The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [116]
“Branno! To me!” A familiar voice, just ahead.
Branoic ducked, swung, spun again, and found himself next to Peddyc. Side by side they laid their backs against the wall and swung, parrying, ducking, dodging while they panted and cursed. Three Boarsmen plunged in. Peddyc stepped forward and took one hard blow, then stabbed the second man as he fell against the Boarsman. Branoic killed the third, but in his heart he knew he was about to die. All that mattered was holding these bastards off as long as possible. Horns were shrieking. Hooves pounded.
“Silver daggers!” A voice raised, another joining in. “To the silver daggers!”
Suddenly and seemingly from nowhere the men of the Ram came pouring through the open gates, and behind them bobbed the blue shields of Glasloc, sweeping the Boarsmen away. Branoic could see them so clearly that he looked up, and sure enough, the sky was turning grey with dawn.
Branoic flung himself down to a kneel and grabbed Peddyc by the shoulders. Blood oozed between his fingers. The tieryn opened his eyes and shut them again. Whether he lived or died Branoic didn’t know. More and more of the prince’s men were pouring through the gates and spreading out in the ring, where the shouting went on and horns shrieked. Although he doubted if he could carry Peddyc, Branoic decided he’d rather be cursed than leave him to be trampled. He slipped one arm around the tieryn’s shoulders.
“Branoic! Hold! I’ll help!”
Young Lord Anasyn broke free of the fighting and reached his father’s side. Together they could lift the unconscious Peddyc and inch their way through the gates. Branoic was frantically wondering where the chirurgeons might be when he glanced around and saw Nevyn running to meet them.
“My lord!” Branoic choked out. “Caradoc!”
“I know.” Nevyn was shouting over the general bedlam. “I saw him die. Come along, let’s get—ah, ye gods! I’m sorry, Sanno. It’s too late.”
Since neither Owaen nor Caradoc would be seeing him break orders, after the silver daggers rode out Maddyn armed. The mail felt so gruesomely heavy after his long years away from war that he realized he’d be unable to fight no matter how badly he wanted to. Cursing as only a silver dagger can, he stripped it off and threw it on the floor of his tent.
At least he’d be with the battle in spirit. Maddyn walked uphill to the third wall and climbed the catwalk to vigil the last of the night away there, out of the way of the real warriors, or so he thought it. Every time the clouds lifted enough for him to see the moon, she rode lower in the western sky. Finally, just as she was setting altogether, Maddyn heard the distant shouting that, he’d later learn, meant that Caradoc and his men were making their false attempt on the postern. Maddyn swore and started round the wall toward the sound, only to turn and rush back when the real attack hit the main gates.
Since the fourth wall stood uphill, he of course couldn’t see over, but he could watch the Ram’s men leap up below him and start forward. In the false king’s dun the shouting grew louder; horns blared; the Ram’s men began running for the fourth wall with Glasloc close behind.
The sky turned grey. Below Maddyn the gates creaked open and horsemen thundered through. Maddyn squeezed into a crenel between two merlons and hung over the edge. When he saw Nevyn running across the ring toward the gate, Maddyn slid down to the parapet and took the ladders down. He met the old man at the downhill side of the third wall.
“Maddo!” Nevyn yelled. “Get some horses! There’s a couple of your men at the ruined dun. They must have made it back through the bolthole.”
Maddyn turned on his heel and raced downhill to the silver dagger’s camp. He commandeered a couple of servants, and together they saddled five horses. Leading two with empty saddles they set off, trotting most of the way, galloping in short spurts when the ground allowed, walking now and then to rest their mounts.