battle-ax collapsed and fell from his horse just as he was about to swing down upon one of Aradia's men who was engaged with another of the enemy. In another skirmish of three on one, two suddenly turned and began fighting one another, although both wore the black dragon of Drakonius' livery.
Unsure of how much protection Aradia would need, Lenardo drew hi$ sword. Instantly, one of the savages was on him, hiding behind a stout leather shield as he hacked at Lenardo. The Reader thrust, his blade was knocked aside, and he stepped back-to feel his footing give way as his boot sole slid in the mud created by blood mixed with the dry earth. As if stout arms had caught him, he was set upright, able to skewer his opponent, who had dropped his shield to give his own sword arm free swing, thrusting at the man he expected to be down and floundering.
Pulling his weapon from the groaning savage, Lenardo looked up to see Aradia's wolfish smile. At that moment another man knelt, pointing at Aradia, sighting along his arm as if along an arrow. 'Aradia,' Lenardo warned, pointing, 'what's he-?'
She turned swiftly, and the man groaned, clutched at his chest, and collapsed. 'Had others joined,' she said grimly, 'a group of even these very minor Adepts could destroy a weakened Lord Adept. Thank you, Lenardo.'
Then they were moving on, Lenardo finding himself fighting off those who tried to reach Aradia whenever she paused to concentrate-and her pauses became longer and more intent as she grew more tired. She became more and more Readable, her panting breath roaring in her ears as she expended her energy, not to-win a decisive victory through her Adept powers, but to even the odds so that her troops could win for themselves. The word that she was there was spreading rapidly; her soldiers redoubled their efforts, and slowly the battle turned, the enemy driven back.
Aradia moved off to one side, where several of her men were crowded into a tight little circle, back to back, presenting a bristle of weapons to a far larger force of the enemy. Enemy troops began to drop, one by one, as Aradia approached. Someone turned, saw her, and cried, 'Get the bitch!' Another man grabbed a pikestaff, and flung it like a javelin, while beyond them several bowmen heard the cry and nocked their arrows despite the poor visibility. The rain of weapons was deflected as if an iron shield were placed an arm's length before Aradia's face, but Lenardo felt the effort drain her. She stumbled, then sagged in a faint.
Lenardo leaped to her side, with one blow slicing off the arm of a man thrusting at her. He snatched her up and backed off as her own men broke their tight formation to race to her rescue. As the enemy were concentrating on the chance to kill Aradia, her men came up behind them, killing several before they were aware. Lenardo dragged the Adept's dead weight toward the rocky outcropping where he could shelter her, hampered in using his sword until he finally stumbled through the rocks and dropped Aradia, turning to defend the narrow opening that could be held by a single swordsman-for a while, anyway. He cast about for Lilith, but she was hi a distant part of the valley, fully occupied.
Aradia's men were attacking from behind, but between them and Lenardo were at least a dozen men who did not care if they died if they could kill Aradia hi doing so. They were more skilled than Lenardo in the use of the heavier sword, but he had the advantage of a Reader, knowing their moves even as they did. In this position, he had to take only one at a time; it was possible he could hold out until help reached him.
By the time he had dispatched two of the men, however, the energy of excitement was beginning to fade. His muscles quivered, and rivers of sweat poured down his body. He stopped trying to Read whether Aradia was recovering, and concentrated on the new opponent coming up before him.
The force of the man's rush drove Lenardo back a step into the narrow passage between the rocks. A bit further, and he would trip over Aradia's still form-or give the man a chance to reach her with his blade.
The savage before him was taller than Lenardo and muscled like a bull-pure fighting machine. His swordplay was not skillful-he was trying to hack his way in on strength alone, butting with his shield as much as cutting with his sword. Against such tactics Lenardo's Reading was not nearly as much of an advantage as against technique.
The enemy warrior had forced his way to a position where he was buttressed behind his shield, his longer reach keeping Lenardo at bay, although the Reader was determined he should not get through the passage.
I should learn to use one of those shields, Lenardo thought, the weariness hi his sword arm making him long for the lighter, swifter blade the bandits had stolen. And but for that one skirmish with Helmuth's men, he was a month out of practice. It was telling badly. How often I drilled into my students the importance of daily practice!
