"Well?" the cobbler spat.
The three taller men went on giving him silence.
"Thrayl, when I get back to the vale and tell Lord Tharlark of this, what do you think he'll do to you? Hey? Kill you and your wife and daughter, and seize your shop and home, of course, but how will he hand you death? Do you really think he'll be merciful about it? That it'll be quick? Hey?"
"Lorn, yonder, diving out of the sky," Dombur said quietly, lifting his head in a gleam of earrings. "Lots of them."
Carandrur went on glaring at Thrayl, watching the shopkeeper's eyes leave his and lift to stare where Dombur and Pheldur were looking, up into the sky.
After watching their intent faces for some time, he turned to look, too.
Thrayl's sword was already in his hand; he stepped forward and swung, in one swift movement.
His steel bit deep into Carandrur's neck before the cobbler had even started to turn back.
Carandrur's head flopped loosely and his body spasmed, writhing wildly off Thrayl's blade into the dirt.
Thrayl stood like a statue, and watched the cobbler die.
He didn't look at Dombur or Pheldur until he was straightening from wiping his blade clean on the dead man's vest.
They looked back at him expressionlessly.
"Shrewdly struck," was all Dombur said, before they turned together, to begin the long trudge back to Arvale.
Velduke Deldragon looked every inch the warrior hero, twisting and hewing in the heart of a cloud of flapping lorn, standing up in his saddle to deal flickering, darting death in all directions, as Rod stared at him open-mouthed.
His sword was like a great flashing fang as it swept up into a lorn breast, slicing open the squalling, clawing thing even as it tried to gore him. Entrails and blood gouted down the withers of his mount, and on the ground and horse behind. All around them, horses were starting to scream.
Brushing Rod's hip as their horses bucked and started to rear, Taeauna leaned perilously over in her saddle, exposing her side to the lorn that would have torn her open if it hadn't struck Deldragon's lorn and been hurled past, to slash with her blade at the lorn that was menacing Rod. Hissing, it batted at her blade and then was past her, great wings flapping, barbed tail lashing at Rod's face, before being severed by Taeauna's snarling slash. Blue blood spattered their faces as the lorn arched and squalled, fading away in the distance as fresh lorn swooped in.
It was all a blur to Rod, as he crouched low and fought to hold on to his saddle horn with all his strength, staring in astonishment at the forest of knights' lances ahead of them that were thrusting at the sky, impaling and slicing lorn here, there, and blood spraying everywhere.
"'Ware! They're coming around again!" Deldragon roared, reaching out a gleaming gauntlet to take Taeauna by the severed stump of one wing, where it protruded through her armor, and haul her back upright.
"No!" Taeauna shouted back almost merrily, eyes bright. "They are? You surprise me!"
Deldragon stared at her for a moment, then bellowed out surprised laughter, as lorn wheeled overhead and swooped down.
One was coming in low at Rod, this time from the side, almost kissing the ground before soaring up at his leg, head bent to lay open his thigh, tip him out of his saddle, or both. He snatched out his dagger, not knowing what else to do, and then Taeauna was there again, her shoulder ramming him as she flung herself across the curving back of his saddle to hold out her sword two-handed like a lance, giving the lorn the choice of impalement or shearing off.
It chose the latter at the last tail-lashing instant, hissing in fury. Again her blade met the barbed tail, but this time the lorn won free.
"They'll be after our horses next," Deldragon growled. "Time for some family magic."
"Magic?" Taeauna's head snapped around in a flurry of hair. "You're a wizard?"
"Hah!" the velduke snorted. "Hardly. I'm a man with something the wizards that bedevil us want. I have an enchanted ring!"
"I see," Taeauna panted, as her racing horse hit a hollow and bounced her in her saddle, hard. "What does it do?"
"This!" Deldragon called, thrusting out his hand at the next wave of lorn.
The sky in front of his spread fingers seemed to catch fire.
An instant later, the lorn did, too, howling in agony as they swept down, trailing crimson flames. In the air, those raging fires seemed to tug at their bodies, curling them in upon themselves like hide-head beetles, dragging them aside in ragged arcs from the bucking Deldragon horses.
Whereupon the burning lorn exploded-and horses, knights, wingless Aumrarr and all were hurled forward into the air, amid a great wave of searing flame.
"Isk, you awake? Galath at last," the fat man growled from the front of the wagon. "Look dead, now."
The skeletally thin woman inside the creaking wagon made a rude sound by way of reply, shrugged off the cloak that had been keeping her warm, and laid herself down in the coffin.
Arranging the thin shroud over her naked body, she composed herself with her hands folded over her mouth. Between her fingers was the pinch of powdered arsauva that would leave her senseless the moment it touched her tongue; she held her fingers firmly together and waited. No sense wasting good arsauva if lazy border guards made its use unnecessary.
"I'm ready, Gar," she announced, closing her eyes. "Try to sound convincing, for once."
"I thought he'd never stop chasing us," the fat man muttered, as an armored Galathan warrior stepped out into the road and held up his hand in the signal to halt. "Still, we're here now. Driven to take refuge at last in the most law-abiding kingdom in all Falconfar. Strong king, proud nobles, lots of guards and coins. Bugger it all, anyway. Well, at least we'll be safe here."
"Tauren's merchants will do whatever they see best for preserving their own backsides," Juskra said flatly, running thoughtful fingers along the three old, white sword-scars that crisscrossed on her left cheek. "If that means deserting Tauren and taking themselves down the Ladruar to the Ports of Storm, that's just what they'll do. As allies, they are useless, and they'll never order their mercenaries into Galath to so much as lift a finger to aid someone else, not even if all of the Dooms lay wounded and helpless, for the ready slaying, because it will cost them coin."
"Yes, and they have no warriors but hireswords," Dauntra agreed, anger sparkling in her great brown eyes. "And their loyalty is to the purse, not a realm or kin or family hold. I know a dozen of the lords of Taur by name and face, and would be known to them if I flew to their gates, but they'd sell their own mothers and daughters for coin, let alone friends and allies."
"And Sardray keeps to Sardray," dark-armored Lorlarra put in. "As their elders never tire of saying, 'What comes to the windy grass matters; what befalls elsewhere matters not.'"
"And none of the forest holds," Ambrelle said quietly, "have either the battle-might to make any difference, nor the will or strength to push through two lands to reach Galath." The senior Aumrarr stretched her wings, tossing her long, glossy mane of purple-black hair. "So Galath, as we all knew, all along, is the cauldron. If Arlaghaun rises to rule it unopposed, the rise of the cults will hardly matter; Falconfar will be lost."
"We must work against him, and hope Taeauna's man is a wizard, and we can turn him into a blade against Arlaghaun."
"It all comes back to the wizards," Juskra said bitterly, scratching at her bandages again.
"Always," Dauntra agreed. "Well, there're Four Dooms, and four of us. A fair fight, I'd say."
They laughed then, the bitter laughter of despair.