Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [106]
“You must kill!” He spoke the words slowly, clearly. “There, in the woods – you must ride there, and kill those you find!”
The hot flare in Laric’s eyes was the most frightening thing that Grunnarch the Red had ever seen. Yet the Bloodriders climbed into their saddles. Lurching forward, the horsemen spread across the valley, seeking something, anything, to kill.
*****
Aileen rode lightly in the saddle, letting the supple mare select the swiftest path through the cloaking pines. Like a white ghost, Osprey carried her mistress past the enemy army, sliding easily through the shadows and tangled places so that they avoided discovery.
She held her bow ready across her lap, but knew that her primary mission was intelligence, not attack. Still, she had not been able to pass up this easy shot into the middle of the column. The ensuing chaos made the risk well worthwhile… and left her chuckling.
Suddenly black death exploded from a thicket, and Aileen barely ducked the savage thrust of a Rider. The attack came from so close that even Osprey’s lightning reactions could not anticipate it. As the attacker swung, Aileen got a look at the skull-mask and screamed aloud in horror.
The skull was his face! The Bloodriders no longer needed masks to create their horrible aspect. Aileen imagined she felt the sheer, reeking evil of the creature’s breath against her face. Whether it was her imagination or not, the young warrior could do nothing but clutch her reins in terror.
Osprey’s instincts were all that carried her mistress from danger. The mare leaped from the high bank into the stream bed and splashed into the opposite bank. Flying as only a Synnorian steed can fly, Osprey streaked down the valley, toward the company.
Several more of the black Riders tried to pursue them, but Osprey easily outdistanced the sinister horsemen. Finally, Aileen broke into a clearing and found Brigit and a dozen of the sisters. Gasping, she quickly told her story.
*****
Laric led all of the Bloodriders, pursuing the morsel of life with tightly focused energy. He wanted, in fact needed, to kill. The white mare and its tiny but vibrantly strong rider would yield considerable sustenance.
Although several of the Bloodriders stayed close to Laric, most of the rest fell away with distance. Fueled by his lust for blood alone, Laric was the only one, finally, who managed to keep the white ghost in sight.
Finally, the Bloodrider emerged from the woods and halted. Even the bloodlust pounding in his skull could not compel him to suicide, and further pursuit would be such.
The white ghost had joined a band of similar mounts. They regarded him cautiously as he studied them, until finally Laric turned back to the forest. As he stepped into the shadow of the trees, he turned and studied the group of knights. His burning gaze sought, and found, his original quarry – the knight dressed for scouting.
He recalled the feeling of the quarry when his blow had almost struck home. Warm and succulent – he wanted that one.
And he would get her.
*****
Tristan felt a knot of worry grow in his stomach, and turn to pace nervously. He stood atop the low hill – a local farmer had called it Freeman’s Down. From here he could see the entire length of his line. The view also carried up a shallow slope about five hundred paces, toward the forest from which the raiders would emerge.
The dwarves squatted around him, resting and talking quietly. They projected an aura of routine, and the prince envied their calm demeanor. From the base of the hill to the river, lined up along the ditch, four hundred men and women of the Eastern Cantrevs stood, carrying an assortment of weapons that included pikes, spears, pitchforks, axes, and sharpened stakes.
Every twenty paces, for the length of this line, the prince had appointed a cantrev lord, or respected elder, or veteran soldier, with instructions to steady and lead the others.
Some distance behind this line, Gavin stood with another group of similarly