Forced back step by step, Lenardo finally reached the narrowest part of the short passage, too narrow for his opponent to get through without turning sideways, his sword arm unshielded. Quickly Lenardo engaged, swords sliding along one another until the crossguards met He could not hold thus against the other's brute strength but had no intention to. He held long enough, he hoped, then let his arm fall as if all the strength were gone from it,, gasping in feigned dismay.
The savage raised his sword to slash down on Lenardo, but the Reader swiftly brought his blade up beneath the man's arm, the warrior's own strength slicing through flesh, cutting to the bone, impaling his forearm on Lenardo's sword.
With a roar like a wounded bull, the savage warrior swung his injured arm, spraying blood, so swiftly that Lenardo was thrown off balance, forced to let go of his sword, which, caught between the bones of the man's arm, was flung with such fury against the rock wall that the blade shattered.
Disarmed, unshielded, Lenardo faced the wounded giant. Berserk with rage, the man did not know his life was spurting away through the severed arteries in his sword arm. When that arm would not obey him, although its fingers remained tightly clasped about his sword. He charged Lenardo with his shield, knocking the Reader back behind Aradia's limp form.
Even as he fell, Lenardo was twisting to scramble up, breathless, leaping at the savage giant as he stood over Aradia, raising his shield to smash her face. Lenardo threw his whole weight at the man's knees and was kicked off. As he picked himself up to charge again, he saw that the giant had abandoned his shield and was clumsily transferring his sword to his left hand. Loss of blood was beginning to tell, but he was determined to kill Aradia before he died. Other men were coming through the unguarded passage. It was hopeless-but Lenardo nonetheless flung himself upon the savage warrior, trying to wrest the sword from his fumbling fingers, succeeding only hi making nun drop it.
Lenardo dived on the sword, rolled, lifted the weapon, and with both hands awkwardly thrust it at the lurching giant. The savage tried to swerve, stumbled, and fell on the blade. Lenardo thrust the heavy body off him and scrambled to his feet to face the oncoming savages. Pulling the sword from the giant's body, he found it so heavy that he needed both hands to wield it. Five men were grouped before him, weapons at the ready. If Aradia did not wake now, there was no chance. But he would take some of them with him as he went to his own death.
'Aradia!' he shouted, Reading that she was deep in healing sleep. Not daring to let go the sword, he nudged her with his foot. 'Aradia-wake up!'
The world exploded.
Lenardo was thrown head over heels, the explosion deafening him as he hit solid rock and collapsed, feeling the sharp pain of broken ribs. Unable to move, he Read the scene: Aradia groggily awake, what little strength the short sleep had restored spent in that defensive burst of energy; the five attackers sprawled as Lenardo was-but three of them already stirring. The other two were dead, one from having hit his head against the rock wall, the other gruesomely spilling his guts across the ground, his belly cut open by his own sword.
But the others were merely stunned, and they knew enough of Adepts to see that they still had a chance at Aradia. She could not even sit up-Lenardo Read clearly how hard she was trying.
One of the three climbed to his feet but fell back with a yelp of pain, nursing a broken ankle. The other two found their fallen weapons and advanced on the helpless Adept. Despite his pain, Lenardo bent for his sword and staggered toward the foe, dragging his weapon, then leaning on it as he faced them across Aradia's body. Weakly, she whispered, 'I can't help you, Lenardo. Thank you… for trying…' and fell back into unconsciousness.
The two savages had the strength to raise their weapons. Lenardo tugged at his, but with the pain of broken ribs he could do no more than drag the tip along the ground. He struggled to stand between them and Aradia, waiting for an ignominious death.
Suddenly the two men before Lenardo burst into flame! He lurched back, coming up against Aradia, realizing she had not done it-and without turning he Read Wulfston half running, half sliding down the steep rock face from above them. The searing pain and agonized screams of the two burning men cut off as they died, and Lenardo managed to gasp, 'It's about time you got here!' as he collapsed into Wulfston's arms.
When Lenardo woke, his pain was gone, and he realized that what had wakened him was Wulfston's touch on
