She understood this type of fight. Stance wide, both hands on the hilt of her sword, Inyx readied herself for the first onslaught. The woman glanced to her right and saw that the shock of seeing this city invaded had begun to fade in Noratumi' s face. The man finally realized what she had seen from the start; his city was doomed.
" Ha- aieee!" came the war chants of the first rider.
Inyx saw the rider cut through wave after wave of defender, then bear down on her. She waited. Waited. Waited.
Sunlight caught the leading edge of her sword as she swung at precisely the right instant. All the strength locked up in her arms and shoulders went into that cut. Impact jolted her but the meaty feel of sword severing a momentarily exposed wrist was her reward. The rider' s gauntlet had slipped and she had taken full advantage of it.
Blood geysering from the stump, the now unseated horseman thrashed about on the ground a few yards distant. Inyx paid him no more attention. He' d bleed to death before he could staunch his wound.
The cavalry surged forward like the ocean' s tide. Inyx wiped all thought from her mind and became machinelike, working to swing her sword, parry, duck, retreat, advance. The ebb and flow of the battle lasted forever. She killed attacker after attacker, taking no time to count either victim or time.
Drenched in blood, both from her enemies and from several small but messy cuts, she finally took time to lean forward on her sword, gasping for breath. The riders had pulled back to regroup before making still another frontal assault. Their bravery wasn' t in question; Inyx wondered at the fool commanding them. Such wanton squandering of human life was abhorrent to her.
" Inyx!" came the distant cry. She turned to find the source and saw that the heat of battle had separated her from Jacy Noratumi. The man stood atop a battlement, crossbow in hand. With methodical skill he aimed, fired, and then handed the crossbow to a squire for recocking while he took another readied weapon.
" Jacy!" she called back, waving. Droplets of blood flew from her sodden sleeve. " Rally your forces. We must escape!"
The man obviously didn' t hear. He tossed aside his crossbow and took another, waving to her once more. Vexed, she started to cry out again when some sixth sense warned her of a presence.
Inyx turned and looked down the length of the tunnel. A man and woman rode side by side. The woman was unknown to her, but the man she recognized instantly.
" Silvain!"
Inyx rushed forward to gather momentum for her blow. She missed her timing slightly and instantly discarded the idea of going for Silvain' s mount. Instead, she turned the line of her attack to the woman at the dark man' s side. Inyx swung her sword double- handed and felt the nicked, battle- dulled edge sever a horse' s leg. The woman astride the horse never saw the blow. She screamed and went somersaulting through the air.
Silvain reined in, glanced at his fallen companion, and then saluted Inyx before spurring into the main Bron force. He obviously did not care if the fallen woman lived or died. Inyx suspected that to Silvain it was all one and the same.
She' d have to assure herself of a death. The red stripes on the struggling woman' s sleeves indicated high rank in Claybore' s army. That alone sealed her death warrant.
Inyx lunged, but the woman miraculously turned aside the thrust. It cost Kiska k' Adesina her footing; she went tumbling again, but out of range of Inyx' s blade. By the time Inyx had recovered, so had Kiska.
" Now you die, slut," whispered Kiska k' Adesina, advancing with her blade firmly in hand now.
Inyx didn' t bother replying. She had already spent her breath on a hard fight. To offer idle taunts would only tire her further. She' d let her sword speak for her. She lunged, in perfect line. The tip of her sword raked along k' Adesina' s arm, drawing blood just behind the heavy protective gauntlet.
" Damn you!" cried k' Adesina. " For this you will suffer the same fate as Lan Martak!"
" What?" In spite of herself, Inyx hesitated, surprised at the other' s words. " What of Lan Martak?"
" You," said k' Adesina, brown eyes narrowing to slits. " You' re his whore. Silvain had shown me a likeness, but the blood hid your identity. Die, bitch, die on Kiska k' Adesina' s sword!"
Inyx felt as if she had engaged a tornado in battle. Kiska k' Adesina flew into a murderous rage, her sword coming with unrelenting power. For a time, it proved all Inyx could do to simply stay alive. Tiny cuts became deeper wounds; still she fought a defensive battle. K' Adesina' s berserk power carried her onward, no matter what injury Inyx might inflict.
At one point, Inyx managed a deft leg cut, which connected solidly. Kiska k' Adesina appeared not to notice the steady gushing of blood down her leg. Every subsequent step sounded with an almost lewd sucking sound, the foot moving in a blood- filled boot. But it did not stay her rage, her attack, her venomous need to slay Inyx.
Back pressed against the city' s wall, Inyx fell into a purely defensive battle. Her earlier fights had tired her too much to deal with such insanity. Her shoulders ached hugely and weakness swept over her in waves as her body demanded tending from all the wounds she had incurred during the past eternity- long minutes of battle.
" Kiska, pull back, let her be," came an all too familiar voice. " Martak isn' t within the city walls. We need her alive to find out where he is."
" Kill, kill, kill!" shrieked a wild- eyed k' Adesina. " I will kill that bastard Martak and his animal later. Now I will kill his lover, as he slew mine!"
Everything linked together in Inyx' s mind. She knew this woman' s identity now; Lan had mentioned the brief encounter with her at the base of Mount Tartanius. Inyx knew she could expect no quarter, now or later. Better to fall in battle with a sword in her hand than to be the subject of intimate tortures by Kiska k' Adesina.
" Kiska, stop, I say. We must find him and the spider."
" Find them yourself. Ever since you failed, you' ve been trying to curry favor with Claybore. She is mine!"
A whine, a gasp, and Inyx saw her opening. Jacy Noratumi' s marksmanship with the crossbow had never been better- or delivered at more precisely the right instant. He had sent a bolt arrowing down into Kiska' s sword arm, pinning armored limb to her side. Blood oozed around the quarrel, and not even her rage- insensitivity to pain availed her now. Physically unable to raise her weapon, she had to fall to Inyx' s blow.
But before Inyx dealt the killing stroke, she found her blade stopped at the top of its arc by another.
Alberto Silvain bent down from horseback, the tendons in his arm standing in bold relief as he prevented her from killing.
" No, my dear, it is not her destiny to die by your blade." He gritted his teeth and twisted. Inyx' s sword spun from her grasp.
" And it' s not my destiny to be your prisoner." Inyx dived underneath Silvain' s horse, away from his sword. He couldn' t swing at her without hitting his own mount. Beneath the man and his mount, Inyx wasted no time. She reached back and grabbed the stallion' s huge, dangling member and twisted as hard as she could. The horse let out a cry of pain that sounded almost human. Rearing, bucking, and kicking, the horse tried to rid itself of its assailant.
Inyx continued pressure until she heard Silvain cursing. He' d slipped from his saddle and fallen backwards. Inyx took the opportunity to leap out from her dangerous position, dodging flying hooves as she went. Noratumi' s accurate fire with the crossbow from the wall saved her from sure death several times as she ran for the stairs leading up and onto the battlements.
" Hurry," urged Noratumi. " You can make it." She turned blue eyes upward and saw that the man wasn' t able to aid her. He had to stay on the walkway and maintain a covering fire if she wanted to reach safety. Gritting her teeth, Inyx fought up one step after another until she lay at Noratumi' s feet. The man' s fingers bled from continually recocking the bow. Lifting herself on her hands, Inyx saw that Noratumi' s squire lay off to one side, his head at an odd angle. A small pool of blood puddled under his fallen body; a few steps further lay one of Claybore' s soldiers, a heavy club clutched in his dead hand.