The Silver Mage - Katharine Kerr [49]
“It’s a hard life they have,” Andariel continued. “The priests say that they did somewhat in their last lives to deserve it, just like we earned our place as warriors.”
“Our priests always told me the same thing.” Rhodorix touched the hilt of his sword to ward off any evil that might appear at the mention of such arcane matters. “Which way shall we go now?”
“South,” Andariel said. “The prince told me that some bands of Meradan are raiding to the south. They must have stayed down on the flat and just bypassed us.”
“Have messengers come in? I haven’t seen any.”
“The prince doesn’t need messengers. He has farseers.”
“Has what?”
“Mages who can see things from afar.”
Andariel was watching him with a slight smile, as if he expected the stranger to argue. While Rhodorix had never known men with true magic, he’d heard about them back in the homeland. What about Galerinos and that blue fire? he told himself. That must have been magic. “Well and good, then,” Rhodorix said. “South it is!”
Although they saw no raiders that first day, after a few more days of riding patrols the mounted guardsmen had their first battle test. They had ridden a little farther than usual, once again to the south some ten miles from the fortress. When they crested a grassy hill, they saw below them some fifteen Meradan, riding along as easily and openly as if they owned the road.
“Here’s a chance to try those new bows,” Rhodorix said, “but tell the lads to try to spare the horses. We need every mount we can get.”
Andariel turned in the saddle and called back the orders. The archers looped their reins around the saddle peaks and brought their bows from their backs. Down below, the Meradan had seen them. They paused their horses, then called out and waved to the guardsmen, who must have appeared from their vantage point as small figures silhouetted against the sky.
“Ye gods!” Andariel said. “They think we’re some of them!”
“Of course.” Rhodorix grinned at him. “We’re on horseback.”
Andariel shouted more orders. The archers lowered their bows but held them ready, hiding them as best they could behind their horses’ heads. Rather than charge, Rhodorix led the squad downhill at a steady walk, just as if they were planning on joining up with allies. They had reached the flat before the Meradan realized their mistake.
The five archers whipped up their bows and loosed the first volley. Arrows whistled, then sank into targets as the Meradan yelled war cries—then screamed. Three of their men pitched over their horses’ necks into the road. More arrows, more screams, but over the shrill rage and fear, Andariel yelled for the charge. Rhodorix followed the captain as the mounted swordsmen left the archers and charged straight for the remaining Meradan.
The Meradani horses that had lost their riders bolted, galloping back south down the road. The others were milling and rearing, bucking and trying to grab their bits. Their riders could barely control them, much less fight. Rhodorix saw one savage whose black hair bristled like a boar’s, tied as it was with a plethora of charms and beads. He urged Aur straight for him. Foolishly, the Meradan tried to turn his horse to run. Rhodorix swung straight for his spine at the neck. His sword slashed through the man’s pitiful leather hauberk with a spurt of blood.
With a last scream the rider fell just as Aur slammed into the rear of his horse. The Meradani pair went down, and Rhodorix nearly followed. Only a lifetime spent on horseback saved his balance and his life. He managed to stay on Aur’s back and balance his weight at the same time so that the golden gelding kept his feet. Aur tossed his head, foaming in panic. Rhodorix threw his weight forward and kept him from rearing while he stroked the horse’s neck.
“Whist, whist, lad! It’s all over.”
The swordsmen had cut to pieces the few Meradan that the archers had missed. When Rhodorix turned his horse back to the battle, he had a moment of nausea at the sight