Read Online Honored Enemy by Raymond E. Feist - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Raymond E. Feist
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am in command , he remembered, and he felt a flicker of anger towards Gregory overstepping his bounds yet again, and yet again being right. If we and the Tsurani fight now, we all die . He turned the anger on himself. I should have grasped this immediately; Gregory realized it. Jurgen would have too .
45
He turned about in a full circle, judging sound, distances, ignoring the Tsurani. He saw a line of horse-mounted warriors emerge from the trail that headed south, one of them holding a banner aloft –human renegades serving with their moredhel masters. Dennis felt his stomach knot; the only time the moredhel hired mercenary cavalry was when they were mounting an offensive; they had no use for humans otherwise.
A dozen or more trolls swarmed about the standard-bearer like dogs about to be unleashed for the hunt. Others on foot were pouring out of the forest from the far side of the clearing.
Main force there , he realized.
From behind, to the west and north-west he heard horns. The blocking force on the trail were spreading out and closing the net.
If they delay us even for a few minutes the mounted riders and other fell creatures accompanying them will close in for the kill .
It was obvious they planned for a fleeing force to turn and go up the trail, and straight into their doom.
To the north, nothing, only a few sentries. Arrogant of them: it was the way back to moredhel territory and they had left it open.
North then, it was the only way out!
He looked back to the clearing again, and the Tsurani were already gone, moving rapidly to the north. All he could see were their retreating backs.
Damn them, they were suppose to be the diversion and now he was the diversion instead!
Furious with himself he held a hand up, circled it then snapped it down and set off at a run, his men following.
He bounded back towards the trail to Mad Wayne’s, praying that perhaps the Tsurani had taken that turn and stumbled into the moredhel’s trap.
He hit the edge of the trail and without hesitation jumped down.
Within seconds his men were sliding down around him.
He looked down. No Tsurani tracks.
Damn! They had slipped out some other way.
A man next to him, Beragorn, was an old veteran. He grunted and turned, clutching at his stomach where an arrow with black feathers quivered.
46
Out of the mist he saw them coming, half-a-dozen moredhel. More filtering through the trees to either side of the trail. Instinctively he crouched, and an arrow snapped overhead. More men were sliding down onto the trail, turning, ready to fight.
No. In a minute those in the field will close in .
‘Alwin! Block force. Then across creek!’ he shouted. ‘The rest of you, follow me north!’
He hesitated for a second, looking at Beragorn who was down on his knees. He reached for his dagger, to do the task any friend would do for a comrade when the moredhel were closing in.
Damn, his dagger was lost.
He glanced at Beragorn, whose eyes were glazing over as he fell backward against a bole. Taking a breath, Dennis seized the shaft sticking out of Beragorn’s stomach, and with a single push, jammed it up into his old comrade’s heart. The man stiffened and died.
Dennis sprinted off the trail, leaping the creek and running up the slope where he had fought the moredhel sentry.
This time his footing held. He looked back.
The tail end of his command were just now crossing the trail.
Alwin had heard him, calling out half a dozen men who stood to either side of the trail, their first volley of arrows slowing the dark elves’ charge. A couple more men went down from a return volley. He caught a glimpse of Tinuva leaping the stream, landing, turning, bow drawn. He let fly, aiming back towards Brendan’s Stockade. It was a long shot, yet it dropped a horse at the head of the trail, throwing the rider. Gregory sprinted past him, dodging through the trees.
‘Follow Gregory!’ Dennis shouted, pointing the way.
He waited a few more seconds,
45
He turned about in a full circle, judging sound, distances, ignoring the Tsurani. He saw a line of horse-mounted warriors emerge from the trail that headed south, one of them holding a banner aloft –human renegades serving with their moredhel masters. Dennis felt his stomach knot; the only time the moredhel hired mercenary cavalry was when they were mounting an offensive; they had no use for humans otherwise.
A dozen or more trolls swarmed about the standard-bearer like dogs about to be unleashed for the hunt. Others on foot were pouring out of the forest from the far side of the clearing.
Main force there , he realized.
From behind, to the west and north-west he heard horns. The blocking force on the trail were spreading out and closing the net.
If they delay us even for a few minutes the mounted riders and other fell creatures accompanying them will close in for the kill .
It was obvious they planned for a fleeing force to turn and go up the trail, and straight into their doom.
To the north, nothing, only a few sentries. Arrogant of them: it was the way back to moredhel territory and they had left it open.
North then, it was the only way out!
He looked back to the clearing again, and the Tsurani were already gone, moving rapidly to the north. All he could see were their retreating backs.
Damn them, they were suppose to be the diversion and now he was the diversion instead!
Furious with himself he held a hand up, circled it then snapped it down and set off at a run, his men following.
He bounded back towards the trail to Mad Wayne’s, praying that perhaps the Tsurani had taken that turn and stumbled into the moredhel’s trap.
He hit the edge of the trail and without hesitation jumped down.
Within seconds his men were sliding down around him.
He looked down. No Tsurani tracks.
Damn! They had slipped out some other way.
A man next to him, Beragorn, was an old veteran. He grunted and turned, clutching at his stomach where an arrow with black feathers quivered.
46
Out of the mist he saw them coming, half-a-dozen moredhel. More filtering through the trees to either side of the trail. Instinctively he crouched, and an arrow snapped overhead. More men were sliding down onto the trail, turning, ready to fight.
No. In a minute those in the field will close in .
‘Alwin! Block force. Then across creek!’ he shouted. ‘The rest of you, follow me north!’
He hesitated for a second, looking at Beragorn who was down on his knees. He reached for his dagger, to do the task any friend would do for a comrade when the moredhel were closing in.
Damn, his dagger was lost.
He glanced at Beragorn, whose eyes were glazing over as he fell backward against a bole. Taking a breath, Dennis seized the shaft sticking out of Beragorn’s stomach, and with a single push, jammed it up into his old comrade’s heart. The man stiffened and died.
Dennis sprinted off the trail, leaping the creek and running up the slope where he had fought the moredhel sentry.
This time his footing held. He looked back.
The tail end of his command were just now crossing the trail.
Alwin had heard him, calling out half a dozen men who stood to either side of the trail, their first volley of arrows slowing the dark elves’ charge. A couple more men went down from a return volley. He caught a glimpse of Tinuva leaping the stream, landing, turning, bow drawn. He let fly, aiming back towards Brendan’s Stockade. It was a long shot, yet it dropped a horse at the head of the trail, throwing the rider. Gregory sprinted past him, dodging through the trees.
‘Follow Gregory!’ Dennis shouted, pointing the way.
He waited a few more seconds,
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