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Branches splintered and cracked as hairy bodies plunged through them, Hawkril riding hard in pursuit. More than one wide-jawed beast fell heavily, squalling, as the armaragor's blade hit home. Embra called up a burst of fire in the air under the nose of the only beast still menacing the two sorceresses, as Blackgult pursued another on its ungainly scramble back into the trees.
At the forefront of the chaos of frightened, plunging overduchal horses, Craer cursed softly as a six-legged monster wheeled away wearing one of his best daggers. Leaping from his saddle, he bounced once in the swirling trail-dust, sprang forward, and landed ru
His sprint was short but swift: he caught the beast as it was shouldering between two trees in pain-wracked haste. Catching hold of his knife-hilt as if it was a handle provided by the gods, Craer hauled hard-and found himself steered bruisingly by a tree branch up onto the thing's surging, stinking back.
Which was about the time he saw another beast-head turning toward him in the tree-filled gloom, jaws opening, and remembered that this was no bards' ballad-and that overbold heroes seldom live long.
Taking hold of his dagger with one hand and an overhead tree limb with the other, Craer jerked, twisted, and ended up dangling above emptiness, gore-dripping dagger in hand, as those wide jaws reached up for him.
He kicked out at hand-sized teeth, driving the snarling snout aside-and as he swung away and it whirled amid a great splintering of small branches to bite at him again, Hawkril arrived at a run.
The armaragor swung his great blade in both hands, down and in, like a woodcutter seeking to fell a tree with one ax blow-and the beast roared in pain and fell back, one leg almost severed. Wailing, it fled into the trees, disappearing with many crashings.
Meanwhile, Blackgult was swinging his own sword in a smaller but just as tireless metal storm, slicing and slashing at a beast as it turned its head repeatedly to try to bite Embra and Tshamarra.
" 'Tis almost as if someone's controlling it," he gasped, hacking a snout already raw, diced, and dripping flesh in four places. Moaning, the beast finally whirled and fled blindly through the nearest saplings, trunks shattering under its weight.
And then all the beasts were gone, and the anointed Overdukes of Aglirta were panting at each other across a blood-spattered ruin of hacked branches, trembling and snorting horses, and Craer's mocking comment, "My, but a stroll along a woodland trail in Aglirta these days is apt to be awfully entertaining!"
"W-what were they?" Embra gasped. "I've never seen the like before…"
"Dlargar," Hawkril growled. "Beasts sometimes called ru
"So they were conjured?" Craer asked sharply. "By someone still out there?"
"Well," the Lady Talasorn replied, "yes, and they were, but…"
"No awakened magic or scrying near us," Embra reported. "They've fled."
"Serpents?"
"Yes," Tshamarra said grimly. "Three of them guided those beasts, and broke my tracing spell. Their minds were… not nice."
Hawkril frowned. "The same ones who turned the carters against us?"
The Lady Talasorn shrugged in reply.
"Will they try again right away, do you drink?" Blackgult asked gently.
The sorceress shook her head. "They're nowhere near-gone by magic. One was very angry, a rage born of fright. He won't willingly face us again until he has better spells to hurl."
Craer rolled his eyes. "Then let's be on our way, before someone else decides overdukes are good hunting."
The five clapped spurs to their horses together. The still-frightened mounts were only too glad to flee, galloping wildly over a ridge and out of the thick trees. Their riders peered warily around when the horses slowed, snorting and pawing, flanks streaming with sweat.
Embra looked to Blackgult questioningly, indicating her horse, but the Golden Griffon shook his head curtly, and pointed ahead down the trail. Winded or not, the horses would have to wait for a chance to rest.
Not many words were exchanged as the overdukes descended out of gently rolling hill farms, the trail often ru
It was a fair-sized place, a market-moot surrounded by several twisting streets of cottages. They could see gardens amid the trees, and many folk at work in them. With the day well past its height, much of Stornbridge lay in the shadow of the tersept's castle, which rose like a cluster of stone lances out of a little lake that served it as a moat.
"We've been seen," Craer a
"Let's hope we won't have to fight our way through the town," Tshamarra commented. "My spells aren't endless."
"Embra," Blackgult asked politely, "have you such a thing as a shielding-spell against arrows?"
"Of course," the Lady of Jewels replied, "but even with the Dwaer to source it, I can't hold something large enough to protect ^11 of us on horseback, on all sides, as we ride. Not without many gaps, albeit shifting and unseen. If we stood tight together, more or less unmoving, yes, but…"
Her father held up his hand. "Forget it. 'Twas only a passing thought. Perhaps I'm being foolish…"
Craer looked back at him. "You mislike the look of yonder trees as much as I do?" he asked quietly, gesturing at the thick stand ahead, where the trail plunged into gloom, turning and descending swiftly out of sight.
"Yes," Blackgult replied simply, reaching for the small, almost useless shield slung across the high back of his saddle. Hawkril already had his own out. Embra looked at Tshamarra, who gazed back and shrugged.
"As usual, my sweet curves are all my armor," the last surviving Talasorn a
Here and there woodcutters' glades opened out on either side, but for the most part the forest was old, dark, and thickly grown, branches interlaced above the road to form a dark tu
Slippery leaves forced them to slow, and Hawkril growled, "Made for brigand strikes," as he fell back to ride beside Embra. There was no room for anyone to shield her other side, even if they'd had armored riders in plenty to do such a thing. As it was, Blackgult fell back to let Tshamarra ride just ahead. Craer was left alone at the forefront, and he thanked his companions loudly and sarcastically for that as they plunged down through the last stretch of forest, spurring more swiftly again now as sunlight-and the waiting homes of Stornbridge-opened out ahead.
"We're turning into a lot of fearful shy-at-shadows," Embra told her man ruefully as the trees grew thi
The next sound they heard was a loud hissing from the trees all around-and a startled grunt from Craer as an arrow struck his shoulder and snatched him out of his saddle, its bloody, glistening point coming out right through his back as he fell.
Tshamarra screamed and tried to ride right through Hawkril to reach the fallen procurer. As their horses jostled, the armaragor's shield raided under the crashing strikes of three arrows-and an arrowhead burst half through it, to quiver not far in front of Tshamarra's nose.