Taken by surprise, used to battling saber to saber, not hand to hand, the knight yanked his reins to stay in the saddle. But that only pulled the horse's head around, stalling it. Gull strained like a block and tackle, shouting, screaming in the man's face, clinging like a leech.
The knight tried to bash Gull with his saber guard, but the woodcutter ducked, clutched tighter to his horse, leg muscles cramping, and yanked again, grunting with the effort.
A random bump, a space under the knight's seat, and he left the saddle.
As soon as he was airborne, Gull let go.
Riding on, laughing, he heard thumps and curses behind.
But only one rider concerned him. The captain ahead, with Lily across his saddle.
'Prepare yourself!' the woodcutter howled. Limbering up, he swung the axe to the end of the haft, slung it behind him. 'Remember White Ridge!'
Despite riding hard and clutching the struggling dancing girl, the black rider had seen his comrades fall. He kicked his mount to stay ahead. Gull reckoned him a coward, or else too proud to give battle. Or maybe he wanted to escape with his prize.
Barking commands at his mount, the knight cut Gull's path, slid around a tree too big to die in the fire. The rider then slewed around another tree, making the mount dance. They approached the lip of the star crater. On more open ground, the captain would have the advantage. Pusuing a veteran horseman on a splendid horse, Gull would never catch him.
Unless he threw his only weapon.
He saw no alternative, for his own horse was foundering. The captain, on the better mount, would escape with Lily.
And if man and mount returned to whatever land they'd been summoned from (by this unknown wizard), Lily would go too, and Gull would lose her.
Suddenly Gull didn't want to lose Lily.
Rising in bare feet in the stirrups, bouncing wildly as the horse bounded and slewed, Gull hoisted the long, heavy axe over his shoulder and pitched it. He grunted with the effort, crashed in the saddle so as not to spill off. To lose the chase was to lose Lily.
The axe spun like ball lightning. Too low, haft first, it dinged the horse on the rump, bounced off the captain's back, ricocheted into the black-green undergrowth.
Nothing, thought Gull. His last shot gone.
But it was enough.
Touched in mid-stride, the horse crowhopped in the air. Burdened with a struggling Lily, the black captain tugged the reins, hollered to calm the animal, but confused by commands and the odd touch, it balked.
Or did it shy for some other reason? Gull couldn't see what.
No matter. For a second, the enemy was still.
Gull kept coming. And hit them.
With no weapon save his body, he steered his blowing horse alongside the captain's, plucked feet from the stirrups, hopped one foot to the saddle pad, and leaped.
An awkward leap in darkness from a surging platform toward a moving target. But again, enough.
Gull's right hand batted the captain's shoulder, slipped off, snagged his cloak. His bad shoulder banged the man's back, and Gull growled with pain, for the knights wore a backplate too. Slipping, his ribs slammed the saddle cantle, creaking and winding him. But his left found purchase on the captain's reins, and Gull hung on. He could smell the captain, smoke and manure and garlic and perfume. He heard guttural curses. Lily bleated as Gull's elbow rammed her lower back.
Thumped once more by a strange source, the horse sidestepped.
Thus Gull learned why the beast had balked.
They perched on the very lip of the star crater.
The horse lost its footing.
Three humans and one animal howled as they spilled over the edge in a tangle of arms, legs, horseflesh, black and white clothes.
The dark horizon whirled past Gull's vision. He was head up, then head down. The captain's cloak fluttered around him. Lily's white legs whapped his jaw. The woodcutter's stomach lurched, and he tasted vomit. He must be flying upside down.
And if he spilled after the captain, he might be crushed under a toppling horse. Gull let go.
Besides, he'd stopped the captain. He needed to recover first.
Slamming hard on bare feet, he skidded on his sore backside in loose soil churned by the horse's hooves. He banged a rock with his ankle, stabbed out a hand and missed the earth-he must be spinning frightfully-rapped hard enough to sprain his wrist.
Yelping, he tumbled after horse and rider. And Lily.
It was darker than ever, for the Mist Moon dropped behind shattered trees, splintering as if the moon itself cracked. But the yellow sand of the crater gave its own luminous light, as if the fallen star still glowed within the earth.
By this fitful light, Gull saw the captain and his mount part company.
The black rider kicked free of the saddle and tumbled backward over his mount's rump. Freed of the top- heavy weight, the horse didn't roll, but scrabbled legs madly, still sliding down the slope. Afraid to jump off, Lily clung to the cinch straps, jouncing like a white grain sack tied across the pommel.
The captain gained his feet, leaned on the steep slope, and snatched at his belt. Drawing his saber, Gull knew. He growled curses at the woodcutter above him.
Gull was angry enough to shout back at this seasoned soldier. 'Have at you, then!' He charged down the shifting slope in a shower of dirt and gravel.
Running from higher up, he gained speed until he almost flew at each bound. He expected that silver sickle saber to swing his way, and no doubt he'd impale himself if the man raised it in time. Yet for some reason, the captain couldn't draw.
With a flash, Gull knew why. The tumble had bent the steel scabbard and trapped the blade.
Shrieking, the woodcutter leaped high and hit the struggling captain with both feet square in the breastplate.
His impetus knocked them apart. Both rolled toward the bottom of the crater.
When Gull had stopped rolling and pushed upright, he found the captain charging. From a sheath on his right the knight whipped out a long white blade, croaked a strange command.
The knife caught fire in his hand.
More damned magic, thought the woodcutter. A blade that burned. Would it hurt more or less than a normal blade?
Scars of Scarzam! but he hated magic!
Yelling a shuddery battle cry, the captain halted, set his feet, and slashed toward Gull's gut.
The woodcutter responded with the only thing he had, a handful of dirt. The gritty shower hit the captain in the face, but he'd seen Gull stoop. He opened his eyes and jeered.
Gull backed as the knife sliced the air, back and forth. Blown flat by the wind, the blade's fire dimmed to nothing, then flared again. Gull found it hypnotic.
Missing a step, Gull lurched sideways, almost fell as his bad knee buckled. Behind him was the pit where they'd dug up the shooting star-the pink stone box.
He had no place left to go but into the hole Though unfamiliar with the ground, the captain saw the black hole yawning at his opponent's feet. Hollering, he rushed to knock Gull back bodily.
Instead, the woodcutter ducked low as a toadstool. But the captain stamped and stopped too. And swiped.
The white-hot blade kissed Gull's already-shredded shoulder. A crackling was his skin burning. He smelled charred flesh. The wound felt ice-cold and yet raging hot. Gull cried out, stabbed with his hands. He batted the captain in the knee, only brushing him aside.
If he spilled backward into the pit, he'd be trapped like a mouse in a flour barrel. If he tried to crawl or run, he'd take a blade through the back.
