The light dimmed, then vanished and a reproachful voice came out of the darkness. ‘Drago, we can’t see a damn thing out here,’ it said.
Drago was unsympathetic. ‘Neither can I now, you fish head,’ he said angrily, screwing up his eyes. ‘Just get those horses here.’
Yengar and Olvric exchanged glances. That torch…?
But that would have to be considered later. Now, other thoughts were more pressing. Losing the horses would be bad enough, but the Morlider couldn’t be allowed to take the Queen.
Yengar took a chance. ‘How long is your ship going to wait for you, Drago?’ he said. ‘If the Muster know you’re here, they’ll be patrolling the coast for it. Can you really afford to burden yourself with this?’ He nodded towards Sylvriss.
Drago’s eyes narrowed.
‘I was a cadet runner at the end of the war,’ Yengar said, answering the unspoken question. ‘And I’ve got kin in Riddin. I know something about your people and I know how the Muster work. It’s an ill tide that’s brought you here, but if you’ve not hurt anyone there’s a fair chance that even now they’ll let you reach your ship and leave. But if they see you’ve taken a woman… ’ He looked significantly at Drago and pitched his voice in the tone of a friendly adviser. ‘I don’t know what law obliges you to take her, but I’d put the law of survival above it if I were you.’
Drago looked uncertain again, but before he could speak, Symm and the others returned with the horses. Their appearance seemed to decide him.
He looked distastefully at the horses. ‘I don’t like these things,’ he said. ‘But they’ll be quicker than walking and might even confuse the Muster at a distance if they think we’re still on foot.’
He thrust his axe into his belt, and took Sylvriss by the arm. ‘You’d better ride with me,’ he said, pulling her forward. Then, turning to her, ‘I don’t know how you behave with these minnows here, lady, but you give me any trouble and you’ll travel unconscious across my lap.’ He offered her his fist again in token of this promise. ‘It’s your choice. Now mount up.’
Head bowed, Sylvriss walked to her horse and, with elaborate clumsiness, hoisted herself into the saddle. Yengar noticed her whispering to the horse in the process.
Drago reached up and prepared to join her, but as he did so, Sylvriss cried out and tugged on the reins. Screaming, the horse reared and spun round several times, knocking Drago to the ground and scattering both men and horses. Then she was gone, the sound of her horse pounding into the night.
Yengar had expected the Queen to take some action once she was mounted, but even so, the suddenness of her response left him gaping momentarily.
Angry roaring from Drago brought Yengar back to the present. There would be no more debate now. He swung round and struck the nearest man in the face with the edge of his clenched fist. The blow did little harm but it stunned the man sufficiently for Yengar to seize the large knife that was thrust in his belt.
Olvric was less considerate. Symm’s eyes lit up sav-agely at the change in temper of his leader and he strode towards Olvric, purposefully reaching for his knife. He drew it with the same elaborate flourish he had used before. It was obviously a habit he had cultivated for the purpose of intimidating his victims, and as such it was a mistake, as Olvric demonstrated by delivering a brutal blow to his jaw in the middle of the performance. The impact sent Symm sprawling face downwards on the ground and there was a quality in the sound of it which told Yengar that Olvric had used his iron knuckle protectors.
Instinctively, the two Goraidin moved back to back, but they were joined almost immediately by the four High Guards who had tumbled out of the shelter as soon as the first blow was struck.
Swords were handed hastily to the two Goraidin, and the six men formed themselves into a close circle.
Recovering quickly, the Morlider formed a larger, more hesitant circle around them.
‘You’re High Guards, all of you,’ Drago snarled con-temptuously. ‘I should’ve smelt it.’
He pointed to Yengar. ‘Cadet runner.’ He spat. ‘If you were anything, you were one of Rgoric’s infantry. I should’ve cut you all down when you crawled out of your hole.’
Yengar made no sign.
Drago’s fist opened and closed. ‘I lost kin and friends at the hands of your people,’ he said.
‘As did I at the hands of yours, Morlider,’ Yengar replied, unable to keep his own anger from his voice but still searching for a peaceful conclusion to the confron-tation. ‘Do you want us both to lose more here? You shouldn’t have come then, and you shouldn’t have come now. Take the horses and go while you’ve the chance.’
‘Not until I’ve settled my debts,’ Drago replied, heft-ing his axe. ‘Old and new.’
‘That woman you manhandled was no Fyordyn Lord’s plaything,’ Yengar said. ‘She’s a Muster officer and the daughter of one of Riddin’s most respected homes. She also knows the country round here amp;mdashshe’ll have the Muster down on you within hours. Run while you can.’
Most of the Morlider seemed inclined to agree, but Yengar knew that having been humiliated by a woman, Drago would have to make some mark on his adversar-ies, no matter what the consequences. The questions was, what?
The answer became immediately apparent as the big man drew his axe and pushed aside the man to his right to leave a space in which he could swing it. Yengar knew that when he threw it, he couldn’t fail to bring someone down.
‘You should’ve brought your shields, High Guard,’ Drago said.
Olvric spoke in the battle language. ‘Yengar, feint straight at him, then take the man on his right. I’ll feint left and then deal with him when you move across. When we go, the rest of you keep together, charge the opposite side of the circle. Get out into the darkness and hide until they’ve gone. No stupid heroics. Your duty’s to the Queen. Find her and get her to Dremark.’
The four Guards acknowledged the order.
Drago grimaced at the meaningless chatter, but said nothing. His arm started its upward journey, the honed edge of his axe damp and glinting in the rain-streaked torchlight. Yengar felt the movement, as well as saw it, and he knew that Olvric would be responding the same way. Just before the axe reached its zenith, the two of them would surge forward across the treacherous wet ground, to strike at both Drago and the man to his right who was preparing to follow his leader’s example. There would not be even the briefest hesitation, nor any pity; that could mean their deaths. The man had committed himself to this path and had thus placed his own life as forfeit in the game.
The arm and its lethal burden seemed to continue upward for an eternity. Though Yengar knew he would be giving no outward sign, he felt both his body and his mind tilting towards the balance point.
Then it was there!
‘Stop!’ A powerful voice cut through the intensity.
Drago faltered, and the moment was gone.
Yengar almost lurched forward, then he turned in dismay. The voice was Sylvriss’s. What’s she doing? he thought desperately. She’ll get us all killed and herself taken for sure.
Slowly Sylvriss emerged out of the darkness and stood at the edge of the torchlight, horse and rider a strange shadowed vision.
‘Drago,’ she said. ‘I’m Sylvriss, Queen of Fyorlund, and daughter of Urthryn, Ffyrst of Riddin. I will excuse your offence against my person because you know little better, but your presence here offends against our laws, and I cannot excuse that. I command you and your men to lay down your weapons.’
For a moment, Drago stared at her, seemingly awed. But that moment, too, passed.
‘Woman,’ he said, ‘all I can see is a fool on a horse. You should’ve kept on riding. When we’ve dealt with your "servants" here, we’ll deal with you, Muster wench or no.’
Sylvriss rode forward, more fully into the light. She raised her hand.
The Goraidin and the High Guards saw it first; torches flickering into life out in the surrounding darkness. Yengar looked round quickly. The lights were all around them, each swaying from side to side gently.