ride ahead of the rest of you. When we get close, I’ll charge. If my horse does what he should, and yours don’t show any signs of balking, you charge after me. Otherwise, abandon your mounts and engage the enemy on foot.”
“Khouryn said that charging together is-”
“The moving wall. I remember. But it’s my risk, not yours. So, are you game?”
Jhiri shrugged. “When you put it that way, why not?” She turned and shouted, “Mount up!”
As the riders maneuvered, some of the hunched brown creatures assailed them with blasts of sand. Medrash actually welcomed the harassment, because the horses bore it without panicking. He hoped it had a beneficial effect on the confidence of the warriors riding behind him. In truth, he himself was glad to see a bit of evidence that Balasar’s hunch was correct.
Although the real test was yet to come. He turned the roan toward the massed giants. Patting the animal’s neck, he said, “Do this, and I’ll bring you apples for the rest of your days.” Then he urged the steed into motion.
The roan moved forward, picking up speed until he was galloping, never wavering. The giants were busy watching or fighting other foes, and the horse covered a surprising amount of distance before anyone noticed him. Then one of the barbarians pivoted and hurled a big flint hatchet.
Medrash raised his shield, angled in such a way that the weapon ought to glance off. As it did, although the impact still jolted him back in the saddle.
Despite the bang, the horse still didn’t balk. Medrash couched his lance.
The giant who’d thrown the hatchet tried to dodge. Medrash compensated by nudging the roan with his knee. The lance punched into the middle of the barbarian’s chest, and his long gray legs with their knobby knees folded beneath him.
Medrash tried to jerk the lance free, but it was buried too deep, and that and his own momentum tore the shaft from his grip. As he hurtled onward, a lone rider with foes towering on every side, he snatched his sword from its scabbard.
A spear jabbed at the horse’s flank, and he had to lean sideways to catch the thrust on his shield. As he heaved himself upright again, a sort of flail-rocks in a leather mesh bag-whirled at him. Somehow he shifted the battered heater quickly enough to catch that blow as well.
He slashed at the spine of a giant that still had its back to him. Unfortunately, that was the last one slow to react to his intrusion. Others moved in from every side. He wheeled his mount, looking for a way through. He couldn’t find one.
Then, hooves pounding, lances making cracking sounds when they snapped, Jhiri’s charge smashed into the giants. It really was like a racing wall with long spikes sticking out, and for an instant as it hurtled forward, Medrash felt a pang of fear that it would sweep him away along with the hulking foes surrounding him. It didn’t, though. By dint of Khouryn’s training or simple luck, the nearest riders galloped past without spearing or running into him.
When he looked at the slaughter they left in their wake, he suddenly felt certain that even without the vanquisher to lead them, the dragonborn were going to carry the day.
SEVEN
12-15 KYTHORN THE YEAR OF THE AGELESS ONE (1479 DR)
We’ve had griffon riders harassing them for days,” said Aoth. “Loosing an arrow or two, then flying away. Presumably, they’re sick of it and will jump at the chance to dish out some punishment in return. Especially when you consider that all those big beasts must eat a lot of meat, and men too stupid to run away will make a meal or two.”
Shala Karanok frowned. “Maybe. If they don’t realize that the small force they see before them is just the bait in a trap.” She waved a gauntleted hand at the oaks and elms that surrounded them. “Are you sure you can hide so many men in these little patches of woods?”
His red hair gleaming in a shaft of sunlight that penetrated the interlaced branches overhead, Gaedynn said, “We’re good at hiding, High Lady, especially my skirmishers.”
Aoth noted that despite Shala’s reduced status, the archer had still used a form of address indicative of great respect. He approved in principle, but wondered how Tchazzar felt about it.
But perhaps it would be more sensible to wonder if the living god even heard. Tchazzar stood gazing to the east. Toward the Sky Riders, although a person couldn’t see the hills with all the trees in the way.
“Besides,” Gaedynn continued, “we have wizards with a knack for veils. Isn’t that right, Oraxes?”
The sharp-featured youth gave a brusque nod. Strands of his long, greasy black hair stuck out from under the steel and leather helmet he’d taken to wearing.
Hasos made a sour face. Tchazzar could decree that his subjects had to stop persecuting arcanists, but he couldn’t make them stop fearing and mistrusting them in their hearts.
Well, choke on it, thought Aoth. Despite the trouble in Tchazzar’s temple, he still outranked the baron in military matters, and as long as he did, they’d use every trick they had available.
He turned to Jhesrhi. She looked odd in her fine new cloak and robe, but the scowl marring her lovely face was much the same as ever. “And you can still play your games with the wind?” he asked.
“I think so,” she said. As though simply turning her mind to the subject had roused it, a breeze gusted, toying with her yellow hair and wafting the scent of fresh spring verdure. “It would have helped if I’d reached this spot sooner-”
“But I suppose there were dances to dance,” Gaedynn said.
Jhesrhi glowered. So did Aoth. He had some idea of what was rankling Gaedynn. He even sympathized. But it was not the time for the Aglarondan to vent his feelings.
Fortunately, Tchazzar still appeared distracted.
“If I’d had a few days,” Jhesrhi said with an edge in her voice, “I could have done a thorough job of making friends with the winds. But they are restless on these plains. Angry from time to time. With the proper combination of insistence and propitiation, we mages should be able to induce them to do our bidding.”
The petite, impish-looking Meralaine said, “Lady, forgive me if you already know this, but the spirits of the air aren’t the only restless ones hereabouts.”
“I have sensed something,” Jhesrhi said, “but maybe not as much as you.”
“People lived here a long time ago.” Meralaine gestured toward a stone wrapped in helmthorn vine. It was hard to make out behind the long black thorns and green berries, and little more than a worn, rounded lump. Still, Aoth could tell that once it had possessed a sharp-edged regular shape that only tools could give. “Things didn’t end well for them. I can’t hear everything they’re whispering-not in daylight, not without going into a trance-but I think a dragon came.”
“That’s good!” Oraxes said, surprising Aoth. He’d thought the lad disliked Meralaine, but evidently things had changed while he was away. “If they have a grudge against dragons, then they should want to help us fight the ones from Threskel.”
“Wait,” Hasos said. “Are you talking about summoning the undead?”
“It’s her particular gift,” Gaedynn said, “and she used it to good effect when we were saving your town.”
“Well, she didn’t use it with my permission,” Hasos said.
“She didn’t need it,” said Aoth. “She doesn’t now either.”
Hasos sneered. “Of course a Thayan mage doesn’t see the evil in necromancy.”
“I see we’re in for a tough fight,” said Aoth. “I see we need every edge we can get.”
Shala gave the baron a troubled gaze. “I don’t like it either,” she said. “Still, Captain Fezim has a point.”
“Does he?” Tchazzar said.
Startled, Aoth pivoted. In human shape, Tchazzar was as imposing and magnetic a warlord as he’d ever met. But even so, he’d been so remote since the start of the discussion that one could forget he was even there.
Shala hesitated. “I think so, Majesty.”
“Even though your god himself will lead you into battle.”
