his arm even as his own blade cut across Corwin's face, laying open his cheek to the bone.
Corwin, bellowing in rage, dived back in, blade flashing. Richard backed up, left hand clasped to his side, strength draining away and then the world seemed to spin around as he fell off the outcrop of rock. He fell, world tumbling end over end and then there was darkness.
He awoke to agony, the salty taste of blood in his mouth, and experienced a moment of terror, as he expected to see Corwin above him, having already cut out his tongue.
He waited for a moment, cautiously looking around, and then tried to sit up, but the slightest movement sent a wave of agony through him. Coughing, he spat up a foam of blood.
He tried to make sense of his surroundings, for the ground seemed to rise up beside him. He blinked and realized he was not where he had fought Corwin, but on a ledge a few feet below his hiding spot. He must have fallen over the edge when Corwin struck him. He wondered why he was still alive, then considered the drop.
The fat false-priest could hardly have climbed down to finish him off, and probably thought him already dead, or close enough that the cold would complete the task. And the slash he had given him to his face probably had him off somewhere trying to staunch the flow of blood.
With hazy vision he looked around and then, ever so slowly, stood up, with every muscle crying out in pain. He saw a small rock at knee level protruding from the face of the bank and stepped upon it.
Heaving himself upward, he almost fainted as he gripped the ledge above. Knowing he had but one chance, he forced himself to take a deep breath and pulled himself over. Then he collapsed on the ground and passed out.
Consciousness returned some time later and Richard sat up slowly. He looked at the angle of the sun and realized no more than an hour had passed. He got to his unsteady feet and looked around. The monk was nowhere to be seen. Stumbling, he wove his way back down to the camp. The fire still snapped and crackled in the hut, and there, lying around the fire, were Bewin, Hanson and Luthar. Poisoned by Corwin.
The realization filled him with rage. He leaned over, gasping and coughing and specks of blood splattered onto the snow.
I'm bleeding inside, I'm dying, he thought.
He looked back over his shoulder, wondering if he heard horses approaching. Were they coming already?
Looking up at the sun, he judged that it was well past noon. Corwin must have left him for dead more than an hour ago. Already they could be on the move.
Another spasm of coughing overtook him and he sat down, feeling such an infinite weariness that he was tempted to lie down by the fire and sleep. He fought it off, knowing that it was the dark shadow. Absently, he picked up the sack of brandy lying by Bewin, then remembered what it contained and threw it aside.
Crawling over to the corporal he slowly worked the waist-belt off of the dead man then opened his own tunic. Reaching into Bewin's haversack, he pulled out the field-dressing that Hartraft insisted all of his men carry. For the first time he looked at the puncture wound on his right side between his two lowest ribs. A thin trickle of blood seeped out and with each breath he could almost feel the air leaking away. He pressed the bandage up against the wound then ever so slowly wrapped Bewin's belt around his chest and cinched it in tight to hold the bandage in place. The effort caused him to cry out in anguish. Unable to button his tunic, he left it open and stood up.
Amazingly Corwin had not thought to take the horse tied off behind the hut. It was an old nag, used to haul extra supplies up to the watchers, and was there in case a messenger ever had to get back quickly. Richard knew that the monk didn't like horses, but still he should have taken the beast along – or killed it.
It wasn't even saddled, but the effort of doing that now was beyond him. He led the horse around to the side of a rough-hewn table set in front of the cabin. Richard crawled up on to the table and then clawed his way onto the back of the horse.
Facing down the mountain, back towards Wolfgar's Stockade, he set off. He knew in his soul that it was now a race, twenty miles against death. Who would win the race he wasn't sure. To gallop the old horse would have her wheezing in minutes and probably kill him with blood loss. To walk would mean a half-day's ride back to the garrison.
He gritted his teeth and urged the horse into a canter, settling in with a rocking motion that caused him more pain than he thought he could endure. He held onto the reins and vowed to remain conscious until he reached the Captain.
Throughout the day, except for the brief outdoor ceremony at sunrise, the Tsurani had remained inside the long house, but now, with the setting of the sun, the door had been opened and Asayaga stepped out. Dennis had just completed the sunset parade inspection and his men had stayed in place, talking quietly about the Tsurani.
Asayaga, dressed in full armour approached Dennis and saluted. 'It is the custom to have a feast at the end of the Atonement Day. We request your presence as guests.'
Dennis simply nodded, not sure what to say.
'Will you and your men please follow me?'
Asayaga led the way into the long hall. The great table had been scrubbed clean, plates were laid out, fresh rushes were on the floor, the room was filled with a sweet cloud of incense. The Tsurani were arrayed around the table, an open place between each of them and Asayaga motioned for Dennis's men to take the empty places.
Wolfgar, his daughters, and the other members of the household were already present down to the smallest child. Dennis accepted the place pointed out by Asayaga which placed him between the Tsurani captain and Wolfgar. The Kingdom soldiers were silent, looking around curiously.
Asayaga raised his cup, looking towards Strike Leader Tasemu who stood by the door. He stood at rigid attention and the minutes passed.
Finally Tasemu turned, faced the group and started a sing-song chant, and the other Tsurani joined in. The chant lasted for several minutes and then ended with lowered heads, the chant eerily drifting off into silence. The Tsurani solemnly raised their cups and flagons, drained them, and then slammed the cups down with a loud cheer.
Asayaga turned and bowed to Wolfgar. 'It is custom, that when the Day of Atonement has ended, a man brings into his home any wayfarers upon the road and feasts them. Tonight we are the wayfarers upon the road and we thank you.'
The cups were refilled from great bowls of ale set around the table and all the Tsurani raised a salute to Wolfgar, who stood up smiling, nodding his head in thanks.
Next Asayaga turned to Dennis. 'It is the custom, as well, for a man to then seek one towards whom he feels anger and to extend his hand, clasp his forearm, and to pledge that the year to come shall be free of that anger.'
As he spoke in the language of the Kingdom the other Tsurani fell silent, but from their expressions Dennis sensed they knew what their captain was saying.
'You and I are pledged to a king and an emperor who are at war, Hartraft. We must obey that pledge first. But I ask tonight that we will sit together without rancour, or thought of what we must still decide between each other. We are enemies, Hartraft, but at least tonight let us sit as honoured enemies and share this meal in peace.'
Asayaga started to extend his hand and Dennis did not know how he would react. Actually clasping the hand of a Tsurani in a formal ceremony was something beyond anything he had ever dreamed of doing.
Asayaga hesitated, looking into his eyes, and all in the room fell silent. A flicker of a smile crossed Asayaga's face and, turning aside, he picked up his own cup, filled it, and offered it to Dennis instead.
Caught off guard Dennis took the cup without even thinking and a ripple of laughter echoed in the great hall followed by a flurry of activity as the Tsurani soldiers took their own cups, filled them again and offered them to the Kingdom soldiers.
Dennis, nodding, raised his cup, tipped it slightly in salute to Asayaga and then drained it. A cheer resounded throughout the long hall. He put the cup back down.
'There are times, Asayaga,' Dennis whispered, 'when I almost forget that you are Tsurani.'
'And there are times I forget you are Hartraft of the Marauders, Dennis,' Asayaga replied.
Dennis could not help but offer a grudging smile and picking up his own cup, which had yet to be touched, he offered it to Asayaga, who drained it.
Tsurani soldiers who had been sitting at the back of the hall left the table and returned seconds later with steaming platters piled high with cold slices of roasted meats, which had been prepared the day before and soon all were sitting, eating their fill, the room abuzz with conversation, the men finding it amusing to fill each other's drinking cups and then press the cups into the hands of their neighbours, forcing them to drink.
