Throne of Dragons

“What about eight?” another voice said behind him.

Half a dozen other men stepped from the trees, and a part of Odd cursed himself for not seeing that coming. They were dressed in similar ways to the others, in scraps of leathers, mostly armed with hatchets or knives. They had obviously hung back just in case Odd had friends hidden out of sight, in case this was a trap laid to catch those who might rob travelers.

Odd smiled at them. “I take it that you still want my money pouch?”

“And your sword, and your mule,” the large one said.

“Ah now,” Odd replied. “I have become quite attached to that mule. Besides, I need it to head south.”

“You’ll give us all of it, or we’ll gut you,” the short one with the knife said.

Of course, the sensible, even sane thing to do would be to give them all that they wanted. It was what the abbot would have done, no doubt. Even most warriors had the sense to know when they were outnumbered too badly. To charge in would be madness.

“But then,” Odd said aloud, ignoring the men’s looks of confusion, “I am, famously, mad.”

“What are you—” the one with the beard began, but by that point, Odd was already charging, sword held high.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Erin rode back and forth along the column of knights heading south, frustrated that she could, frustrated that they weren’t charging along at a full gallop. Around her, the Knights of the Spur shone atop their horses, their armor and barding glinting in the sun, but that only seemed to make it worse; it made it seem like a parade, rather than a charge to save her sister.

They were crossing the farmland south of the Spur, the column of knights shining against the green and gold of the fields, but they weren’t far off the forests that covered so much of the ground between them and Royalsport now. It still didn’t seem like they’d gone far enough; not even close.

Erin reached the front, where Commander Harr sat atop a horse so large it barely seemed like a horse at all beneath its armor, more like some steel-clad monster. A pennant flew from his lance, with the image of the spur outlined against a blue background.

“You seem to be riding three leagues for every one the rest of us manage,” Commander Harr said, his tone far too calm for Erin’s taste, given that they were riding to war. Shouldn’t he have sounded more urgent, more worried for Lenore’s safety?

“We’re going too slowly!” Erin said. “We could be riding twice as fast as this.”

“For a day, perhaps,” Commander Harr said. “But then we would have to stop. Even if we did make it to the river in a hurry, we would be exhausted when it came to any fighting.”

“But we’re the Knights of the Spur!” Erin insisted. “Aren’t you supposed to be warriors out of legend, able to fight all day, against any enemy?”

“And because of that, the king expects us to be able to fight his enemies when we arrive,” Commander Harr said. “Resume your place in the ranks. There is much marching still to go.”

“I know how far there is to go,” Erin said. “That’s the problem.”

Commander Harr raised one closed fist, and behind him, the entire column drew to a halt, stopping with the kind of discipline that only the Knights of the Spur could manage.

“I gave you an order, recruit,” he said.

“You think that’s the most important thing right now?” Erin shot back. “When my sister’s out there somewhere, in the hands of King Ravin, you think that’s the thing that matters?”

“I think it matters whether I can trust you to do what you’re commanded, no matter what you’re feeling,” Commander Harr said. “I think the lives of your companions might depend on how well you can do that.”

“I won’t endanger the others,” Erin said, but even as she said it, she itched to keep riding. Every second they wasted here was another in which her sister was growing further away.

“Won’t you?” Commander Harr demanded. “Til, Fenir, get up here!”

The two knights rode forward, coming to a halt before Erin and the commander.

“You said that Erin here was a little too eager,” Commander Harr said. “What does that mean? What did she do at the village?”

To Erin’s surprise, the two knights hesitated a moment, obviously caught between loyalty to their leader and to her.

“The truth!” Commander Harr bellowed.

“She charged into the village,” Til said. “I told her to hold off, but she went in anyway.”

“Fought well though,” Fenir said.

“It doesn’t matter how she fought!” Commander Harr said. “Not if we can’t trust her to hold back when she needs to.” He turned to Erin. “Even now, I can see you twitching, like you want to ride for the horizon to save your sister.”

“Lenore’s in danger,” Erin shot back. How could he expect her to stand there when they were wasting time?

“And if she’s in danger when we reach the bridges, you’ll abandon your companions and do what you feel you must to save her?” Commander Harr asked.

Erin didn’t even understand why it was a question.

“No,” Commander Harr said. “I can see that I made a mistake, bringing you. You will return to the fortress, for your own safety, and for ours.”

“You… you can’t ask me to do that!” Erin said, unable to believe that Commander Harr would even contemplate it.

“I am not asking,” the commander said. “Remember that you are under my command.”

Erin bit back her counterargument, knowing that there was no way that she would be able to convince the commander, not in time. Instead, she offered a bow, leaning low over the back of her horse.

“Very well…” she said, then heeled her horse into a run.

Commander Harr bellowed behind her for her to stop, but Erin didn’t even slow. She glanced back, half expecting to see knights charging after her, but they were stock-still in their positions, obeying their leader’s command to halt in a way that she never could. Commander Harr called something else then, and Fenir and Til set off after her, but Erin was already well ahead, already galloping clear of them.

She galloped for the forest, knowing that in the shelter of the trees they wouldn’t find her. She plunged under the shelter of the branches, following the path, not slowing down. Her horse leapt over a fallen log, its hooves thundering against the dirt of the track. Erin ducked under a branch, kept her head low, kept riding.

The sounds of pursuit faded behind her, but Erin kept going. She didn’t want to risk being dragged back to the fort when she could help her sister. She had to keep going, couldn’t slow down now.

So she rode, and kept riding, until her horse slowed of its own volition, unwilling to gallop any further. Erin walked it then, leaping down from the saddle because she didn’t want to risk pushing it to exhaustion. She walked along the forest track, certain now that the knights would be long behind her, probably still moving at a snail’s pace. She would reach the bridges before them, would find her sister…

A sound drew Erin from those thoughts, though: the sound of steel on steel, coming together in violence. Erin looked around, not certain where it was coming from in the close confines of the forest, but quickly realized that it lay ahead, along the track.

Perhaps Commander Harr would have counseled caution, ordered her to hold back. Erin couldn’t do so, though, not when someone might be in danger. Tying her horse’s reins to a tree, she took her spear and hurried forward, ready to help.

***

The only advantage to fighting eight men at once, as Odd saw it, was that at least anyone he struck out at was likely to be an enemy. He slashed and cut, keeping his foes at bay with the sheer fury of his sword work, so that coming forward at him would have been like wandering into a hailstorm made of steel.

Even so, some of the bandits tried it. The one with the beard hacked at him with that axe of his, and Odd wove away from it, catching the head on his cross guard and knocking the man back. He parried another blow from a knife, ducked in behind a tree, and popped out of the other side in time to thrust his point in between a man’s ribs. The bandit gasped and stumbled, but still aimed a clumsy blow at Odd’s head.

Odd was already moving, the battle madness flowing through him now as he laughed in his fury. The world seemed such a strange place in moments like these, joyous and terrifying and anger filled all at once, the sharp edges of no more moment than the trees around him. One scraped at Odd’s arm, and he must have felt the pain, but his main concern was hacking back with a diagonal stroke that all but cut the other man in two.