Hirad urged his horse on in the wake of The Unknown and Thraun, sparing a glance behind to reassure himself that the others were keeping up. The sound of hooves hitting soft earth filled his ears, clods of mud churning into the air in the wake of their passage.
The Raven rode down a shallow incline, heading for a cleft between two rises that would take them back towards the ridge and beneath the sight of any riders. But they were not going to be fast enough. The dust from the ridge signalling the oncoming horsemen was already too close and while Hirad watched, the heads of the leaders appeared on the skyline no more than a hundred yards from them.
Forcing a reckless pace along the trail, Hirad clung to the hope that they wouldn’t see The Raven below them. But with a shout, the whinnies of horses pulled up sharply and a sudden change of direction, that hope disappeared. Whoever they were, they split into two groups, of at least six each. One began edging down off the ridge in direct pursuit, the other wheeled about and galloped back down the trail, looking to head them off.
‘Keep moving!’ yelled The Unknown. ‘We can beat them on open ground.’
He hunched over his saddle, Hirad mimicking him, the strong smell of horse sweat in his nose and mouth. And then Darrick was by him, riding easily as if he were out for a training gallop. He caressed his horse after The Unknown, eating up the ground between them, leaning over and pulling at the big man’s shoulder.
The Unknown turned his head. Darrick drew a finger across his throat, pointed front and back and with barely a flick of his reins, swung his mount right and began charging directly away from the path, heading for a steep-sided gully. The Unknown followed him, Hirad doing likewise, frowning, not understanding for a moment. Yet the reason for the move soon became apparent.
Darrick dragged his horse to a stop in a cloud of dirt and loose stones, ten strides from the gully edge. The Raven pulled up around him, the sounds of their pursuers loud in the sudden lull. As one, they turned. Left and right, riders came on, angling in at them, one group over a hundred yards distant, the other perhaps twice that, having picked its way down from the trail ridge.
‘Listen to me,’ said Darrick. ‘We couldn’t afford to get trapped between them on the gallop. They knew they had us there, they know the terrain.’
‘Whatever’s in your mind, tell us fast,’ said Hirad.
Darrick twirled the now headless rake he’d taken from the Lystern stables in his right hand as he spoke, Hirad acutely aware of how vulnerable the ex-general was, garbed only in his dress uniform.
‘Couldn’t you have picked up a sword?’ he said.
Darrick shrugged. ‘Without armour, I’d rather keep them a little further away. Right, we’ll go at the closer group on my mark. Let me lead. Don’t flinch. Denser, ForceCone at the far group if they close. Anything to slow them when they wheel as they will to follow us. Swords, everyone, Erienne centre for protection, casting SpellShield. Anyone ever wanted to be in the cavalry?’
Blades hissed from scabbards, free hands held reins loose. Horses, heads up, ears pricked, stood ready, shifting slightly. The nearer group came on. They weren’t flat out. Darrick waited and Hirad saw what he must have seen immediately. These weren’t cavalrymen against them. They didn’t have the form or the relaxation in the saddle.
‘Waiting,’ said Darrick. ‘Waiting, let’s have them wondering.’
‘Mercenaries,’ said Hirad. ‘You’d think they’d know better.’
‘Shield up,’ said Erienne.
‘ForceCone ready,’ murmured Denser.
Ilkar’s voice never came and Hirad’s heart missed a beat.
At less than thirty yards for the nearer group, maybe ninety from the other, Darrick spurred his horse.
‘Note their blade position. They’ll chop down, trust me. You know what to do. Come on! Close form. Ride, Raven!’
His mount sprang away, the rake handle held a third of the way down and pointed straight along the animal’s neck. The Unknown was after him, Thraun on the right flank, leaving Denser partnering Erienne in the centre while Hirad defended the rear quarter. He felt his pulse race and a grin split his face as the wind rushed into him. He roared his energy, Thraun taking up the call. The Raven rode.
Oblivious to the vulnerability of his unarmoured body, Darrick galloped directly for the centre of the mercenary charge. Deep green light splashed across Erienne’s shield from a mage rider, the casting dissipating harmlessly.
Darrick twitched the rake handle in his grasp, the wood now held horizontally away from him. He kicked his horse’s flanks again, closed the gap to engage, feinted low then whipped the pole through head high. His target had already begun to defend low and couldn’t readjust the heavier weapon in time. Darrick’s rake caught the top of his head, knocking him senseless. His blade fell from nerveless fingers and he slumped back. Darrick didn’t pause to look, ducking low in the saddle as an enemy to his left struck out, missing his back by a whisker.
A stride behind him, The Unknown and Thraun drove in. The big man’s sword whined through the air, striking right and out, plunging into the undefended body of Darrick’s left-side attacker. On the other flank, Thraun clashed metal with a fast-armed swordsman, carving his own blade round and riding on unharmed. His opponent was not so lucky. Hirad was following up, his blade straight and true and his grip strong, the man dead before he hit the ground.
The Raven punched a hole clear through to open ground. Darrick fended off more blows, his rake splintering in his hands. The Unknown dragged his blade through the thigh of the mage rider and Thraun nicked another on the way past but they weren’t finished. Denser rotated in his saddle, ForceCone cast with a single word. Without a SpellShield the surviving enemy were defenceless. The Cone slapped into the backs of them, catapulting riders from saddles, fracturing bones in men and horses.
‘No!’ shouted Darrick. ‘Too early.’
He pulled up and turned.
‘Wrong,’ said Hirad, seeing the faltering gallop of the second group. ‘That was cavalry, this is Raven. Kill but never murder.’
‘Form up!’ called The Unknown. ‘Darrick my left.’
They trotted into a single line abreast, still under Erienne’s shield. Loose horses milled in confusion, the injured limped or lay, their cries echoing mournfully from the ridge. Dead and wounded mercenaries were scattered over an area of twenty yards and Denser kept a weather eye out for mindless acts of bravery. Ahead of them, the centre rider of the group raised a hand. His five colleagues reined into little above a trot.
‘Shouldn’t go attacking The Raven, Tolmek,’ said The Unknown, commanding voice crossing the twenty yard divide. ‘And you can have the same but it is not what we want.’
‘There’s a high price on your heads, Unknown,’ replied Tolmek. ‘And those are my men you’ve killed and wounded.’
The mercenary leader had modelled himself and his team on The Raven. He was an experienced fighter, scarred from battle, his sharp blue eyes bright beneath a fluted helmet which crushed his untidy black hair to his head. If The Raven admitted to respecting any others in their trade, he’d be high on the list. Right now, though, he was a potential enemy. He understood that.
‘We have the right to defend ourselves.’
‘I have the right to try and fulfil open contracts,’ replied Tolmek.
‘I’m sure,’ said The Unknown. ‘Yet we’re all fighting on the same side. You want Balaia saved, you turn and ride away.’
‘What I want is money enough to retire before I’m too weak to hold my sword.’
‘Then fight with Xetesk. They’ll pay you more,’ said Hirad.
‘I think you know me better than that, Coldheart.’
He nudged his horse on ahead of his men, closed until The Unknown’s mount nuzzled his and spoke quietly.