The horse under Dauntless had tasted battle before, but that didn't mean it had any particular liking for fire that came racing right at it, shrieking.
It bucked, heaving and plunging under the ornrion in its haste to be elsewhere, away from those rushing flames, back out of these trees onto the open road, whereArrows came hissing out of the trees to thud hard and deep into the horse's haunches, causing it to scream in pain, rear, and dance sideways so wildly that Taltar Dahauntul decided being spilled out of his saddle was wiser than staying in it.
He crashed down hard onto his shoulders and rolled hastily away-or tried to. Pain stabbed across his neck and shoulders as the breath slammed out of him. He groaned, and the plunging hooves of another horse came crashing down all around him.
And were gone, leaving in their wake a cursing Purple Dragon who thundered to earth through a rather fragile thornbush, shouting out his own curses.
That straining, sputtering voice belonged to Telsword Grathus. Dauntless saw more arrows hiss past overhead and heard Grathus gulp suddenly, choke, and stop spitting out curses forever.
" 'Tis a monster!" First Sword Aubrus Norlen cried. "A monster, to be sure! Hew it down! Dragons, to me now! Slay this beast that all Cormyr be delivered from its grave peril!"
Panting, he hacked at the lithe, dark, flaming thing that was rolling in the stream at his feet. A hissing cloud of smoke was billowing up from it. He could hardly see his foe. Yet he swung lustily, and his steel bit into something solid. That brought a shriek of pain from the thing, and it clawed at his ankles. He stumbled hastily back.
"Dragons!" he shouted again. "To me now! Aid, for the love of Cormyr! Aid, for the love of-"
"— a little piece and quiet!" Blade Orbrar snapped, coming up beside him and slashing at whatever was thrashing and rolling in the stream beneath the drifting smoke. "Norlen, will you belt up?"
"Whaaat? I am your superior, Teln Orbrar!" First Sword Norlen bellowed. "Obey me and address me with the proper respect and defer-uhhh!"
First Sword Aubrus Norlen's gasp was as loud as everything else that had been coming out of his mouth. It hung in the air as he staggered backward and sat down, hard.
The Purple Dragon Blade turned to see why Norlen was retreating so precipitously. He was astonished to see an arrow had appeared, sprouting as if by magic, low on his front. It was sunk deep in a gap in the First Sword's too-small armor, between two plates that had quite failed to grow and cover his expanding belly over these last few months. The arrow was quivering, and so was Norlen. He stared up at Teln Orbrar in disbelieving horror, spitting up dark blood, as the light behind his eyes went out.
Orbrar was neither a stupid man nor a slow-witted one. He flung himself flat on the ground right beside the First Sword even before Norlen toppled sideways. The arrow that had been meant for him whistled harmlessly past and was lost amid brief cracklings in dark undergrowth.
"Naed," Orbrar gasped, rolling frantically over and down into a little hollow in the ground, almost cutting himself on his sword doing so. 'Gods-cursed stlarning naed!'Oh, tluin, tluin, tluin!"
"Not now," a voice that was tight with pain hissed in his ear, an instant before a very, very cold knife entered his throat. "I'm too busy being wounded right now. Later, perhaps-you murdering Purple Dragon bastard."
Choking around the icy metal that had so suddenly somehow appeared in his gullet, Blade Teln Orbrar found himself unable to reply.
"Not-" he struggled to say, staring into two eyes that wept tears and blazed with pain and fury.
"Not a bastard," he managed to choke out as Faertin went dim around him. "Not. Decent, really. I…"
Night fell. Forever, he knew. Forever.
"That's the last tluining arrow!" Halmur snapped, tossing his bow down and reaching for his sword.
Steldurth nodded, raised his own blade, and gave the sardonic, dusky-skinned Turmishan an approving smile. "You feathered Dragons enough for us. No one left to get in the way of us killing the Knights this time!"
"Kill?" Kraskus growled, bending down to thrust his red-bearded, brutish face close. "Time to kill?"
"Time to kill, Kraskus," Brorn said firmly from behind them all. "To avenge Lord Yellander!"
"Yellander," the bullyblades snarled in unison, hefting their swords, and rushed out of the concealing trees.
"I don't want to kill you!" Florin said, striking a Dragon's thrusting sword aside, then slashing in the other direction in time to parry a second Dragon's attack. "Stop this!"
"Stop this? Man, we are the law here!" Blade Hanstel Harrow snapped back at the ranger. "Lay down your sword, and we'll-"
"You'll kill us where we stand," Semoor Wolftooth said, retreating and vainly trying to wipe his forehead clean of blood from a gash made when the very tip of one of the Dragons' swords had just caught him a lunge or two earlier. His streaming gore was almost blinding him. "Those're your orders, aren't they? Well?"
Neither Dragon answered with more than wordless growls of exasperation and effort, as they went right on hacking at Florin as hard and fast as they knew how.
"Stop this!" Semoor spat through the blood dripping from his nose and chin. "Stop or someone's going to get killed!"
Raging, Dauntless came to his feet. Their horses were dead or fled, the last one lashing out with its steel-shod hooves at one of the priest Knights-Doust Sulwood, wasn't it? — as it reared one last time before racing back toward the road.
Grathus was dead at his feet, and their saucy wench of a thief was just rising from beside Orbrar, his life-blood all over the knife in her hand.
With a roar the ornrion launched himself into a run across the uneven, trampled ground, swinging his sword up and back for a great cleaving stroke that should end her sly evil forever.
She was reeling, wet with blood and with half her hair and leathers burnt off her, but her eyes glittered with a fury to match his own as she raised arms that trailed wisps of smoke, bloody knife coming up to greet him.
Dauntless slowed not a whit. That fang could do nothing against his armor for the moment he needed to hack her down-and then she'd not be using it on anyone, ever again.
"Die, outlaw bitch!" he bellowed, bringing his sword down. "Die!"
Florin sprang aside again. He didn't want to kill these Purple Dragons, didn't want their blood on hisThe snarling face of the nearest Dragon changed, fear falling across it ere its owner backed away. He was gazing past Florin, and so was the other Dragon, whose outflanking rush had faltered.
Florin kept moving, aside and back, but turned his head ro see what they were both staring at.
A swarm of men with swords raced toward them, the foremost almost close enough to touch, clenched teeth opening to bellow, "Yellander!"
"Oh, tluin," Florin said and set his feet to meet the nearest of Yellander's bullyblades blade-to-blade. Just in time.
Jhessail rose out of her crouch, daring to breathe again, as Doust said, "Guard yourself!" and erupted out of the little hollow where they'd crouched together. Mace in hand, he charged into the fray.
Standing-these outlaws must have run out of arrows, hence their charge out into the open-the spellhurler drew the dagger from her belt.
It seemed so puny, against all these hulking men in armor and their swords. Yet her battle spells were all gone now, most spent on half-seen archers in the trees. So she could run away, sprint after Doust, and do what little she could, or she could stand here and watch.
Which really bid fair to mean stand and watch her friends die.