fell.
At the end of the wagon, Morven caught canvas and hung on, stalling the tipover. A rider barked at his own mount, no doubt to pull harder. Hampered by his heavy axe, his shoulder burning as if lightning-struck, Gull caught hold of a side and clung desperately, dragging the wagon back down.
But a saber blade slammed wood near his head, and he had to drop.
He'd forgotten the two knights inside the circle.
It was too late to dodge, for the saber descended again, a silver sliver like a new moon. Gull raised his axe.
Too late.
Instead of striking, the knight arched and twisted, flailed his arm wildly, pitched half out of the saddle. His blade slammed the canted wagon wheel, whacked an iron chip from the rim.
Supported by only a stirrup, the knight hung in the saddle. He seemed unable to grab anything, as if palsied. His head twitched from invisible slaps. The other knight in the cramped circle acted the same.
Gull stared. Whence came this affliction? And where had Gull seen it before?
Then he remembered. It had happened to him!
Quickly, he cast about. Towser's wagon. The magician was framed against the silver sky, stripes burning white and black. In one hand was the scepter he'd used on Gull, that which 'turned attacks aside.'
Gull knew how. It spasmed your muscles.
For a short time.
Even now, the knight jerkily dragged himself back into the saddle. But he'd lost his saber. The other marauder kept his seat. But neither man was attacked, and Gull wondered if Towser had also palsied his bodyguards.
No matter. He whirled to grab at the chuck wagon again.
Too late.
Despite the weight of Morven and the lashed horse, the wagon creaked, shuddered, then crashed onto its side.
Felda's scream ended as something crashed atop her. Greensleeves spun, light as thistledown, and rolled in the dirt. The three knights had dropped their lines, but the girl's sudden appearance underfoot spooked the black horses, who shied.
With the wagon flopped over, Towser had a clear line of sight. Waving his wand, he shot his spell.
A rider howled as muscles cramped. Even the horse threw its head, and the knight toppled from the saddle. Another's arm cramped so hard he dragged his horse half 'round, and the beast bolted as if from bee stings. The third man, seeing the silhouette of a wizard pointing a wand, reared his horse for partial protection, backed it expertly.
'Use the rock hydra!' shouted Gull. 'It'd terrify the horses!'
'Hydras are day beasts! They need sun to fight!' Towser snarled, 'Keep your advice, pawn!'
The backing knight let his horse drop to all fours. Out of the wand's range, he called some garbled phrase, an insult. The wizard shrilled back-the first time Gull had seen him angry. The knight laughed. Behind Towser, a vision in white poked out its head: a dancing girl, too curious for her own good.
Knights had scampered out of range to regain their saddles. With a mock salute, the laughing horseman, their captain perhaps, barked to his comrades. Kicking their heels, they made to ride off.
'We just let them go?' Gull asked the air.
Then he ducked.
Rather than circle the wagons, the boisterous knights charged the gap. Hooting, laughing, they thundered through the center as bodyguards scrambled. One snatched the reins of the lashed horse, but failed to jerk them loose and let go.
Towser jumped for the safety of his wagon interior. Gull heard the canvas curtain tear.
Someone was too slow.
The ghostly white figure stood abandoned on the wagon seat.
As the black captain's horse vaulted the wagon tongue, the man hooked the dancing girl.
With a squall, she slammed across the saddle, belly down. She kicked and squirmed, but a gloved fist bashed her neck and stunned her.
Laughing, the black captain rallied his troops. Like a murder of crows, they flocked together, he with a prize, the rest with bruises and wounds. Chopped loam dotted the air behind them.
By then Gull had realized.
'Lily!'
CHAPTER 11
Gull stooped for his axe, whipped loose the reins of the captive horse, jumped to the saddle, hissed as his rump wound stung. Yet he shrieked 'Hyah!' and took off in hot pursuit.
Of armored, armed, and expert knights, while he was naked but for a kilt and axe.
Well, as his father used to say, 'You can but try.'
The well-trained horse shot the gap between wagons and thundered after its mates. Morven shouted, 'Get 'em, Gull!' The woodcutter put his head down and tried to keep the saddle. He'd ridden plow horses before, bareback, for fun.
Still, he could but try.
Ahead, the company of knights split. The captain with Lily-her white-clad fanny and legs were bright in the dark-and two riders pounded right while the others sheared off. Why, Gull couldn't say. They must be ordered back to the other wizard 'Hey!' He spoke aloud, surprising himself. Where was the other wizard, the duelist? So far they'd sustained attacks by zombies, lions, and cavalry, but had yet to see who'd launched the attack. When would this mystery wizard appear?
And what sort of fiend ripped zombies from the grave?
For that matter, had this crowd made the wagon tracks Morven had found earlier? If so, where were the wagons? And why had Towser's entourage gotten here first?
'Never mind!' he chided himself. 'Questions later!'
Squeezing with his knees, he spanked the black horse with the axe head. Surprised by the whap on its flanks, it spurted ahead until he neared the rearmost knight. Clear of Towser's wrecked camp, the trio had slowed.
The laggard paid for their laxity with his life.
With no finesse, only brute strength, Gull steered straight along his left side. Missing the hoofbeats in his muffling helmet, the man turned at the last moment, startled to see a half-naked wild-eyed monster upon him.
Gull swung his axe one-handed, the blow soft because his bad shoulder was weakening. Yet the sharp bit thudded into the knight's back. Spine severed, he flopped forward over the saddle pommel.
Wrenching his weapon free, Gull passed the dying knight, pounding, snorting as much as the horse.
The middle rider, sensing something wrong, turned, black against a black forest. No horseman, Gull had to approach the man's right, his saber side.
Thousands of hours of training showed, for the knight freed his weapon in a second. Out flashed the blade to shimmer in the moonlight. The man swung it flat, either to slash the horse's face or the rider's.
Gull had no protection, no idea what to do, so instinctively threw his axe high. The act saved his life.
The curved blade smacked the hickory handle, skidded, clanged off the axe head. Gull swore, glad he'd gripped low. He'd hate to lose fingers off his right hand, too.
He kicked his mount viciously, driving it into the knight, crowding, spoiling his aim. The knight spurred to gain elbow room, but Gull stayed close. Probably it was only the insanity of his attack that kept him alive.
In fact -he tossed his axe to his rein hand, stabbed with his left.
His arm bobbed to the pounding of the horse over the uneven terrain. (Where were these knights bound?) He snatched at the knight's cloak, missed, leaned from the saddle, shoved past his sword arm, caught an armor strap -and hauled.
