Bili’s white teeth flashed in the moonlight. “That, Kinsman, takes practice!”
The young axeman would have taken the lead into the place of danger, had not Ahndee, Klairuhnz, and the two Freefighters argued him down. So when the column trotted toward the bridge, Bili was third in line, with Klairuhnz ahead and Dzhool, the younger of Komees Djeen’s troopers, at point; behind rode Ahndee, then Geros, then the trooper Shahrl.
The more closely they approached the forest, the stronger grew Bili’s dreadful apprehension. Now he knew that they were certainly riding into a battle, and he so mindspoke both Ahndee and Klairuhnz.
Awe in his voice, Ahndee silently asked, “You can far-gather, then, Bili? That’s a rare and precious ability. We were told of it at the Confederation Mindspeak Academy, of course; but not even the instructors had ever met a man or woman who actually possessed it! Can you tell how many foemen, and how far ahead they be?”
“No,” Bili admitted. “Never have I been able to judge numbers, but we are near and drawing nearer.”
The thick old planks of the bridge boomed hollowly under ironshod hooves; then they were into the forest. Bili found it far less dark within than it had appeared from without. Except for the oakgrown fringes, the growth was principally tall, old pines, unbranching for many feet above roadlevel. The wan moonlight filtered through the needles, making for a dim visibility.
The road ran straight for a few dozen yards, then began a gradual ascent and slight curvature to the right, following the lower reaches of a brushgrown hillock. They splashed through a tiny rill, which fed down into a small swamp before it joined the larger stream. Beyond the rill, the road commenced another slow curve, this one to the left. As they descended the reverse slope, the moon dove for cover, and Bili’s hackles rose. The unseen danger was near, terribly near!
“SOON!” he urgently mindspoke Ahndee and Klairunz, while bringing his axe up, so that its fearsome, doublebitted head rested against his armored right shoulder. Dropping his reins over the pommel knob in battle, he guided Mahvros solely by mindspeak and kneepressure, not that the battlewise stallion required a great deal of guidance he lowered and securely locked into place the slitted halfvisor which protected the eyes and nose. By that time, the peril lay so very near, pressed so heavily, that he could hardly bear it.
“NOW!” He beamed with mindblasting intensity. “IT IS ALL AROUND US!”
Ahndee and Klairuhnz drew their blades, and the zweep of steel leaving scabbard alerted the troopers, who bared their own weapons. Geros awkwardly gripped and regripped the shaft of the widebladed boarspear in his sweaty hand. He knew next to nothing of arms and their use, and showed it.
Up the slope to their left, the trees abruptly began to thin . . . and the fickle moon chose that moment to commence a slow emergence.
There was a scuffling noise at the head of the column, a strangled grunt, followed almost immediately by a horse’s shrill scream of pain and terror, then the unmistakable clash-clanking of an armored body falling to the ground. And the moon came fully out.
Bili could see the trooper, Dzhool, twitching on the roadway. A stocky, blackbearded man had a foot on the dying Freefighter’s chest, frantically striving to jerk his spearpoint from the body. He never got the weapon free, for Bard Klairuhnz kneed his chestnut forward; his long saber swept up, then blurred down. The bearded head, still wearing its oldfashioned helmet, clattered across the road and into the weeds. The trunk stood a brief moment, then pitched forward over its victim’s body, shortened neck spouting ropy streams of blood.
From around the far side of the screaming, hamstrung lead horse rushed another of the attackers, lacking either helm or armor, but swinging up a short, widebladed infantry sword. This man was as stocky as the first, but beardless and greyhaired, his thin lips peeled back in a grimace which revealed his rotten teeth. There was fresh blood on his swordblade and he ran directly at Bili, shouting something in Old Ehleeneekos.
Ahndee watched Bili-with seeming effortlessness handling his long, massive weapon with one hand-catch the slash on the steel shaft of his axe and allow the blade’s own momentum to propel it into the deep notch between head and haft. A single twist of Bili’s thick wrist tore the hilt from the old man’s grip and sent it spinning. The spike above the two axebits was jammed deep into the ancient’s chest, ere that sword had come to ground.