The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [177]
Aspar grasped for the reins of the horse, but it galloped off, leaving him no mount or cover.
The fellow he had just knocked off was moving feebly, but it looked like it would take him a bit to get up, if he did at all.
Aspar reminded himself that most men on foot killed by knights died with holes in the back of the skull, and it was a good thing, because his legs were telling him to run as Harriot’s charger hurtled at him. Grimly, he set the butt of the lance on his foot, pointed the spear tip at the horse’s breast, and braced for the impact.
Harriot shifted his grip and threw the lance, turning his mount an instant later. It thunked into the earth two handsbreadths from Aspar. Aspar wheeled, keeping the spear ready for the next pass.
The knight drew his sword, dismounted, took down a shield, and came on.
That’s smart, Aspar thought. All he needs to do is get past my point, and I’m no real spearman.
He caught a blur at the edge of his vision and saw it was one of the Mamres monks.
Well, good try, he thought.
But suddenly the greffyn was there, too, barreling at the monk from his right. They went off in a tangle.
Harriot charged during the distraction.
Aspar thrust the spear into the shield so hard that it stuck and then ran to the side, turning the fellow half around before he let go of the shaft and drew his ax and dirk. Put off balance by the unwieldy weapon lodged in his shield and by Aspar’s maneuver, the knight had to fight to get his sword arm back around.
He didn’t make it before Aspar smashed into the shield at waist level so that Harriot went back and down, landing with a muffled clang.
Aspar hit his helmet with the blunt side of his ax, and it rang like a bell. He hit it again, then shoved it up to reveal the white throat underneath and finished the job with his dirk.
He stood, panting.
The Vaix was just picking himself up a little farther down the hill.
The greffyn was bloodying its beak in the stomach of the Mamres knight.
Far below, he saw Fend and the wairwulf approaching Winna, Leshya, and Ehawk.
Please let me be right about this, Aspar said, but then he had no more time for doubt as the Vaix started for him.
Aspar did what he had planned, the only thing he could do.
He ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward his mount. A glance back showed the Sefry gaining even with his wounded leg, even with new blood showing all over him.
He made it to the horse, swung up, and kicked it into motion. The Sefry gave a hoarse cry and leaped at them, landing on his bad leg, which buckled. He threw the feysword at Aspar. It went turning by his head and cut through a young pine tree.
Then the yards were growing between them, and each glance back showed the Vaix farther behind, then gone.
Aspar didn’t stop or even slow until after nightfall, when he reckoned he was at least a league and a half away.
CHAPTER NINE
THE HIDING PLACE
WHEN THE PAIN of the knife wound faded and she ceased to feel her body, Anne for some time knew nothing but confusion and the sudden pull of a current so compelling that she had no thought of resistance. She let it take her, knowing what it was, having seen the lives of men leak away into its dark waters.
For an instant she thought she was ready, but then from the very center of her climbed dark, delicious, corrupt rage. It informed everything that remained of her as she sought to strike out through the ragged wall of death at her killer, but here she learned the obvious but unspoken truth: Without a body in the lands of fate, no desire of her will could she obtain.
That was death. That was why the promise of her had forged an alliance with those who had gone before, to give all that rage and purpose, at last, a body again.
Now all that was failed and moot, and the chance would not come again.
She felt herself diminishing, melting, and knew that in time the very place she observed herself from would vanish. It wasn’t fair; this was her domain, her kingdom. She had nearly