The Thirty hit them like a winter storm, silver blades flashing and slicing. Horses reared and men screamed as they fell from the saddle. Then the white-cloaked riders wheeled once more and galloped away.
Argonis was furious. ‘After them!’ he yelled, but wisely held back his own mount as his men thundered in pursuit. The mountains were nearer now and the enemy had begun the long climb to the first valley. A horse stumbled and fell, pitching a blonde woman to the grass; three riders spurred their horses at her. A tall man dressed in black, his face masked, swung his horse and raced to intercept. Argonis watched fascinated as the masked man ducked under a wild cut and disembowelled the first rider, swinging in the saddle to block an overhead cut from the second. Spurring his horse he cannoned into the third, downing horse and man.
The woman was up now and running. The masked man parried an attack from the second rider, and slashed the man’s throat with a reverse cut. Then he was clear. Sheathing his sword, he galloped his horse towards the woman, leaning over in the saddle. His arm swept down to circle her waist and sweep her up in front of him, then they were gone into the Skoda range.
Argonis cantered back to the site of the battle. Thirty-one members of his force were down; eighteen dead, another six mortally wounded.
His men returned, dejected and demoralised. The scout, Lepus, approached Argonis and dismounted. Saluting swiftly, he held Argonis’ mount as the officer slid from the saddle.
‘Who in Hell’s name were they?’ asked Lepus.
‘I don’t know, but they made us look like children.’
‘Is that what your report will say, sir?’
‘Shut your mouth!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We will have a thousand Legion riders here in a few days. Then we will smoke them out – they cannot defend an entire range. We shall see those white-cloaked bastards again.’
‘I’m not sure that I want to,’ said Lepus.
*
Tenaka pulled his mount to a stop by a winding stream that trickled through a grove of elm on the western side of the valley. He swung in the saddle, seeking Ananais; he could see the warrior walking his horse, Valtaya sitting side-saddle behind him. They had made it without losing a single member of their party, thanks only to the spectacular skills of The Thirty.
Dismounting, Tenaka left his horse to graze; he loosened the saddle cinch and patted the beast’s neck. Renya rode alongside and leapt from her saddle, her face flushed and her eyes bright with excitement.
‘Are we safe now?’ she asked.
‘For the moment,’ he answered.
Ananais lifted his leg over the pommel of his saddle and slid to the ground, turning to lift Valtaya clear. She smiled at him and draped her arms over his shoulders.
‘Will you always be on hand to save my life?’
‘Always is a long time, lady,’ he answered, his hands on her waist.
‘Did anyone ever tell you that you have beautiful eyes?’
‘Not lately,’ he said, releasing her and walking away.
Galand watched the scene and then moved to Valtaya.
‘I should forget it, girl,’ he said. ‘The man is not for winning.’
‘But you are, eh, Galand?’
‘I am, lass! But take your time before saying yes. I’m not exactly a great catch.’
Valtaya laughed. ‘You are better than you think.’
‘But it’s “No” just the same?’
‘I don’t think you are looking for a wife, are you?’
‘If only we had the time,’ answered Galand seriously and reaching out, he took her hand. ‘You are a fine woman, Val, and I don’t think a man could do better. I wish I had known you in better days.’
‘Times are what we make them. There are other nations in the world where men like Ceska are shunned. Peaceful nations.’
‘I don’t want to be a foreigner, Val. I want to live in my own land among my own people. I want . . .’ Galand’s words tailed away and Valtaya saw the anguish in his eyes. She laid her hand on his arm and he looked away.
‘What is it, Galand? What were you going to say?’