All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [12]
The strength of the merchant band was dwindling steadily. The bolts found easy targets. As Jhessail watched, a fat merchant threw up his hands with a strangled wail and pitched from his saddle, choking on the quarrel that stood out of his throat. On the other side of the road, a horse's head flopped and swung-and a breath later both horse and rider crashed and rolled in the dust, collapsing into the long silence of death.
Jhessail dropped into her saddle again a scant moment before the Riders spurred ahead into a grim, silent gallop, knowing they'd not be in time. Far behind them, Merith stood up on his own saddle, saw that strife lay ahead, and reached for his bow.
Lances leveled, the Riders of Mistledale swept east. "Get out of the road!" Kuthe snarled at merchants who could not hear. "Clear the way!"
"Kuthe! Halt your men!" Jhessail shouted. "Nowr
The great helm turned her way, the face within dark with anger. "You have some sort of plan?"
"Yes," Jhessail cried, leaning close to him as their mounts thundered along side by side. "Just stop them!"
Kuthe gave her a long, slow look-and then reached for the horn at his belt.
After the horn rang out around them, the patrol became a confused mass of dust, rearing horses, and cursing men. Lances rang and rattled off armored shoulders, and Jhessail had to duck hastily to avoid being inadvertently unhorsed.
"Well, mage?" Kuthe demanded when he could be heard. His eyes were on the last merchants, dying up ahead… and at something moving on the tree-lined road beyond them. Their slayers.
The leader of the Rider patrol shot her a look. "Well?"
Jhessail’s mouth was a thin, white-lipped line as she told him shortly, "Back away… Give us room side by side."
Kuthe waved one great gauntlet in heavy silence; Illistyl was already guiding her mount forward. Jhessail whispered to her, and they raised their arms together, spread as if in supplication to the sky overhead-and waited.
In tense silence as the Riders eyed them, they watched the road to the east. "Well?" Kuthe demanded. "Have you seen enough?"
"Wait until they come out," Jhessail said, her eyes on the road. "It'd be our death to ride down that firing tunnel, the gods know. Let them come out. If I'm right, they'll be the Zhents we're expecting… with orders to ride right on and take Mistledale. They probably killed those merchants just to stop them from warning us."
Kuthe nodded as the killers of the merchants rode into view: a band of mounted crossbowmen, clad in armor as dark as that of the Riders, streaming out of the road mouth and fanning across the fields of Treesedge. Around the two sorceresses, men swore at the sight of that armor.
"Zhent blackhelms, all right," Kuthe said, "and riding hard to encircle us… sixty of them, or more. What now, Lady?"
"Keep silence for a breath or two," Jhessai) told him softly, "while we do what we have to. Let no man here ride forward until I give the word. When our first spell goes off, your horses may move by themselves; be ready to hold them back!"
"Whose place is it to give orders?" a Rider demanded gruffly.
Jhessail turned on him eyes that were dark and cold, and said, "It will mean death to ride forward. Disobey my suggestion freely, but leave word for your widow first."
More than one dry chuckle answered her from the men around, and Kuthe growled, "Right. We wait. Work your magic. Shields up!"
Crossbow quarrels were already hissing their way, though the range was impossibly long. Ignoring them, Jhessail spread her arms again and began the incantation, Illistyl chanting in unison.
Abruptly the air in front of the Riders was full of shadowy, moving forms-images that suddenly grew dark and solid; the gleaming black armored backs of Riders on horseback, charging away with lances lowered. More than one mount under the real Riders surged forward to join them, and had to be reined in, hard. The ground shook under the thunder of phantom hooves, and dust rose in a cloud as thirty dark horsemen raced away east.
"Gods," the Rider who'd challenged Jhessail