The stallion sprang forward, Dakar clinging to his mane; then, with a snort and a drum of hooves, mount and rider were through and away, leaving Eydryth to face their attackers alone.
With a bitter grimace— When will I ever learn to keep from barging into fights that aren’t mine?—the bard braced herself for the next rush.
“So, songsmith,” the blank-shield chuckled, drawing his sword, “looks as though you’ve been stuck with the burnt end of the stick, don’t it? Yer sweetheart just left ye t’ fend for yourself.”
Grey Arrow’s rider frowned uncertainly. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I don’t hold with fightin’ a bard. ’Tis said t’ be bad luck. Some of uns can curse ye with a song, ’tis said. ’Sides,” he pointed out, “she’s a woman.”
“The Dark Ones take her, she hits like a man, I say treat her like one,” Hawrel said, rubbing his head and glaring at Eydryth. “ ’Tis a wonder my skull ain’t cracked, sure enough!”
“That’s a big purse she’s carrying,” the hooded man whispered, climbing slowly to his feet. His concealing garment fell back, revealing skin darkened by sun to the color of an ancient bronze shield, and grizzled hair. “I watched Norden count out her winnin’s, and they was enough t’ choke a donkey. We can get the rest o’ our losses back from her.”
The wiry little rider shook his head. “Not me, I’m not risking any curse-songs. And I don’t hold with stealing. Count me out, lads.”
He turned and walked away into the night. The other men hesitated. “Give us the purse, songsmith,” Hawrel said. “And we might let you off with only a few bruises to make up for those you gave us.”
Gunnora, aid me, Eydryth prayed. Let me take two of them with me. She shook her head, not speaking.
“Your decision, then,” the Sulcarman growled.
Eydryth grasped the slender barrel of the gryphon’s body, the metal cool and comforting to her staff-chafed hand, and pulled. A blade of shining steel emerged from where it had been fitted into the length of the quarterstaff.
Eydryth saluted her opponents with the now-revealed sword, smiling grimly at their unconcealed surprise.
“She knows how t’ use that blade,” the hooded man observed, uneasily. He was still not steady on his feet.
“And if she does?” the blank-shield said. “There’s still three of us, and I’m no stranger to swordplay. I’ll keep her busy, and you take her from behind.”
Slowly they began spreading out to do his bidding. Eydryth braced herself as they gathered themselves for a charge—
The thunder of racing hoofbeats suddenly filled the night!
“Songsmith! Be ready!” Dakar shouted, as he galloped toward her on Monso. The hooded man grabbed a lit torch and swiped at the Keplian. He screamed shrilly as the stallion lashed out with a forefoot; then they burst through, knocking Hawrel sprawling. The blank-shield fell back before the Keplian’s bared teeth.
Eydryth had already resheathed her sword. She handed up her quarterstaff; then, grabbing the hand Dakar extended, she vaulted up behind him onto the dancing, plunging horse. She had barely enough time to snatch her weapon and grasp Dakar’s belt one-handed before Monso’s haunches bunched beneath her.
The Keplian sprang forward with a leap that nearly unseated her; then they were off, racing away from the torchlight, into the dark.
5
Eydryth waited for Monso to slow once they left the fairground, but the stallion thundered on, his speed never slackening. He was running much faster than he had during the race; she could feel Dakar fighting to bring him under control, but to no avail.
Eydryth had heard tales, sung songs, of wanderers lured into mounting Keplians, then being borne off to a fate best not envisioned. She had always wondered why the hapless riders did not simply leap from the demon-horse’s back.
Now she knew; such a plunge from the back of a Keplian galloping at full stride would mean almost certain death.
The girl knew herself to be a good—nay, an expert—rider, but even so, she was in grave danger of being unseated. The moonless night was so dark that she could not see the horse’s head past Dakar’s shoulder, and thus she was caught unawares whenever the beast swerved sharply, or, in several cases, hurdled obstacles lying in their path.
Eydryth’s left hand was locked in a death-grip on her companion’s belt, but she dared not clamp her lower legs around her mount’s sensitive flanks—to do so would have set Monso bucking and plunging like an unbroken colt. Instead she tightened her thigh muscles, struggling to keep her balance on the swaying, heaving creature she bestrode.
They hurtled down a slope at breakneck speed, and the songsmith shut her eyes, tempted to abandon her quarterstaff so that she might hold on with both hands. She felt Dakar lean forward; then the black wind of their passage carried his gasped warning. “Hold tight! There’s a stream!”
Eydryth flattened herself against him, her arm clutching him round the waist. Muscles bunched beneath her; then for a breathless instant they hung suspended, creatures of air, not earth.
With a neck-snapping jar, they landed. One hind foot skimmed the water; icy droplets spattered both riders. Dakar was fighting the Keplian again; Eydryth could feel the muscles in his back tense as he exerted all his skill to gain mastery. But the runaway snorted, shaking his head, refusing to yield to the bit.
The songsmith closed her eyes, knowing that she could not hold on much longer. She heard Dakar muttering, but could not make out what he was saying. They lunged up a slope, and Eydryth felt herself slipping… slipping…
With a suddenness that caused her to lose her seat entirely, Monso halted on the crest of a hill.
The girl was thrown forward, banging her nose painfully against Dakar’s shoulder, then flung just as abruptly backward. She slid off over the Keplian’s rump, landing in an undignified huddle directly behind the demon-horse.
Eydryth gasped for breath, but her wind was knocked out. Monso sidled nervously, switching his tail, and the harsh strands whipped across her face. The resulting sting revived the songsmith sufficiently to make her aware of her danger, and she managed to roll over, out of range, lest Monso should kick. But the Keplian made no further move, only stood head-down, blowing, seeming all at once like an ordinary horse silhouetted against the starry expanse of night sky.
“Lady Eydryth, are you hurt? Lady?” Dakar swung off, his movements stiff, lacking his usual grace. Eydryth heard a muttered curse as he stumbled, nearly falling in his turn. Then he was crouching beside her. “Lady Eydryth?”
The songsmith struggled again for breath, and this time succeeded in drawing a lungful of clean air. “Wind… knocked out,” she panted.
He aided her into a sitting position, steadying her against his raised knee. “I am sorry that was such a rough ride, Lady. He had the bit in his teeth, and I could not stop him until now.”
She nodded, then shivered, feeling suddenly weak and wobbly as a newborn foal. Reaction to tonight’s danger, she realized, trying to breathe slowly, evenly, in order to slow the racing of her heart. “I thought you had left me to those ruffians,” she whispered, finally.
“What else could you think?” he asked, in a bitter tone that she realized was directed at himself. “For that I am sorry, too. But I had to fetch my saddle and supplies… and, even more, I had to get Monso away before he could do any further harm. He would have killed those men, and such could have… awakened… something in him that must never be unleashed. There is… a darker side to his nature.”
“Naturally.” Eydryth spoke tartly as she tentatively moved her limbs, exploring bruises sustained in the fight and her fall. “He is a Keplian, after all.”
Moonrise was yet hours off; the night was too dark to allow her to see his expression, but she felt him start and heard his quick, indrawn breath. “How did you know?”