Sigluf charged, shouting a high-pitched war cry, shield slung again, head down, and sword held out to one side for a wide slash. Blade jerked his horse around, but Sigluf was on him before he could get ready with either lance or spear. Instead he twisted as far around in the saddle as he could, and struck with the spike of his shield at Sigluf's face.
It was an awkward blow, and Sigluf was able to duck low enough to save his face. But he was wearing a leather cap held on his head by a strap under his chin. The shield's spike caught under the brim of the cap, gouging Sigluf's scalp and jerking his head backward. By sheer reflex he yanked on the reins, making his horse rear back on its haunches. Blade had just enough time to drop his shield, bring his war club around, and strike Sigluf on the chest. The Maghri chief slid backward out of his saddle and over his horse's rump onto the grass. His mount promptly got to its feet and trotted off.
Sigluf staggered to his feet as Blade backed his own horse clear. He still held onto his sword, but with the other hand he was rubbing his chest. His face was twisted with rage, pain, and surprise. Blade knew that since he'd unhorsed the man in fair combat he could now ride Sigluf down. However, he had no intention of killing the man if he could avoid it. Now he also decided against doing anything which would humiliate him. Disgraced but left alive, Sigluf might pay a secret visit to Blade some dark night, knife in hand. Blade felt he already had enough trouble guarding his back in this army.
So Blade kept backing his horse until he was more than fifty feet from Sigluf. He was just starting to dismount, when suddenly a rider came pelting down the hill, shouting in a shrill, almost hysterical voice: «Goharans! The Goharan riders are coming! Ten thousand of them are coming over the hills!»
«The Goharans!» shouted someone in the circle.
«We're caught,» said another, a Maghri. Then, more loudly: «We're doomed! Flee!»
Blade swung himself back into the saddle, lifted his spear, sighted on the warrior who was shouting in panic, and threw as hard as he could. The spear flashed across the dueling circle and struck the man in the chest as he started to turn. He choked, clutched at the spear shaft, and fell on his side.
Blade rose in his stirrups and bellowed, «I'll do the same to the next bastard who starts crying like a coward! There aren't ten thousand Goharans in this whole land. They've sent enough to be dangerous, but only if we run. If we stand and face them like warriors, we've nothing to fear worse than a warrior's death!»
Blade's first shout froze everyone around him. His next words got them moving again, but not in the wild panic that might have developed if he hadn't spoken. They were gathering together, pulling out weapons, and looking around for the enemy rather than for the best way to run.
«Sigluf!» Blade shouted. «Get on your horse and warn Gribbon. I'll command here until we find out what we're facing.» The Maghri chief stared at Blade for a moment, then nodded and ran toward his horse. Blade saw Khraishamo and Rhodina standing among the Mythorans and rode over to them.
«Both of you-get back to the wagons! Have the teamsters pull them into a circle and get inside.» That would give the teamsters and their animals some protection. It would also give dismounted Maghri and Mythorans a defensible position for a last stand, if it came to that. Blade hoped it wouldn't, but there was no point in hoping until he'd seen what the Goharans were actually sending against the rebels.
He spurred his horse toward the hills, and the men around the circle parted in front of him. Some of the Maghri were mounted by now, and six of these joined him. Blade reined in to let them catch up. This gave him time to realize that he might be starting his last ride, scouting in the face of an army with only six companions.
However, as is so often the case in war, somebody had to do the job, and Richard Blade was the man on the spot.
Chapter 22
The enemy came to Blade even before the dueling circle was completely out of sight behind him.
A seemingly endless column of Goharan horsemen was cantering out of one of the wooded passes. At least two thousand were already in sight, with more coming on fast. The leading riders were moving six and eight abreast, and all of them carried bows and swords. At the end of the horsemen a red banner flapped in the damp air.
After that, Blade decided he'd seen enough. The leading riders would soon be within bowshot. Now that he had accurate news, the next thing was to get it back to the rebels. The Goharans had managed almost complete surprise, but even a few minutes' warning to the camp would save a good many lives. Blade cursed the rebels' refusal to send out scouts.
Suddenly the leading riders broke into a gallop, with drums thudding behind them. Blade shouted to his companions and all of them put spurs to their own horses. The wild chase went down the hill in a rush. The horse of a man riding with Blade slipped on the grass and went down. The rider rolled free and rose to his feet unhurt, but now he was within bowshot of the Goharans. Blade saw arrows sprout like a porcupine's quills from the man, then he vanished under the thundering hooves of the enemy.
Blade lost two more men as he rode back to join the main army, and several arrows came unpleasantly close to him. The Goharans were gaining, but as they did their leading ranks were getting ragged as each rider spurred his horse to the limit.
If the Goharans had been equipped with spurs and able to press home a boot-to-boot charge with lances, the rebel army would still have been doomed. The few minutes' warning Blade gave them wouldn't have been enough. He found the camp still in a frantic confusion, with riderless horses dashing in all directions and horseless riders chasing them.
The Goharans were horse archers, with their curved swords for close work. They had to shoot until the enemy was broken, then charge. At least all their books said this was the way to fight a battle, and their general seemed to be going by the book.
Somehow Blade didn't wind up sprouting arrows when the Goharans behind him opened fire. The arrows came down all around him, and a solid curtain of them seemed to fall on the man just ahead. Screaming men and screaming horses went down by the dozens, thrashing wildly, the flailing hooves killing men who'd survived the arrows. Blade pulled his horse around to the left and rode clear across the front of the rebel army. Goharan arrows pursued him all the way and finally caught up with his horse as he reached the end of the line.
The horse screamed, reared up, and fell sideways, blood gushing from its nose and torn throat. Blade leaped clear, hit the ground on all fours, and didn't bother standing up until he was a little closer to his friends. He rose to his feet only a few yards from where the teamsters were struggling with their wagons.
«No, Blade. You should stay on your feet, like us!» It was Khraishamo. He was standing beside an upturned barrel of ale, stuffing Rhodina into a scale-mail jacket. «Get one of these for yourself too. This isn't the kind of battle for walking around bare as a frog.»
Blade knew that perfectly well. He was just about to point out that Khraishamo was equally exposed, when suddenly Rhodina screamed.
«Those dirty, horse-dung stinking bastards! They're running out on us!»