Dodging and twisting in the saddle, Mordan laid about him, stabbing and slashing at horses and riders alike. He fought with savage intensity, knowing that he could hold out for only a limited time against so many enemies. His horse reared and kicked as he fought, backing gradually toward the line of defenders. This was deliberate; he wanted to avoid giving the undead lancers space to surround him, and by giving ground, he was slowly drawing them toward his troops.
A lancer chopped at his horse’s head with a longsword, nearly severing its neck. The animal staggered and regained its footing, but it was obvious that another such blow would kill it. A crossbow bolt whizzed past his head, burying itself in his opponent’s throat; the shot would have killed a living man, but the undead lancer merely snarled. Mordan followed up with a thrust to the heart. The wight displayed its sharp teeth in a savage grin and raised its longsword.
At that moment, a great shout went up from the defenders. Inspired by their unofficial leader, they charged into the lancers with sword and spear, surrounding Mordan and his damaged horse. A lancer fell from the saddle scant feet away; the Karrn pulled his feet from the stirrups, crouching briefly on the saddle before jumping to the newly vacant mount.
The lancers withdrew abruptly, wheeling their horses and opening space between themselves and the defenders. Tarrel took advantage of their maneuver to launch a fireball into their left flank; a couple of the undead horses fell smoking to the ground, while their riders sprang from the saddle and rolled to extinguish their burning clothing. Mordan risked a glance behind him and saw that Brey had destroyed the last of the zombies and was making her way to the end of the defenders’ line.
The two sides looked at each other. The defenders braced for another charge, raising their shields, setting spears, and readying whatever other weapons they had. But the charge never came. Instead, the lancers broke into two blocks, with an empty space between them. Riding down that corridor, at a sedate trot, came one who appeared to be their commander. Where his skin was visible, it bore elaborate tattoos. His armor gleamed, despite a couple of dints and buffets from the fight. He sat proudly in the saddle, flying the pennant of the Vedykar Lancers from the tip of his spear. Coming level with the front rank of his own troops, he handed the lance to a subordinate and drew a gleaming longsword. Still at a parade trot, he rode to within a few feet of Mordan, a savage grin on his face.
“Hello, brother,” he said.
Chapter 18
A Family Reunion
Kaz Mordan stared at the apparition before him. It was hard to recognize his brother’s features under the tattoos, and the shrunken flesh concealed his muscular build—but something in the tone of his voice gave him away. It was dry, like a man with a sore throat, but the familiar contempt was unmistakable.
“Gali?” Mordan breathed. “Dol Arrah, what’s happened to you?”
Gali’s grin widened, showing wickedly pointed teeth. “I could ask you the same question,” he rasped. “What did you do after you deserted from Rekkenmark—run away and join the Company of the Skull under a false name? At least you lost that puppy fat”—he glanced down at Mordan’s left arm—“and that’s not all, by the look of it. Did someone get tired of that damned mark of yours?” He laughed. “I’m going to enjoy this.” Bringing his longsword up to shoulder height, he tapped his mount’s ribs with his spurs.
With a roar, the defenders swept forward to protect their leader. Gali raised his left hand and barked a word. Before they had gone a couple of paces, a wave of dark energy swept over them. Mordan was rocked in his saddle, but unharmed—behind him, more than a dozen people fell to the ground, dead. The others faltered.
“This is a family matter,” Gali said. “You shouldn’t interfere.” The remaining defenders drew themselves together into a tight knot, watching the two riders. He spurred his mount again and charged.
Mordan countercharged, rapier held forward. Ducking under the slashing longsword, he thrust at his brother’s ribs. Gali’s laugh turned into a yelp of pain and surprise. Turning their horses, they faced each other again. Gali raised his longsword in an ironic salute.
“Well struck, little brother! “he said. “I see you’ve learned to fight a little better since I last saw you.” He dipped a finger in the dark blood that oozed from his side, licking it with a long, pointed tongue. “That’s a very nice sword, too,” he observed, pointing toward the elven rapier. “But it won’t help you. I always win—remember?”
“Father thinks you’re dead!” said Mordan. “You should see what it’s done to him!”
Gali laughed again. “That’s good, coming from you!” he sneered, then raised his voice to address the defenders.
“Your hero!” he cried. “The one you’re hiding behind! Did you know he deserted from Rekkenmark rather than face a court-martial? He disgraced his family and foreswore his oath of loyalty! This is who you’re following!”
“Besides,” he added, lowering his voice, “I am dead.”
Gali spurred his horse forward again. This time, he expected his brother’s dodge, and Mordan was knocked from his horse by a sweeping blow that opened a deep wound in his left shoulder. He hit the ground hard but rolled back to his feet as Gali turned his skeletal mount again.
With a blur of motion, Brey was standing between them, glaring at the lancer.
“You’re mine,” she spat, “you and all your dead friends!” Behind her, Tarrel had raised his wand, and Haldin his crossbow.
Gali smiled. “Well, well,” he said, “I never thought I’d see you again! The vampire experiment was terminated, by the way. Much too unreliable.”
“As I said before,” he continued, “this is between me and my little brother here. I must ask you not to interfere”—he raised his hand again in the direction of the surviving defenders—“or more innocents will suffer.”
Their eyes locked. Slowly, Brey backed away. He gave Tarrel and Haldin a significant look, and they too lowered their weapons.
“But do keep a spot on your dance card open for later,” Gali said to Brey. “I’d be delighted to destroy you after I’ve concluded this little bit of family business.”
Swinging a leg over his horse’s skull, he slid down from the saddle, slapping the beast on its bony rump. It trotted obediently back to the Lancers’ ranks.
He tossed his longsword to a subordinate and strolled casually across to where Mordan was waiting.
“Let’s do this properly.” he said, stretching his wiry arms and balling his fists. He adopted a boxing stance and raised one eyebrow.
“Not a chance,” said Mordan. “I know what you are. You keep your magic, and I’ll keep my sword.”
“If that’s how you want it,” sighed Gali. “Either way, you’re going to be my slave once this is over—and I think the first thing I’ll do is watch you kill your friends.”
Barking a complex syllable, he raised his hand again. Mordan dropped and rolled as a ray of multicolored light shot past his head; he thought he saw his brother’s tattoos flash briefly as the ray sprang from his hand.
Gali lunged, knocking the rapier’s blade aside with a bony forearm. His fist crashed into Mordan’s face like a hammer, knocking him onto his back. Blood poured out of his nose; a wave of burning cold filled him with nausea and turned his muscles to water. He tried to ignore it, keeping the point of the rapier between him and his brother.