tusked, piggish face of any of the orcs, he prompted his mount-a trained war-horse, evidently-to rear and try to batter Bareris with its front hooves.
Bareris sidestepped and thrust his point into the animal's side. The destrier fell sideways, carrying its rider with it. They hit the ground hard and lay motionless thereafter.
Bareris cast about and found Tammith, a raw red welt now striping her neck, standing just behind him. 'I'm sorry,' she said.
He realized she meant she was sorry she hadn't managed to kill the rider with the whip, sorry Bareris had needed to save her. 'It's all right.' It occurred to him that the two dead horses sprawled on the ground constituted obstacles of sorts. If he and Tammith stood between them, it would make it difficult for very many of their foes to come at them at once. 'Come on.' He scrambled to the proper position, and she followed.
There he began another song. It would strengthen and steady them, and he could weave specific spells through the melody as needed. Pivoting, he peered to see who meant to attack him next.
A rider with a net spurred his mount into a canter. Crouching, blood orcs circled as if they hoped to clamber over the top of one of the dead horses and take their adversaries by surprise.
Then the wizard with the tattooed face shouted, 'Stop! You imbeciles are next to useless, but I can't afford to lose all of you. Forget about taking the minstrel alive, and don't go within reach of his sword, either. Shoot him and his whore, and So-Kehur and I will smite them with spells.' He gave Bareris a vicious smile. 'Unless, of course, you prefer to surrender.'
'Don't,' Tammith whispered. 'I don't know what they'll do to us if we give up, but I'm sure it will be terrible.'
Bareris suspected she was right, yet what was the alternative? To condemn her to die here and now? For while the two of them had evaded capture and injury thus far, it was obvious they no longer had any chance of getting away. It was only the Red Wizard's order to take them alive that had provided even the illusion of hope, and that was no longer in effect.
'We have to surrender,' he said, 'and hope we can escape later on. Set the knife on the ground.' He stooped to do the same with his sword, and then someone gave a startled yell.
Bareris looked around to see slaves scrambling in all directions. Evidently they shared Tammith's conviction that some ghastly fate awaited them at the end of their trek, and they'd decided to take advantage of their keepers' distraction to make a break for freedom.
'Stop them!' the necromancer with the flabby midsection-evidently his name was So-Kehur-wailed.
Some of the guards obeyed. Horsemen galloped and wheeled to cut the thralls off. A blood orc dashed after a group of fleeing men and started slashing them down from behind, evidently on the assumption that if it killed enough of them, the slaughter would cow the rest into giving up.
Of course, not every warrior turned his back on Tammith and Bareris, but as best the bard could judge, even those who hadn't seemed momentarily flummoxed. So, for that matter, did the necromancers. Perhaps he had a hope left after all.
'Follow me!' he said to Tammith. He bellowed a battle cry and charged.
For an instant, he considered running at So-Kehur. Evidently worthless in a crisis, the round-bellied mage had yet to cast a spell and was surely an easier mark than the skull-faced warlock. He must possess an extraordinary aptitude for some aspect of sorcery, or else exceptionally good family connections, to account for his induction into an order of Red Wizards despite the lack of iron in his soul.
The problem was that even if they were of equivalent rank, it was plainly the necromancer with the tattooed face who'd taken charge of the caravan. Should they find themselves at odds, he was the one the warriors would obey, and just to make matters worse, he obviously held his fellow mage in contempt. Bareris could easily imagine himself grabbing So-Kehur, using him as a shield, threatening him with his sword, and having the tattooed wizard laugh and order his underlings to go ahead and shoot them both.
No, if Bareris was going to take a hostage, it had to be the skull-faced mage himself, and so he ran straight at him. He prayed Tammith was still following close behind him but didn't dare waste the instant it would take to glance back and find out.
An arrow whistled past his head. An orc scrambled to block his path, and he split its skull. For a moment, his sword stuck in the wound, but then he managed to yank it free, flinging drops of blood through the air in the process.
Realizing his peril, the skull-faced necromancer brandished the talisman that had killed Bareris's horse, a round medallion, the bard now observed, fashioned of ebony and bone. He wrenched himself to the side, and the jagged blaze of shadow missed him by a finger length.
He raced onward. Just a few more strides would carry him within striking distance of his foe, and with enchantment quickening his actions, he had reason for hope that his adversary didn't have time to attempt any more magic.
But the necromancer had a trick in reserve. Even as his body backed away, his face seemed to spring forward like a striking snake. In reality, Bareris perceived, it was the tattooed skull mask that had torn free of his skin, and as it did, it rounded itself into a snarling head, and a gaunt, decaying body materialized beneath it. It had, in fact, become a ghoul, a slave creature or familiar the Red Wizard had carried inside his own body to evoke in a moment of ultimate need.
Startled by the vile-smelling thing's unexpected materialization, Bareris faltered. The ghoul leaped, its jagged, filthy nails ripping at his face. They nearly snagged him, but then trained reflex twisted him out of the way. He hacked at the bumpy ridge of spine in the corpse eater's withered back, and the undead's legs buckled beneath it.
Bareris sprinted on. Looking unexpectedly soft-featured and callow with his macabre mask stripped away, the Red Wizard lifted his talisman for another blast. Bareris had believed he was already running his fastest, but somehow he achieved an extra iota of speed to close the distance. He cut at the necromancer's hand, and the medallion and severed ringers tumbled through the air.
At that instant, Bareris hated the wizard, relished hurting him, and had to remind himself that he needed him alive. He shoved the necromancer down onto the grass, lifted his sword to threaten him-
A voice chanted rhyming words, and the ambient temperature fluctuated wildly. Bareris realized So-Kehur wasn't entirely useless after all. He'd finally found the presence of mind to cast a spell.
Something stabbed into the middle of Bareris's back. It didn't hurt, precisely, but weakness streamed outward from the site like ink diffusing through water. His sword suddenly felt too heavy to support. The blade dropped, and the hilt nearly pulled itself from his grasp. He collapsed to his knees.
He told himself he didn't need his stolen strength. He could hold a hostage down with his weight, and menace him with the lethal sharpness of his blade. He floundered after the necromancer with the maimed hand, but now the mage was the quicker and stayed beyond his reach.
Until a mesh of sticky cable abruptly materialized on top of Bareris, binding and gluing him to the ground. 'I did it!' So-Kehur crowed. 'I took him alive, just like you wanted.'
'So you did,' the other wizard gasped, rising unsteadily, 'and now I'm going to kill the wretch.' Using his intact hand, he fumbled in one of his scarlet robe's many pockets, no doubt seeking the talisman required to facilitate some sort of death magic.
Enfeebled as he was, it was difficult for Bareris even to turn his head. Still, praying she could help him somehow, he peered around for Tammith, only to see her slumped on the ground clutching at a bloody wound in her leg. An orc stood over her, spear aimed to stab her again if she attempted further resistance. Elsewhere, the creature's fellow guards had all but completed the task of catching and subduing the rest of the slaves.
Bareris would have taken any risk to rescue or protect Tammith, but those things were no longer even remotely possible. He had to escape alone now in the hope of returning for her later, if, indeed, he could even manage that.
Rapidly as he dared-too much haste and he might botch the casting-he started singing. Weak as he was, he felt short of breath and had to struggle to achieve the precise intonation and cadence the magic required.
His would-be killer seemed clumsy with his offhand and was possibly on the verge of sinking into shock from the amputation of his fingers. He was slow producing his talisman, but when he realized Bareris was attempting magic, he managed to snatch it forth, flourish it, and jabber hissing, clacking syllables in some foul abyssal tongue.
