Black wizards - Douglas Niles [62]
There remained only one of her children – one who had suffered grievously in the war with the Beast. Yet that one she could not afford to leave to his rest.
And so the goddess, once again, summoned Kamerynn the unicorn.
IX
Fugitives
The assassins raised their crossbows, and Tristan could almost physically feel the dart focus on his chest. He was about to make a desperate dive to the side – almost certain to get himself killed – when Daryth surprised him with a long, low whistle.
"I've just gotten you figured out, Razfallow," said the Calishite smoothly. He repeated the whistle again.
The silver dart in the crossbow shifted slightly to point straight at Daryth. Razfallow, the half-ore, spoke. "You have been amusing, Calishite." He snorted a soft chuckle and actually seemed reluctant to give the order to kill. "In fact, I shall have you killed last to show my gratitude"
Tristan had been puzzled by his friend's whistle, but he suddenly remembered something Pawldo had said. Instantly, he understood Daryth's plan. Time! They needed to stall the assassins for a few more seconds.
"I'm a dead man, anyway," said the prince, devoutly hoping he was wrong. "Tell me, then, why are you doing this? Where do your orders come from?"
Razfallow laughed, a sound like a crackling fire. "You are indeed a dead man, and I do not waste my breath talking to dead men." The half-ore nodded to his men, and the pair raised their silver crossbows.
"I grow tired of this game," said the assassin. "Larrell, you kill the one with the curly locks." He sneered at Pontswain. "Rasper, you put your bolt into the prince. Aim low."
Tristan saw a flash of movement in the moonlight behind the assassins. Daryth slowly raised his hand as if in supplication, but the prince saw that his companion's finger was pointed directly at the archer. Again he saw the motion in the road, closer now.
"Canthus, kill!"
Daryth's sharp command was timed exactly with the great dog's leap. The well-trained moorhound attacked silently and savagely. Rasper stumbled forward from the brutal impact, and though he tried to shoot the deadly dart into Tristan, the hound's attack had thrown off his aim. The missile flew harmlessly into the night as the man turned in desperation to grapple with the mighty jaws that eagerly sought his throat.
The one called Larrell turned slightly in surprise. Pontswain dropped to his stomach in the path as the assassin released his dart. The prince could not see if it struck home.
At the same moment Tristan, Daryth, and Pawldo leaped forward, drawing their blades. The three assassins crouched to meet them, Larrell dropping his bow and drawing a slim shortsword.
The assassins backed slowly away as Rasper screamed in pain. He twisted and struggled as the moorhound's teeth tore at his face. Locked in mortal combat, they rolled from the path, leaving the two trios faced off, a dozen feet apart.
Daryth looked sharply to his side at Tristan – behind the prince, actually. Tristan cast a quick glance behind him and saw only Pontswain in the bright moonlight. The lord stumbled to his feet, dazed but uninjured, and the prince and the Calishite turned back to the assassins.
"Look out!" cried the Calishite, suddenly whirling toward the prince again. Tristan twisted in surprise and then shouted in pain as he felt a sharp blade slicing through his back. But there was no one there! The prince lurched forward and crashed to the ground in agony. He coughed and choked with fright as he spit up blood.
Daryth leaped at the source of the attack. Through a thickening haze, Tristan saw him strike at… air! Daryth's blade snaked forward, and then the tip disappeared. He saw it again as the Calishite pulled back, and now it dripped with blood. He heard a groan as something heavy but invisible