The Knave of Souls - Fantasy - Sequel to The Jack of Souls

Chapter 16

In the end they remember who won, never how. Be sure you win, and let history take care of the rest. You'll be surprised when you hear the ballads, how honorably you fought.

        —Attributed to Sir Gregan Lamour, or, variously, to Sir Willard

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TRAPPED & HOBBLED

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Harric heard nothing but the rattle of the brook at the edge of the meadow, but he knew the ballads sang of the Old Ones who heard as well as any rabbit. "Where is it coming from?" he whispered. "Bannus's pass?"

Willard was already striding through the saplings toward the meadow. "No." He gestured to Abellia's tower. "From the north, over the ridge. Bring the lance staves."

Scooping up the lances, Harric and Caris hurried after Willard. They emerged into the meadow and crossed to Kogan's weeping willow where the priest lay flat on his back inside the curtain of branches, snoring like a bear. The fog had scudded up over the ridge, leaving only light wisps where the forest bordered the meadow, and in the firecones on the ridge above. Willard stormed up to the sleeping priest and kicked him soundly in the side. "Get up, you stinking clod! They must have caught your scent from the next valley over."

The lilt of the dogs grew louder on the ridge, and a horn echoed through the fire-cones.

The priest's eyes opened and he sat bolt upright. "Hounds!"

Willard was already adjusting the stirrups on Idgit's saddle. He measured the pasture with his eyes, as if judging whether he could get to Molly before the dogs were on them.

"Wait! I'm not getting caught without these again," Brolli said, as he retrieved the bulging bandolier of Kwendi hurling globes from the packs. Altogether the ten or so globes probably weighed as much as Willards's armor, each solid iron or witch silver and big as the fattest apple. "Now go!" he said, as he slung them over his shoulder. "Ride to the tower for your Molly! We hide till you return."

"Too late," Willard said. "Can't you hear them? A company of heavy horse rides with those hounds. Wouldn't make the middle switchback before they burst upon me. Girl! My lance! Moons, I've no shield. No matter—shorten the lances. Cut an arm-and-a-half off the tips."

"Both lances?" said Harric.

"Both! And be quick!"

"You're going to fight?" said Caris, as she and Harric laid into the poles with the axes. "On Idgit?"

"Do I have a choice?" Willard growled. "Make the ends of the shafts flat. And hurry it. I want to be waiting for them in the open when they arrive."

The priest grinned. "I always like a good fight in the morning time. If you can knock 'em down, Will, I can do the rest."

"You'd better," Willard said. "Knocking them down is about all I can manage." He heaved himself up into Idgit's saddle, and the good-natured pony sighed loudly.

Kogan seemed to notice Idgit for the first time, and his face crumpled in a frown. "Ye look like a couple-a fat lords a-pig-a-back, Will. If ye don't knock 'em down, they'll fall laughing."

"Just keep your beard-hole shut when they come. I'll do the talking."

"You aim to talk to 'em?"

"Shut your noise so I can think!"

Harric finished his lance first and hoisted it to Willard, who gripped it easily with one huge hand. Willard scanned the gentle bowl of the meadow. From its head at the base of the switchbacks, to its foot at the edge of the trees, the meadow sloped gently downhill about two-hundred paces, each side bordered by rock escarpments. The road ran more or less straight down its middle, with Kogan's willow in the center of all.