All Shadows Fled - Ed Greenwood [15]
Bright pain burst through Gostar as Estard's sweeping blade cut through the light mail under Gostar's left arm and into the ribs and chest beyond-and the wounded man hung for a long, burning moment on that cruel edge of steel. The world grew dark around him as he flew free, the ground so hard and close and… more hooves struck him as he fell, crushing him into the turf, but Gostar felt them not. Nor anything else, ever again.
A raw scream split the night. Swordlord Amglar came awake, its echo ringing painfully between his ears. He'd been dreaming of gentler, softer, and more welcoming sounds, by far.
"What befalls, by the gods?" he growled at the darkness, feeling for his sword hilt. Horses were thundering through the camp, and the clash and ring of arms rose around him, mingled with shouts-voices he knew.
They were under attack by a large mounted force!
Amglar cursed, snatched up sword and shield, and stamped feet into his boots, but wasted no time on clothes. His sword squire was snoring like a contented whale at the far end of the tent, with all their armor racked beyond him. It might as well be a realm away.
Boots secure, Amglar spat a heartfelt curse and ran for the back of the tent, where the din was less. The attack was from the north… Hillsfar? Who else could muster enough mounted swords to get through the road guard? Elves never fought from the saddle… and even if every farmer in Mistledale could find a horse, scarce more than a handful'd be able to stay on it while swinging a blade!
Then he was out into the night, and war was all around him-Zhent blackhelm fighting Zhent black-helm! Amglar stared around for a moment at running, half-naked men, horses plunging and trotting stiffly among them, stiff black-armored riders-stiff? The swordlord's eyes narrowed.
He ducked back out of the way of a cursing knot of men being dragged behind pikes buried deep in a rider who did not slow or fall from his saddle. The rider clung to the upswept forecantle with one hand while he swung a futile blade back and forth with the other. The horse struggled on under the weight of them all.
Undead. The attackers must be their own men, raised and sent back from Mistledale. Amglar stared around at Essembra, cursed with loud feeling, and started a perilous run toward the red-lantern house the mages had taken as their own. He hoped he'd make it there alive… and in time.
He was still running hard, dodging blackhelms who should be dead and frantic quarrels from his own terrified men, when Ondeler appeared at the close-curtained balcony of the Bold Banners and stared at the battle below. There was no hint yet of dawn, but the torches in their tripods still blazed, and in the dancing radiance they cast, the Zhentarim wizard could see the street was choked with struggling men.
"Bane's hand!" Ondeler cursed, amazed and fearful. Who could be attacking them here, in the heart of Essembra? Behind him, a lass appeared on the balcony and gasped. He turned and snapped at her, "My robe! Be quick!"
Scared eyes met his for a moment, and she was gone. Ondeler turned back to the street, crouching low behind the balcony rail, and watched the carnage below. Swordlord Amglar, still a distance off, ran toward the red-lantern house, and then Ondeler heard anxious breathing at his shoulder.
"Lord?" the lass whispered.
He reached out without looking, felt the familiar fabric of his robes, grasped it firmly, and said, "Go now and awaken Myarvuk-the mage with the curling black beard, who came in with me. Bid him come here; Ondeler commands. If he seems unwilling, tell him the seven talons await. Haste, now!"
"Lord, I will," she hissed, and was gone.
Ondeler smiled wryly as he felt for what he'd need. Why was it that ladies of the evening obeyed faster and more willingly than any of the Zhents under him? Perhaps he should take all the women of this house with him, to be his swordcaptains and envoys-if he still had any command at all, after this attack.
He gave up groping for the secret pockets and rose into a cautious crouch to put the robe on. Once