wang of a crossbow, felt something in his back.
The road broke out into a long clearing. Turning in the saddle, Harald put two arrows into the nearest pursuer. The man fell back, his hands still clutching the reins; the horse swung to one side, went crashing through the trees. His third caught the next rider in the throat, tumbled him out of his saddle. More behind, and men with bows coming out of the woods. Harald glanced ahead.
The clearing ended against a steep bank; the road swung left across its face. The archers were too close. He brought the mare to a sliding stop where the road turned, wheeled, back to the bank, face to the enemy.
Two riders died, the third reached him. He caught the sword on his shield's rawhide edge, felt it cut and catch, struck back with the saddle mace, felt the blow go home. The bow into its scabbard. The mare reared under him, turned, struck out with forehooves; the attacker on that side clutched his reins as his horse shied aside, tried to bolt. Harald jammed his shield into the man's face, struck once to cripple the shoulder, a second time to kill, felt a heavy blow on his helm.
For a moment the world turned black. Somehow he stayed in the saddle as the mare backed him free of the tangle. Then block and blow as the mounted Wolves swarmed around him. At least no arrows. A line of fire across his right shoulder, another over his ribs. He struck back, felt the strength draining from his arm. The world swung around him, the mace loose in his fingers.
"Back or die, dogs."
The voice was above and behind him. The mare was still backing, he was again for a moment clear. The remaining Wolves, still between him and their own archers, were looking not at him but up.
"We are here on the King's business, Lady." The face of the leading rider blurred, but he knew the voice.
"Too much of the King's business here. Back. Your archers down their bows or die. We're in cover; they aren't."
One of the archers must have tried to draw or run. He heard the bowstrings behind him, thought he heard the arrows thud home, the man grunt.
"Next?"
The familiar voice spoke.
"Bows down, men back into the woods, meet at the inn. We'll settle this later."
The riders were backing away, turning. Harald watched, what remained of his shield raised. He heard voices, noise behind him, held steady. It was dark early. He would have to . . .
The ground came up, struck him.
He woke first to a stab of pain, held himself still. He was flat on his face; someone was examining his back with a sharp knife.
"Not deep, but the bastards' bolts are barbed." He considered telling her about the little flask in his kit. Considered it again.
The next time he was on his back, lying on something soft, what felt like a rolled up cloak under his head. He was light-headed and most of him hurt, but so far as he could tell by cautious twitches there were no arrows actually sticking in him. Progress. Voices.
"I don't know who but I know what, and I saw him kill four Wolves while you were stringing your bow. That's more than we've done all month."
"I'm sorry. I was nervous. Everything was so fast."
"Fighting's like that. You'll learn. Or not."
"It was . . ."
"I've never seen better. The horse as good as the man. But now they're our problem. We can't leave him. We can't take him with us; he'd be dead in a day. We can't stay here—eventually that Wolf captain will decide he has a big enough pack and come looking."
Harald spoke:
"My horse."
"She's in better shape than you are. Nothing broken, nothing that won't heal."
He closed his eyes, breathed slowly, let the world fade back.
Hoofbeats in front, behind. He felt his body swaying. A horse litter. Gods grant neither beast bolted.
"No you can't. Leonora, stop the beast."
"You stop her."
The hoofbeats stopped, the litter stopped swaying. Something cold and wet against his shoulder. He reached up, stroked the mare's muzzle.
He was lying in a bed. Too hot. Dull aches, none of which seemed to matter. Someone was trying to talk to him.
"Old Gudmund and Anna will take care of you. We have to go. They'll send word when they can. You're their nephew Karl. A falling tree hurt you."
It was a struggle to open his eyes, to force his mind to think, his mouth to speak.
"Can you get a message to your hold, up the top of Mainvale?"
There was a long silence, voices whispering together.
"Yes. It will take time."
"No hurry. When someone goes. Lady Aliana. Nobody else. Niall. His father. Home next spring."
"We are to tell the Lady Aliana in Valholt at the top of Mainvale that Niall's father will be home next spring?"
Harald nodded, closed his eyes, was again asleep.
He slept for a long time, brief intervals for water, a little soup. The legions 中古車 買取 advanced, a wall of shields, unbreakable. He signaled; the trumpet sounded. The boulders rolled down. He saw the faces, horror, courage, surprise. Crushed bodies. Men moaning. The wind