Legend

8

Hogun swallowed back despair, his mind working furiously. He and 200 of his Legion Riders faced more than a thousand Nadir dog-soldiers, the cavalry wing of Ulric's forces.

Sent out to gauge the strength and disposition of the Nadir horde, Hogun was over 150 miles from Delnoch. He had all but pleaded with Orrin to forsake this plan, but the First Gan was not to be dissuaded.

"A refusal to obey a direct order is punishable by instant dismissal for any of Gan rank. Is that what you wish, Hogun?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying. What I am telling you is that this mission is futile. We know from our spies and countless refugees the strength of Ulric's forces. Sending 200 men into that wasteland is insane."

Orrin's brown eyes had blazed with anger, his fat chin trembling in a bid to suppress his fury. "Insane, is it? I wonder. Is it just that you don't like the plan, or is the famed Corteswain warrior afraid to meet the Nadir?"

"The Black Riders are the only seasoned troops of proven worth you have here, Orrin," he said, as persuasively as he could. "You could lose all 200 men with such a scheme, and learn from it no more than we already know. Ulric has 500,000 men, and more than twice that in camp followers, cooks, engineers and whores. He will be here within six weeks."

"Hearsay," muttered Orrin. "You leave at first light."

Hogun had come close to killing him then, close enough for Orrin to sense danger.

"I am your senior officer," he said, his voice close to a whine. "You will obey me."

And Hogun had. With 200 of his finest men, mounted on black horses — bred for generations as the finest war mounts on the continent — he had thundered his troop northwards as the dawn sun breasted the Delnoch mountains.

Out of sight of the Dros he had slowed the column and signalled the men to ride at ease, free to talk to their riding companions. Dun Elicas cantered alongside him, reining his horse to a walk.

"A bad business, sir."

Hogun smiled, but did not answer. He liked young Elicas. The man was a warrior born, and a fine lieutenant. He sat a horse as if he had been born on one, a true centaur. And a hellion in battle, with his custom-made silver steel sabre, two inches shorter than the standard version.

"What are we supposed to be finding out?" he asked.

"The size and disposition of the Nadir army," answered Hogun.

"We know that already," said Elicas. "What is the fat fool playing at?"

"Enough of that, Elicas," he said sternly. "He wants to be sure the spies were not… exaggerating."

"He's jealous of you, Hogun; he wants you dead. Face it, man. No one can hear us. You know what he is — a courtier. And he has no guts. The Dros won't last a day, he'll open the gates for sure."

"He's a man under terrible pressure. The whole of the Drenai cause rests on his shoulders," said Hogun. "Give him time."

"We don't have time. Look Hogun, send me to Woundweaver. Let me explain our situation. He could be replaced."

"No. Believe me, Elicas, it would achieve nothing. He's Abalayn's nephew."

"That old man has a lot to answer for," snarled Elicas. "If we do somehow get out of this business alive, he will fall for sure."

"He has ruled for thirty years. It's too long. But, as you say, if we do get out alive it will be because of Woundweaver. And it's certain he will take control."

"Then let me ride to him now," urged Elicas.

"The time isn't right. Woundweaver cannot act. Now, leave it alone. We will do our job, and, with luck, get away without being spotted."

But luck had not been with them. Five days out from Delnoch they had come across three Nadir outriders. They had killed only two, the third ducking down over the neck of his Steppes pony and riding like the wind into a nearby wood. Hogun had ordered an immediate withdrawal, and might have pulled it off had he enjoyed an ounce of luck. Elicas has been the first to spot the mirror messages flashing from peak to peak.

"What do you think, sir?" he asked, as Hogun reined in.

"I think we will need good fortune. It depends how many dog soldiers they have in the vicinity."

The answer was not long in coming. Towards late afternoon they saw the dust-cloud south of them. Hogun glanced over his back trail.

"Lebus!" he called and a young warrior cantered alongside.

"You have eyes like a hawk. Look back there, what do you see?"

The young soldier shielded his eyes from the sun, then squinted at their back trail.

"Dust, sir. From maybe two thousand horses."

"And ahead?"

"Perhaps a thousand."

"Thank you. Rejoin the troop. Elicas!"

"Sir?"

"Cloaks furled. We will take them with lances and sabres."

"Yes, sir." He cantered back down the column. The black cloaks were unpinned and folded to be strapped to saddles. The black and silver armour glinted in the sunlight as man after man began to prepare for the charge. From saddlebags each rider removed a black and silver forearm guard and slipped it in place. Then small round bucklers were lifted from saddle horns to be fitted to the left arm. Straps were adjusted, armour tightened. The approaching Nadir could now be seen as individuals, but the sound of their battle cries was muffled by the pounding of horses' hooves.

"Helms down!" yelled Hogun. "Wedge formation!"

Hogun and Elicas formed the point of the wedge, the other riders slipping expertly into position a hundred on either side.

"Advance!" yelled Elicas. The troop broke into a canter; then, at full gallop, the lances tilted. As the distance narrowed, Hogun felt his blood racing and could hear his pounding heart in time with the rolling thunder of the black horses' iron-shod hooves.

Now he could pick out individual Nadir faces, and hear their screams.

The wedge smashed into the Nadir ranks, the larger black war horses cleaving a path through the mass of smaller hill ponies. Hogun's lance speared a Nadir chest, and snapped as the man catapulted from his pony. Then his sabre slashed into the air; he cut one man from his mount, parried a thrust from the left and back-handed his blade across the throat of the horseman. Elicas screamed a Drenai war cry from his right, his horse rearing, the front hooves caving the chest of a piebald pony who ditched his rider beneath the milling mass of Black Riders.

And then they were through, racing for the distant, fragile safety of Dros Delnoch.

Glancing back, Hogun saw the Nadir reform and canter to the north. There was no pursuit.

"How many men did we lose?" he asked Elicas as the troop slowed to a walk.

"Eleven."

"It could have been worse. Who were they?"

Elicas recounted the names. All good men, survivors of many battles.

"That bastard Orrin will pay for this," said Elicas bitterly.

"Forget it! He was right. More by luck than any judgement, but he was right."

"What do you mean "right"? We've learned nothing and we've lost eleven men," said Elicas.

"We have learned that the Nadir are closer than we believed. Those dog soldiers were Wolfshead tribe. That's Ulric's own, they're his personal guard. He'd never send them that far ahead of his main force. I'd say we now have a month — if we're lucky."

"Damn! I was going to gut the pig and take the consequences."

"Tell the men no fires tonight," said Hogun.

Well, fat man, he thought, this is your first good decision. May it not be the last.