"Now!" a voice snapped, from across the river behind her.
Tantaerra whirled around in time to see Molthuni soldier after Molthuni soldier stand up amid the tall grass on the far riverbank, aim and fire a crossbow, then duck down again to bob up once more, mere moments later, with a second cocked and loaded crossbow, and fire again. Flame flared among them, and became a high-arcing bolt trailing blazing strips of cloth, that fell into the river and went out with a sigh. A second fire-quarrel followed, and a third, the last one landing high in the leaves of a Nirmathi riverbank tree, that promptly blazed up with a sudden crackle.
In its light, The Masked and Tantaerra could clearly see that of the score or more Nirmathi who'd emerged to capture two wet invaders, only three were unscathed, with five groaning wounded-and all the rest now fallen, sprawled still with bolts protruding from them, and dark trails of blood sinking into the mud.
"Thank you!" called the voice that had snapped the order to fire, and this time Tantaerra knew it. The deep-voiced Telcanor officer who'd fed them back in the hollow. He and his men must have been moving downriver under cover all this time, just waiting for Nirmathi to show themselves.
Then branches snapped and underbrush crackled, and the three surviving Nirmathi who'd been crouching and drawing back from the exposed riverbank were joined by a dozen more.
Three had bows, and died under a hissing hail of fire from the Molthuni force. The others surged down the bank at The Masked.
From the Molthune side of the river arose a great whirring of windlasses as crossbows were hastily cranked, but with seven or more swords against The Masked's sword and dagger, wielded by a man lower than his assailants and mired in the soft and sucking river mud, the Molthuni would have to reload very quickly, or their next volley would come too late …
Tantaerra hurried to a stone she could see protruding from the mud, hoping it was large and settled enough to be stable under her as she threw daggers. Not that she had enough of them to bite all the Nirmathi now warily advancing on The Masked, even if every hurled blade counted.
The Masked didn't wait to be hewn down. He backed into the water toward Tantaerra, snapping, "To me!" over his shoulder at her.
The one Nirmathi who decided to rush him discovered the hard way just how soft and deeply sucking the mud where The Masked had been standing was. He struggled to stay upright, plunging to his knees in the wet holes the masked man's boots had left behind. It was a fight he lost.
The Masked pounced ruthlessly, slashing the back of the man's neck and then springing onto his falling body with both knees, driving the Nirmathi's face deep into the slurry of water and mud and water trying to be mud.
The man writhed briefly, then lay still-and The Masked stood on him, going into a warrior's crouch, sword and dagger ready.
The Nirmathi drew back, looking to the trees behind. They were still contemplating returning to cover when a tall, broad-shouldered man strode out of those trees, hefting a battleaxe. Grinning savagely, he stalked down the muddy bank right at The Masked. The other Nirmathi parted to let him through, and he loomed up over the intruder from across the river, let out a triumphant yell, and raised his axe high for a vicious chop.
He was still bellowing bloodthirstily when a crossbow bolt took him under the chin with a thud that rocked him, set him to gargling, and made the axe fly from his hands. It struck the Nirmathi beside him senseless and toppling into the moonlit river with a mighty splash.
Into the heart of this man, The Masked sheathed both blades, then leaned over in the mud with arm outstretched and plucked Tantaerra off her feet. Hauling her against his chest, he snarled, "Play dead!"
His other hand grabbed a good fistful of the gurgling, dying axe-man's tunic-front and pulled the Nirmathi down on top of them both as he flung himself over backward into the Inkwater.
Tantaerra's gasp was almost a shriek, but the icy chill robbed her of breath. Amid all the humming crossbow bolts, thrumming arrows, and eagerly murderous Nirmathi, it suddenly struck her just how shockingly, breath-robbingly cold it was.
They went deep, bubbles thundering and coiling around her, unseen slimy rocks bruising and bumping, then slowly rose back up toward the moon …probably a long way downstream of where all those Nirmathi now lay dead. The Masked was hauling her face free of the river, but he wasn't thrashing about or swimming, just drifting as the racing river swept them along.
He was playing dead, just as he'd commanded her to. Well, this was one order she'd obey. Tantaerra blinked water from her eyes and let herself go still, staring up at the stars.
And promptly saw arrows speeding past over her, from Nirmathas.
Then came a hail of Molthuni crossbow bolts racing past in the other direction. Grunts and choking cries arose, then splashes, as dying and dead men toppled into the Inkwater to join her. Nirmathi casualties, all, but then she was too far from the Molthuni bank to see or hear any dead soldiers of Molthune falling in.
She started to shiver, and knew The Masked could feel it. His arm was under and around her, and he gave her shoulder a squeeze of reassurance. She felt his body twist in a slow, careful kick that sent the dead Nirmathi toward Nirmathas …but not away from them, which meant the masked man must have his foot hooked around the corpse.
Would they get tangled, and dragged down? Did he need one of her knives? No, this must be deliberate, must be …she felt the corpse strike something that bumped and slowed it, then hit something else, then snag.
Of course. The Masked was using the dead man like an anchor or grapple, to snag on rocks and roots and suchlike along the Nirmathi bank. While trying to look to any watching Nirmathi eyes as if they were all dead bodies being swept downstream by the river.
Suddenly the moonlight was blotted out, and the corpse, which had been rolled free of the snag by the relentless Inkwater, caught on something else.
In a trice The Masked was kicking and clawing in the river, dislodged stones rolling under them as he snatched and thrashed and finally caught hold of something, rolling them both clear of the rushing waters, into a tangle of exposed roots and heaped stones. A leaning overhang of trees that were well on the way to toppling into the river hid them from the moon-and hopefully from any watching Nirmathi.
The axe-man's body was thankfully gone, swept farther down the river. Tantaerra discovered the bundle lashed to her leg was gone too, lost somewhere in all the tumbling and tumult-and she knew from seeing The Masked facing those Nirmathi on the muddy bank earlier that he'd lost his. Which meant they were without food, wineskins, blankets, and any clothes beyond what was plastered to them now, sodden and cold.
"C-c-cold," Tantaerra hissed at him, through blue and trembling lips, just in case he was thinking of hiding here.
"We'll warm up by getting as far from here as we can before dawn," he muttered back. "Come on!"
He clambered up over the edge of the overhang, drawn sword menacing boughs, thick leaves, and Nirmathi foes who weren't there. Tantaerra swarmed up some of those branches after him, and he set off along one edge of the bushes in a cautious crawl, heading inland.
Only to freeze, as someone groaned very close by. A wet drizzling sound followed, then a man said roughly, "Ohhhh, that's better. What was in that fireguzzle, anyway? Teach me to trust Zostur!"
"Wasn't Zostur's cheap wine," another man replied sourly, from farther off. "'Twas the stew."
"The stew? I hardly had any!"
"Doesn't take much, Keln. I watered half riverside Nirmathas the last time I tried Braeron's stew. Learn this well, lad: you have to pay attention to who's doing the cooking, and eat accordingly. That's just wise strategy, that is!"