DragonKnight - Donita K. Paul [83]
A blow to his back shattered his concentration. He loosed the granny and whirled around to see the mapmaker engaged in a fight with two soldiers. Bardon was surprised to note the coolness of the air, the dim light of dusk. Night hovered, about to take over.
The bisonbecks loomed over the battling tumanhofer. Bromptotterpindosset wielded a spiked club, obviously one he had picked up in the enemy’s camp as he escaped. Bardon drew his sword, and his movement caught the attention of one of the men.
This soldier growled and left his comrade to batter the short, old tumanhofer. Bromptotterpindosset had been holding his own against the two. Now he hurled his body sideways at the remaining soldier’s knees and knocked him to the ground. Bardon had no more time to observe the mapmaker’s next move.
Bardon’s attacker opened his wide mouth and roared as he charged. The beastly man clenched two knives above his head in powerful arms. He seemed determined to plunge his weapons into the squire. Bardon sidestepped and sliced the man’s torso as he passed. The bisonbeck bellowed. An answering roar sent shivers down Bardon’s spine. The hair on his arms stood.
Reinforcements echoed the bisonbecks’ war cries. Somewhere in the woods, other enemy warriors closed in on the dilapidated gateway. He and his friends would soon be trapped.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tumanhofer had gained another weapon from his opponent. Bardon ducked a blow from the soldier he fought. He vaulted into the air and flipped to come down on the hulk’s other side. He kicked a stout arm out of his way, spun, and thrust his sword into the brute’s chest. If these warriors had been dressed in battle array, the fight would have lasted longer.
He turned to assist Bromptotterpindosset and found the tumanhofer standing over a downed soldier. Blood flowed from the man’s forehead where the mapmaker had planted the club.
A howl arose from the woods.
“Time to leave,” said Bromptotterpindosset. He rushed to Granny Kye’s side and took hold of her arm. She hadn’t moved from the spot where Bardon had left her.
“Oh, I agree,” said the small emerlindian. “I’ve never seen a bisonbeck up close before. They are extremely tall, aren’t they?”
“Extremely,” answered the tumanhofer and guided her toward the gateway.
“It isn’t completely repaired,” objected Bardon.
“Neither was it when we came through before. We shall have to chance it.” With a firm grip on the old emerlindian, he plunged into the clinging light and disappeared.
Bardon followed. This time he noticed the lack of pressure on his chest, but the lack of resistance made the atmosphere slick. He pushed and felt he made no headway. He thrust a leg forward and it returned to his side. Leaning his body forward, he hoped he could just fall into the meadow where he had left the driver of Wittoom Coastal Transport. A twinge of nausea gripped his stomach, as if a part of him would be left behind when he took the final step. He bent one knee and shoved with all his might against the slippery surface beneath his foot.
A crowd cheered when he emerged into the late afternoon light, a golden hue with a tinge of rose. The children swarmed around him, all talking at once. In N’Rae’s arms, the baby pulled at a bottle with vigor. Behind them stood the driver from the transport company. The look of befuddlement on his face hit a chord of understanding in Bardon. He had felt that way many a time in the past few weeks. The young squire laughed.
“No time for jolliment,” said Bromptotterpindosset. “I suggest you and the granny unravel this gateway before the remaining eight bisonbecks follow us through.”
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CASTLE PELACCE