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Authors: Walter Jon Williams
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everything.”
Aristide didn’t bother to answer. The priests continued their milling, their chanting. The startled birds began to settle back into the trees. Aristide watched as closely as he could.
Another detonation sounded from the grove. The birds rose again into the sky. Another outlaw vanished. And, somewhere behind Aristide, a warhorse neighed.
The horse was a stallion and waiting with other stallions made it fretful and belligerent, and it was beginning to scent the strange horses in the corral, and the repeated detonations had not soothed its nerves. So when the third bang echoed from the surrounding ranks the stallion answered, issuing a furious, shrieking challenge into the sky.
Aristide glanced over his shoulder at the sound. Grax, standing by another body of caravan guards, whirled to the horseman and signaled angrily for the horseman to quiet his beast.
Horses in the bandits’ corral answered. The first stallion screamed back at them, and so did several other horses in the party.
Grax turned to Aristide, arms thrown wide in frustration. Aristide turned back to the plantation.
The three priests had turned as one to stare in the direction of the noise. Their chanting ceased. And after a half-second pause they were in motion again, running, gesturing, issuing orders.
Aristide turned to Grax and his command.
“ Now!” he called. “ Charge them!”
Grax took three steps and hurled himself onto his riding-lizard. He pulled his lance from the ground and shook it.
“ Grax the Troll!” he shouted.
“ Grax the Troll!” his riders echoed, and spurred forward.
“Not exactly ‘Leeroy Jenkins!’ ” remarked Bitsy, “but I suppose it will do.”
The riders roared over the lip of the bowl in a great cloud of dust. Grax led the lancers across the open ground to the right while the archers spread out widely, their arrows already humming through the air.
As the riders passed him, Aristide stood to get a better view.
The archers were not particularly accurate in firing from the backs of jouncing beasts, but their arrows at least served to increase the confusion of the bandit force. The swift advance of Grax and his lancers was hampered by the tent lines and shelters of the bandit camp, but they managed to maintain their momentum, and as they advanced trampled much of the bandits’ armor and reserve weapons underfoot.
The main body of bandits had faded back from the edge of the palm plantation, leaving behind eight of their number still bound hand and foot. These were screaming and rolling and crying for help, much to the amusement of the archers, who were pleased to use them for target practice as they trotted forward. Aristide could see nothing of the priests.
There was a series of concussions, however, that revealed the priests were most likely causing arrows to disappear.
Aristide unsheathed Tecmessa and trotted forward on foot. Bitsy ran by his side.
Ahead of him, the archers fired a low scything volley into the plantation, then jumped their beasts over the wall and rode on. Aristide followed. There followed a series of cracks, and Aristide was nearly trampled as the archers came galloping back with a group of sword-swinging bandits in pursuit. A pair of priests were leading the charge and the archers knew not to let them get close.
It was clearly unwise to fight two priests at once. Aristide retreated along with the archers. Bitsy went up one of the palms.
The bandits pursued to the edge of the plantation. In the shade of the palms their eyes glowed like distant candles. The archers rode back to a safe distance and then resumed their shooting. Clay balls whirled on the ends of their cords, and booms tore the air as arrows vanished in midflight. But while the priests could protect themselves, they couldn’t protect all their followers, and outlaws cried in pain and rage as they fell with arrow wounds.
Then there were shouts of Grax the Troll! from the depths of the palm trees, and the
Aristide didn’t bother to answer. The priests continued their milling, their chanting. The startled birds began to settle back into the trees. Aristide watched as closely as he could.
Another detonation sounded from the grove. The birds rose again into the sky. Another outlaw vanished. And, somewhere behind Aristide, a warhorse neighed.
The horse was a stallion and waiting with other stallions made it fretful and belligerent, and it was beginning to scent the strange horses in the corral, and the repeated detonations had not soothed its nerves. So when the third bang echoed from the surrounding ranks the stallion answered, issuing a furious, shrieking challenge into the sky.
Aristide glanced over his shoulder at the sound. Grax, standing by another body of caravan guards, whirled to the horseman and signaled angrily for the horseman to quiet his beast.
Horses in the bandits’ corral answered. The first stallion screamed back at them, and so did several other horses in the party.
Grax turned to Aristide, arms thrown wide in frustration. Aristide turned back to the plantation.
The three priests had turned as one to stare in the direction of the noise. Their chanting ceased. And after a half-second pause they were in motion again, running, gesturing, issuing orders.
Aristide turned to Grax and his command.
“ Now!” he called. “ Charge them!”
Grax took three steps and hurled himself onto his riding-lizard. He pulled his lance from the ground and shook it.
“ Grax the Troll!” he shouted.
“ Grax the Troll!” his riders echoed, and spurred forward.
“Not exactly ‘Leeroy Jenkins!’ ” remarked Bitsy, “but I suppose it will do.”
The riders roared over the lip of the bowl in a great cloud of dust. Grax led the lancers across the open ground to the right while the archers spread out widely, their arrows already humming through the air.
As the riders passed him, Aristide stood to get a better view.
The archers were not particularly accurate in firing from the backs of jouncing beasts, but their arrows at least served to increase the confusion of the bandit force. The swift advance of Grax and his lancers was hampered by the tent lines and shelters of the bandit camp, but they managed to maintain their momentum, and as they advanced trampled much of the bandits’ armor and reserve weapons underfoot.
The main body of bandits had faded back from the edge of the palm plantation, leaving behind eight of their number still bound hand and foot. These were screaming and rolling and crying for help, much to the amusement of the archers, who were pleased to use them for target practice as they trotted forward. Aristide could see nothing of the priests.
There was a series of concussions, however, that revealed the priests were most likely causing arrows to disappear.
Aristide unsheathed Tecmessa and trotted forward on foot. Bitsy ran by his side.
Ahead of him, the archers fired a low scything volley into the plantation, then jumped their beasts over the wall and rode on. Aristide followed. There followed a series of cracks, and Aristide was nearly trampled as the archers came galloping back with a group of sword-swinging bandits in pursuit. A pair of priests were leading the charge and the archers knew not to let them get close.
It was clearly unwise to fight two priests at once. Aristide retreated along with the archers. Bitsy went up one of the palms.
The bandits pursued to the edge of the plantation. In the shade of the palms their eyes glowed like distant candles. The archers rode back to a safe distance and then resumed their shooting. Clay balls whirled on the ends of their cords, and booms tore the air as arrows vanished in midflight. But while the priests could protect themselves, they couldn’t protect all their followers, and outlaws cried in pain and rage as they fell with arrow wounds.
Then there were shouts of Grax the Troll! from the depths of the palm trees, and the
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