And promptly slipped and fell.
Chapter 7
Whirlwind come a-reaping Though brave words ring out strong Setting every bold heart to leaping There'll be lessons hard and lessons long When the whirlwinds come a-reaping.
Jhessail backed away, breathing hard. Her dagger was gone, hurled at the thing the Purple Dragon had thrown at her. It had stuck into that missile and had probably been blasted to dust in the explosion that had followed after the thing had skipped aloft, spinning end over end to crash down among the horses.
Her ears were ringing, and she was drenched in horse gore. More of it was splattered everywhere around her, leaving her slipping and sliding at every step as she retreated, trembling. She circled to the right as she went, not wanting to go into unknown forest where she might well get tangled among trees and trapped with no way to flee.
Wearing the grim beginnings of a sly and cruel smile, the bullyblade leader stalked after her, drawn sword in hand.
"Don't make me use my spells," she warned, raising a hand. The man sneered. "A little cantrip thar will make rhe end of your nose glow, perhaps? Or banish the rust from my dagger? Or perhaps you'd like me to stop and watch you light a candle with your fingertip?"
"Oh, I can light more than candles," Jhessail told him, smiling with a confidence she was very far from feeling. They were back amid the fighting now, curling around behind bodies and frays still raging.
"Then why don't you, Lady Silvertree? Mage so mighty of the Knights of Myth Drannor? Little lying slut."
"Oh," Jhessail said, still backing away. "Is there something wrong with your sword? Is that why you're trying to insult me to death?"
The man stalked forward. "Lady, I am Eerikarr Steldurth. I served a great and noble lord of Cormyr long and well. I feel no need to insult a landless, lowborn, backcountry hedge mage. I can merely say 'lawbreaker' or 'murderer of lords.' When I speak thus of you, I utter truths, not insults."
Then he was upon her, dropping into a lunge that brought his blade thrusting in so close to Jhessail that it whispered between her right arm and her body, slicing garment and skin alike.
She gave a little shriek, flung up her arm, and ducked away to the left as he rose back into balance and slashed at her, backhanded.
He was an instant too late. She was just out of reach and bounding back to the right as his blade swept by. Steldurth sprang after her, hacking, and caught one of his own men in the shoulder as that bullyblade hastily backed away from Florin's flashing sword.
The man yelled, lashed out blindly, and kept on turning and retreating, blindly jostling Jhessail and sending her staggering.
Steldurth sidestepped the bullyblade's wild slash then ran right ar Jhessail. She ducked away, diving between two bullyblades, and then dodged around a third-and almost into the waiting arms of Steldurth, who'd guessed her tactic correctly.
She spun away, leaving a great torn-out handful of her hair in his hand, and plunged past a bullyblade. Or tried to.
That outlaw was in full retreat from Florin, and she tripped over one of his swiftly moving boots. Jhessail sprawled, clawing at the ground to try to get up and run. She almost made it, rising but being turned over in midair by a boot deftly hooked around her ankle.
She fell again, face up this time, and found that it had been Eerikarr Steldurth who'd tripped her. Looming over her, he grinned-and drew his sword back to plunge down into her breast.
A slender arm clad in dark leathers and fresh blood rose up under his sword arm, blocking his thrust. Pennae's head came into view over Steldurth's shoulder as she finished swarming up him from behind. Grinning through teeth clenched in pain, she plunged the dagger in her other hand into Steldurth's throat.
Blade Hanstel Harrow was a fairly skilled warrior, but there were five bullyblades around him. Five cruel swords sliding in at his face and hands and every seam and chink of his armor, darting past his parries to spread ice in their wake, ice and the sticky wetness of his spilling blood. He was going to die here.
He threw all caution to the winds and hurled himself wildly at one foe and then another, taking foolish chances as he lunged, slashed, charged forward where no sensible swordsman would dare-and managed to slay an astonished bullyblade.
He didn't get even a moment to exult at his daring before the rest cut him down, slashing at the backs of his knees and leaving him crumpled at their feet ere their blades came plunging at him.
Harrow died with one last name on his lips, but cold steel had pinned his tongue to the back of his mouth and was keeping his teeth apart. He gurgled helplessly, face twisting in disappointment.
The grinning faces above him did not look one little bit like the faraway lasses he was temembering.
Harrow was down. Dead. Dauntless didn't waste any breath cursing. Dahauntul was the last Dtagon left, and there weren't all that many of Yellander's rabble, either. He had to get away.
Vangerdahast had been quite clear on that. He must survive ro watch over these accursed Knights of Myth Drannor and make quite sure they departed the tealm. He was to report back everything they did and said and everyone they met with, to the Royal Magician. While somehow letting Old Thunderspells know that silencing a certain ornrion forever was neither desirable nor prudent.
He wasn't sure how he was going to manage that last bit.
On the other hand, he hadn't accomplished the first part-the surviving-yet, either.
Parrying a bullyblade sword hard enough to send its wielder staggering back with a startled curse, Ornrion Taltar Dahauntul spun around and sprinted for the trees, aiming for a spot where they stood thinly, in hopes he'd be able to see a way through them and back out to the Ride.
He was more than tired of this particulat battle. On the other hand, the five Dragons who'd ridden in here with him were beyond being tired of anything.
Brorn Hallomond stopped and lowered his sword. Beside him, the tall, red-bearded pillar that was Kraskus noticed and stopped too, turning to look at Brorn and awaiting orders.
After Lord Yellander's most trusted bodyguard stopped and looked around, there were always orders.
Brorn watched the last Purple Dragon-the ornrion-sprint into the trees. Scratching his chin thoughtfully, Brorn peered here and there around the clearing, noticing Steldurth s body with its slit throat and still-spreading blood. The battles were very much going against his side.
He looked up at his bodyguard, Kraskus, and then pointed across the clearing at whete the last few bullyblades were busy dying, and at the adventurers causing those deaths. "Kraskus, I need you to kill all the Knights for me. I'm afraid I can't be with you while you do it. There's something I must go and do. Something very important."
Without another word he turned and hasrened off into the trees on the other side of the clearing from where the ornrion had disappeared.
For a long time Kraskus frowned and stared at Brorn's dwindling back.
Then the big man shrugged, turned, and launched himself into a charge across the corpse-strewn clearing, heading for those last few battles.
"Kill all the Knights," he growled, to make sure he kept it straight. "Kill all the Knights."
He was almost within reach of them now. With a roar, he waved his sword over his head and plunged into the nearest fray. "Kill the Knights!"
Then he corrected himself. "All the Knights." He repeated those words several times more as he thrust out with his sword and was parried. This was important, and he didn't want to forget it.
"And you attacked us why?" Islif snapped, smashing aside Halmur's sword as if the arm that held it were a mere twig.