A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [48]
A glittering array of lances awaited him, wavering in the air a little way onto the dock where the overdukes stood. Hawkril strode determinedly forward to meet them.
One of the armaragors who'd dismounted well back behind the line of lancers readied a crossbow-and Craer threw a dagger. It flashed through the air, catching sunlight for an instant like a silver fish leaping from the river… and sprouted in one of the archer's eyes. He stiffened and toppled over without a sound, as the procurer called casually, "Anyone else foolish enough to try to use a bow?" and waved his cluster of daggers meaningfully.
There were murmurs of wariness and fear from the armaragors of the three baronies as they saw the wolf-spider that Sarasper had become creeping forward in Hawkril's wake, plucking up a shattered cross of timbers as a crude shield as it came. Raulin stared at it and found himself shivering. Embra moved slightly in his arms, and hastily he bent his head to peer at her, sitting down hard and swiftly in the lee of a tangle of timbers.
"Hawk?… Who?" the Lady Silvertree murmured, and Raulin held her as gingerly as if he was cradling precious crystal.
"Uh, Raulin, great Lady," he blurted, "and-uh-are you well?"
Lips twisted into a wry grin even before her eyes focused on him. "As eloquent as an overduke, I see, Master Bard," she said almost fondly. "My pendant, here-pluck it off, will you? I'm loath to lose it, but I fear we're going to need some magic soon, or…"
She did not finish the sentence, but Raulin knew very well what she meant. Cautiously, he reached to her throat and closed his fingers around the little thing. A glossy-smooth black stone, enwrapt in fine chain. "This?" he asked.
"Aye. Tug it off. Swift and hard, but don't lose hold of it. My arms are still… untrustworthy."
Raulin winced-and tugged.
"You'll never lure them," Craer murmured, dose by his head. Putting the stone carefully into Embra's hands and helping her close her fingers around it, Raulin glanced up. The procurer was speaking to Glarsimber. "Fools they may be, but even they can see these docks'll never hold their mounts."
The baron snorted. "They wasted more than enough good horses learning that," he replied-and then launched himself into a sudden, sword-waving charge.
"For the regent and the Risen King!" he cried, hacking aside lances. "For Aglirta!"
Long, cruel lancetips stabbed at him, but Hawkril stepped in to chop them aside-and then two armored men were trotting in under the lance shafts, staggering as the alarmed knights tried to strike them down or aside. There was a brief, crowded confusion of snorting horses and men cursing as they kicked with their spurs and wrenched at their reins-and then Hawkril reached the nearest of the horsemen, and the clang of steel arose.
A man pitched helplessly from his saddle with a shout, to disappear under the dancing hooves-and then there was a groan and a splintering crash as a piling gave way and dock boards collapsed under a dapple gray; its yelling rider went over its head in an unintended dive into the Silverflow.
"Waste of good horses!" Glarsimber snarled, hacking with his sword as hard and as fast as he knew how. "Call yourself armaragors?"
The rest of the knights had crowded forward to try to join the fray, but officers among them were roaring curses and orders at them to pull back as the dock boards groaned warningly and horses stumbled and reared.
"Lances!" one of the officers cried. "Take up lances and force them back! Then get those horses away fr-"
Hawkril's warsword slid through his throat then, and the rest of the swordcaptain's rage was lost forever in a gurgling of blood.
Lances were being snatched down from the horsemen, however, and another horse sprang from the dock into a shrieking fall against the bank, onto the ribs of a smashed boat. For a moment there was a clear path ashore,