood had not lightened enough to hear what Ilkar and The Unknown wanted of him with any real reason.
'You shouted it, actually,' said Ilkar evenly, picking at some lamb stuck in his teeth. 'And I heard you the first time. I just hoped I'd heard wrong.'
'Well you didn't,' growled Hirad, turning half face. 'Why the hell should I help that prat? Everything he promised, he failed to deliver. The Kaan are still here.'
'It was never something that was going to be solved quickly,' reasoned The Unknown.
'I know. I didn't expect quickly. But it's been almost five years. And nothing has happened. Nothing.' Hirad's voice was cool and angry. 'They're dying, you know.'
'I understand your feelings,' said The Unknown. 'But Denser's not been idle, he's-'
'Oh yeah, I gathered that. Close to the Circle Seven, has the ear of the Lord of the Mount, good chambers. Not idle at all.' Hirad cleared his throat and spat out of the door. 'Tell you what, when he comes here with clear evidence Xetesk is working on getting my dragons home, I'll help him find his family.'
'He doesn't have that sort of time,' said The Unknown.
'He's had five years!' Hirad stormed back across the room. 'Five bastard years! My dragons are dying and the only people capable of helping them are sitting on their fat arses congratulating each other about how they beat the Wesmen. The real heroes are being left to rot.' Hirad stared at The Unknown and Ilkar in turn, taking in their faces in the firelight.
'I'm not getting through, am I?' he said quietly. 'Get your boots on and come with me. The Choul's right next door. Saying hello is the least you can do.'
The three men scurried across the short space to the cave, blankets held tightly around them. Hirad's lantern lit the way in the chill, damp gloom.
'Gods, Hirad, it's cold,' said Ilkar.
'Yes, isn't it,' said Hirad. They rounded the corner into the Choul proper, the stench of dragon nauseatingly strong. Hirad grinned fiercely at his friends' gasps.
'Great Kaan, visitors for you.'
Sha-Kaan raised his head and opened a shining blue eye.
'Well met, Ilkar. Well met, Unknown Warrior.' His voice was low and tired, that of a dragon close to sleep.
'And you, Sha-Kaan,' said Ilkar. T won't ask about your health. Hirad has already been forthright. I am sorry.'
'Sorry will not take us home.' The lack of lustre was plain. The immensity of the Kaan's size and presence was undiminished but the verve was gone from his voice and his languid movement was a sign of his growing inertia.
'Hirad mentioned your desire,' said The Unknown.
'It has always been a desire. Now it is a necessity.' Sha-Kaan gazed at the pair unblinking. 'You have picked a curious time for your visit. Rain and dark, I understand, are not to human liking.'
The Unknown shrugged. 'We need Hirad. The weather is inconsequential.'
'And I told them I wouldn't be helping,' interrupted Hirad.
'With what?' asked Sha-Kaan.
'Finding Denser's daughter.'
'Ah.' Sha-Kaan opened his mouth wide, his jaws stretching impossibly wide, fangs glinting in the lantern light. T might have
guessed the thief was at the heart of your anger, Hirad Coldheart. Presumably he isn't yet offering a way back to Beshara.'
'No,' said Hirad curdy. 'He hasn't quite finished worming his way to the top of the Xeteskian mage society.'
Ilkar sighed.
'You have something to add?' asked Sha-Kaan.
'Hirad knows I believe he's being harsh on Denser, though I understand his and your frustration at the length of your wait. But we're talking about the safety of Erienne and her child, Lyanna. They are in considerable danger though they probably don't know it. Right now, Dordover is searching for them both and Denser thinks they don't necessarily want to catch Lyanna alive.'