Cyric continued speaking to Dalzhel. “Wake the men.”
“But they’ve slept less than three hours!” Dalzhel objected.
“Wake them,” Cyric snapped. Turning to the sentry, he added, “And you ride back over your trail. Be sure the two men didn’t follow you.”
As Dalzhel and the sentry turned to obey, Kelemvor started to back out of his hiding place. He intended to reach Adon before the sentry did. The stocky warrior, however, was not accustomed to skulking in the bushes. In his rush to beat the Zhentish soldier, his scabbard caught on a bush and rustled it loudly. Kelemvor cursed under his breath and froze, hoping Cyric and his men would not notice the sound.
But Cyric, Dalzhel, and the sentry all stopped and turned to look in the fighter’s direction.
Kelemvor realized he had two choices—attack or retreat. He made the same choice he always did: he leaped from his hiding place and charged. The sudden assault took his opponents by surprise.
Dalzhel was first in Kelemvor’s path. The huge Zhentilar’s weapon had not even cleared its scabbard when Kelemvor leveled a vicious slash at his undefended side. The Zhentilar stepped forward and blocked the slash by smashing his fist into Kelemvor’s elbow.
The blow nearly knocked the sword out of the stocky warrior’s hand. Dalzhel grabbed for Kelemvor’s wrist, but the green-eyed fighter pulled free and stepped back. This allowed the huge Zhentilar to draw his weapon, but it also freed Kelemvor to attack again.
The exchange occurred so rapidly that Cyric and the sentry didn’t have time to react. If Dalzhel’s reflexes had not been so quick, Kelemvor would have killed all three men with their weapons still sheathed. The initial melee was over, however; Cyric and the sentry drew their swords.
Kelemvor studied his opponents. Though it wasn’t his battle style, he knew he would have to fight carefully and cautiously. Dalzhel lifted his sword into a high guard, inviting a lunge. The warrior refused the bait. He had no intention of closing within arm’s length of the black-haired Zhentilar.
While Kelemvor and Dalzhel stared at each other, Cyric slipped around the sentry’s horse and stopped out of sword reach. The sentry advanced and stood to Kelemvor’s right, much too close for the fighter’s comfort.
“Kel, my friend!” Cyric said. “Meet Dalzhel. Alone, he might be your match. But at three-to-one—”
While Cyric bragged, Kelemvor evened the odds. His blade flashed once, opening a deep gash in the sentry’s abdomen. Screaming in agony, the man stumbled away and collapsed.
“Two-to-one,” Kelemvor corrected, bringing his sword back to guarding position.
Back with the horses, Adon heard the scream of the wounded sentry. He wrapped Kelemvor’s horse’s reins around a limb, then lifted his mace and urged his horse through the underbrush.
Dalzhel allowed his annoyance to flicker across his face. Kelemvor was truly dangerous, he realized. Cyric would be wiser to let him handle this fight alone. But the burly Zhentilar did not dare say that. Cyric was far too vain to accept such a suggestion.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kelemvor noticed that the seven sleeping Zhentilar had awakened. They were pulling on their helmets and gathering their weapons.
Being careful not to ignore Dalzhel, Kelemvor addressed Cyric, “Before I kill you, tell me where Midnight is.”
A sneer crossed Cyric’s lips. “If you’ve come for her, you die in vain. You, Dalzhel, and I together couldn’t save her.”
At that moment, Adon reached the clearing. To his right, Kelemvor faced Cyric and one other man. In the middle of field, seven Zhentilar were preparing to go to Cyric’s aid. Adon decided to make sure they never arrived. The cleric knew his friend had survived two-to-one odds many times, but eight or nine-to-one would have been a challenge for even Kelemvor. The cleric kicked his mount into motion and charged.
As soon as Kelemvor heard Adon arrive, he attacked, beating Dalzhel back with a series of overhand slashes. Cyric jabbed at the warrior’s side, but Kelemvor easily blocked, then sent Cyric reeling with a kick to the stomach.
Meanwhile, Adon smashed two skulls as his horse thundered through the Zhentilar camp, then turned around and charged again. This time, however, the Zhentilar were ready for him and stood in a loose group. At the last instant, Adon veered to the left. The cleric’s target lifted his sword to block, but the momentum of the charging horse overpowered the defense. The sword went flying, and the mace smashed the victim’s ribs. A second Zhentilar fell when Adon’s horse trampled him. An instant later, the horse and rider galloped away.
On the other side of the clearing, as soon as Kelemvor kicked Cyric out of the way, Dalzhel fell upon the warrior and thrust for his abdomen. Kelemvor blocked with a low sweep, then Dalzhel’s foot came from nowhere and smashed him in the head. Kelemvor’s vision darkened and he felt his knees buckle. The warrior fell to his right, trying to put distance between himself and Dalzhel.
As Kelemvor dropped, Adon turned his horse around for another pass at the remaining Zhentilar. The three men stood huddled together, fear showing on their faces. “Get out of here!” Adon called, spurring his horse into a third charge.
The three Zhentilar glanced at each other uncertainly, then at the bodies of their dead and wounded fellows. An instant later, they turned and ran. Adon followed long enough to make sure they would not return. It did not occur to the cleric that Kelemvor might be in trouble.
In fact, Kelemvor was about to die. He rolled away from Dalzhel but quickly bumped into Cyric’s legs. The thief immediately pressed the tip of his sword against the warrior’s throat and held it there. Kelemvor did not move, expecting Cyric to say something.
Instead, the thief remained quiet, searching his old friend’s eyes for signs of fear. To his disappointment, the warrior’s face betrayed anger and hatred, but no fear. Though Cyric begrudgingly admired his old ally’s bravery, he did not find it admirable enough to spare him.
Kelemvor saw the thief’s eyes harden and knew Cyric had decided to kill him. The warrior swung his left hand and smashed his forearm into Cyric’s wrist, knocking the sword away from his throat. The red blade grazed the side of the Kelemvor’s neck, but didn’t draw blood. At the same time, the warrior spun and swung his feet at Cyric’s ankles, sweeping the thief’s feet from beneath him.
As Kelemvor struggled to save his life, Adon decided the three Zhentilar would not be coming back. He swung his horse toward the other end of the clearing, turning just in time to see Cyric fall, then Kelemvor roll away. Dalzhel rushed forward to defend his fallen commander, but the green-eyed fighter rolled right into the Zhentilar’s feet. Kelemvor wrapped his arms around the burly man’s ankles. Dalzhel fell, cursing and beating the hilt of his sword against Kelemvor’s back.
Adon spurred his horse toward the fight just as Cyric rose to his feet again.
Though he had knocked Dalzhel to the ground, Kelemvor was no match for the bearded man in unarmed combat. Not only was Dalzhel’s strength greater, but he was a more experienced wrestler. Dalzhel worked his way onto Kelemvor’s back and clamped his arms around the warrior’s throat. Kelemvor rolled and pulled at his opponent’s arm, but could not shake off the chokehold.
Cyric reached the fight before Adon. The thief hovered over the struggling pair, looking for an opportunity to plunge his blade into Kelemvor’s back. A moment later, the scarred cleric rode up and Cyric turned to face him. Adon stopped twenty feet away and did not attack. Although being mounted gave him a combat advantage, it also prevented him from picking his target carefully. If he struck from horseback, he was as likely to trample Kelemvor as kill Cyric or the Zhentish soldier.