Plaintively Kynoc asked: "How then shall I reload?"
"Watch me," said Jorian. He rolled over on his back, put his toe in the stirrup at the muzzle of the crossbow, and pulled back on the string with both hands until it caught on the sear. Then he rolled back on his belly and put a bolt in the groove.
"I never thought of that," said Kynoc.
"You're used to shooting at deer and hares, which do not shoot back. Next time, shoot not until I tell you. We have no bolts to waste."
"Go on! Go on!" called Grallon's voice. "Creep up and surround them; then rush upon them from all sides. They cannot number more than two or three."
Jorian bellowed: "Promus, take these javelins off that way. See if you can spear one of these knaves. Clotharo, take the spare bolts off that way; try to hit one in the flank. Nors, get the covers off our shields. Physo, did you remember to sharpen our steel?"
Kynoc looked about in a bewildered way at hearing these commands addressed to nonexistent warriors. Margalit, catching on at once, lowered her voice to sound mannish, calling: "Here you are, sir. Which sword do you wish? Let me lace on your cuirass!"
The creeping Shvenites seemed to have halted their advance. Jorian whispered: "Kynoc, steal off amongst the trees on either side and tell me what you see."
"Go on!" came Judge Grallon's voice. "Keep advancing! It is all a pretence, his having an army. Get in close and rush them!"
A guttural voice spoke in the Shvenish language: "Why does he not lead his grand charge himself?" Jorian understood the words but supposed that Grallon did not.
From the trees on one side came the thud of Kynoc's arbalest, followed by a yell of pain. The young man came loping back, grinning.
"I got one!" he chortled. "Methinks I did but wound his leg; but he'll molest us no more."
"That will hold them up for a while," said Jorian. "But in a couple of hours, darkness will fall, and we shan't be able to hit the side of Mount Aravia."
"Belike we can then give them the sup," said Kynoc.
Jorian fidgeted, trying to get another clear shot. But the Shvenites hugged the hollows in the earth, offering no targets save an occasional glimpse of a buckskin-clad arse as they wormed their way forward. Jorian shot at one such target but missed.
At last Jorian, unwilling further to prolong the stalemate, crawled back from his edge. "Kynoc!" he said. "I'll try a cavalry charge. Take off the rest of Filoman's load."
"How shall ye guide the beast without a bridle?"
"I'll make one." Jorian began experimenting with the lead rope, threading it through the mule's unwilling mouth and twisting it around the animal's muzzle. The mule jerked its head uneasily.
"Be it trained to riding?" asked Kynoc.
"We shall soon find out. There, that should serve to guide the beast, if he does not chew the rope through. Wilt give me a hand up?"
Since the mule had no saddle, Kynoc made a cradle of his hands, into which Jorian put one booted foot, and then he swung aboard the mule's bare back. Jorian had not ridden bareback in years and hoped his riding muscles were still hard enough to keep him on Filoman's back.
"Here goes!" he said, drawing his sword and thumping the mule's ribs with his heels.
Filoman refused to move. When Jorian whacked its rump with the flat of his sword, it shook its head and bucked. Jorian caught its mane to avoid a fall.
"Get my spurs out of the baggage," said Jorian. Margalit, again anticipating his needs, was already burrowing into his gear. Soon she had strapped the spurs to his feet.
"Here goes again," said Jorian, digging in his spurs.
The mule snorted and bounded forward, almost precipitating Jorian back over its rump. When he recovered his seat, he tried to guide the animal by his improvised bridle. But Filoman paid no heed to Jorian's rope. Instead, it ran around in a circle, bowling over Kynoc. Then it galloped off into the woods at random.
In front of it hung Jorian's blanket, which Jorian had suspended from a convenient branch to dry. The mule plunged ahead, ducking its head beneath the lower edge of the blanket. Jorian ducked, too, so as not to be swept off the mule's back by the branch. Hence he struck the blanket squarely, so that it was whisked from the branch and settled down over his head and body, completely blinding him. He yelled: "Haiti Stop! Whoa!" and pulled on the rope, to no effect.
From somewhere before him he heard a shout of terror and, in Shvenic, cries of "Oswic's ghost!"
"The headless horseman!"
"All is lost!"
"Flee for your lives!"
Then came the sound of men running away. One tripped and fell, got up cursing, and ran on. The mule continued galloping, turning this way and that, trying to shake Jorian off. Jorian dropped the rope, caught the mane, and clung to the animal's back.
The mule stopped so suddenly that Jorian was thrown forward over its head. He landed in a patch of brush, while the blanket flew off over his head. Scratched and bruised, he scrambled up and made a flying dive to seize the mule's rope before the beast ran away.
Then he saw a curious sight. Gray-bearded Judge Grallon was kneeling on the forest floor and praying with his eyes closed. Of the Shvenish lariat-men there was no sight save a glimpse of one buckskin-clad back receding in the distance. The man limped, and Jorian guessed that he was the one Kynoc had shot in the leg, left behind by his speedier fellows. Up the trail, half a bowshot away, lay the body of the man whom Jorian had shot.
Jorian gathered up his sword, which he had dropped, and approached the justice, sword in one hand and lead rope in the other. "Get up!" he said.
Grallon opened his eyes. "King Jorian!" he cried. "Methought 'twas the true headless ghost whereof the innkeeper told us. Being too old to flee with that squad of superstitious cowards, I was confessing my sins to Imbal, expecting each instant to be my last. What would you of me? My life?"
"Not yet," said Jorian. "I need you as a hostage. Get up, pick up that blanket, and walk ahead of me. At the first untoward move, you shall be a headless ghost, too!"
Grallon grumbled: "But, Your Majesty, I do but my duty. I wish you well in every way, so long as you in turn perform your duty, which is to attend the ceremony of succession."
"Never mind that. Pick up that blanket!"
Jorian saw that the judge was looking past him with an expression of alarm. Quickly turning, Jorian saw a patch of striped orange and black among the trees. The tiger padded to where lay the Shvenite whom Jorian had shot. The cat lowered its head to sniff at the corpse, then raised it to stare at the two men on the path below. It blinked its big yellow eyes, then lowered its head again. Silently, it sank its fangs into the body.
The Shvenite gave a faint cry. But the tiger raised its head, so that the wounded man's arms and legs dangled. It walked calmly off into the forest, the man's limbs flopping where they were dragged over roots. Grallon said:
"Your Majesty is a villain, if you will excuse my saying so. Odovald was the best man of the squad, and you slew him. Were we in Xylar, you should answer for your crime!"
"Horse apples!" snorted Jorian. "I warned him to let me alone. When he would not, I defended myself. Besides, I did not slay him; the tiger did. But enough legalistics; march!"
Soon after dusk, Judge Grallon, his wrists tied by a strip of cloth cut from Jorian's blanket, stumbled up to the front door of the Golden Ibex. Behind him came Jorian, covering him with a cocked crossbow; then Margalit and Kynoc, the last leading the mule.
At jorian's command, Kynoc went into the inn and brought out his uncle Turonus, who whistled at the sight. "What is this, Master Nikko? Some quarrel or feud? Not in my inn—"
"Never mind your inn," said Jorian. "Your other guests were after my head. Give me the reckoning, pray."
Turonus felt in the pocket of his apron and brought out a stack of thin wooden tablets threaded on a thong. He leafed through these until he came to Jorian's and presented it.