Malice

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

CYWEN

Cywen heard a whirring sound, a thunk like an axe splitting wet wood, and the guide tumbled from his saddle, a black-fletched arrow sprouting from his chest.

‘Shields!’ roared Tull, shrugging his from his back, then bellowed as an arrow sank into his leg, another piercing his horse’s chest.

All was chaos. Cywen stared frantically around the glade. Warriors were shouting, crying out in pain, horses neighing, screaming as arrows tore into them from all directions. Half of the warriors had already fallen, either with arrows in their flesh or dragged down by their mounts. The rest were surging to Queen Alona, Cywen and Edana, trying to cover them with their shields, herding them back the way they had come.

There was another burst of arrows, more horses screaming. Then red-cloaked men were pouring from the trees all about, a line of them barring the track they had ridden in on, others blocking the exit at the far side of the glade, still more converging on the huddle of grey in the glade’s centre.

Two of those still on horseback charged the exit. One fell immediately, his horse’s legs slashed from under him, but the other crashed through, though he swayed in his saddle as his horse galloped away. Arrows skittered after him, Cywen not seeing if they found their mark or not.

The gap in the line closed up instantly.

‘No use,’ Tull shouted above the din, standing beside Alona’s mount and holding his shield before her. ‘Back this way,’ he said, pulling the Queen’s mount towards the edge of the glade, between the two exits.

A knot of their attackers suddenly crashed into them, some with spears. Tull roared, hacked at a shaft that pierced a gap in the shields and sank into the belly of Alona’s mount. He grabbed Alona around the waist as the horse reared and fell backwards. Gently he set the Queen down, then threw himself at their attackers. In moments two had fallen, one’s face smashed by Tull’s iron-bossed shield, the other clutching at a gaping wound in his gut.

All of the horses were down now, Tull and a half-dozen others surrounding the women, backing away from their enemies. Cywen searched her protectors for Ronan, felt a surge of relief when she saw him holding a shield before Edana. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. Beyond Ronan there were grim-faced, snarling men all about them, circling the tight-pressed bodies of those trying to protect her. Men slammed into them. Iron clashed on iron and she heard the crack of bone, the thwack of iron cleaving flesh and men screaming, but still their small circle held. It moved back and left a handful of their attackers lying still on the churned grass.

‘I want the women alive!’ Cywen heard someone yell. Peering through the wall of her defenders, she saw at least a score of men around their few. Then the red-cloaked attackers were coming at them once more.

Again there was a short, furious clash, Tull in the middle of it, roaring a battle cry. Cywen remembered her knives suddenly, fumbled one from her belt and hurled it at a face in a red cloak — saw him fall backwards, clutching at his throat.

Then they were at the glade’s edge, a wide tree at their back.

Tull and four other warriors in grey were still standing, one of them Ronan. Queen Alona, Edana and Cywen huddled behind them. She counted the knives at her belt. Three more.

Their attackers had fallen back, but had penned them in. They outnumbered the men of Ardan, but none was keen to be the first to charge. Others still hovered at the glade’s exits, barring escape.

‘We cannot turn and run,’ Tull muttered, glancing over his shoulder into the forest. ‘As soon as we were amongst the trees they’d be on our backs.’ He paused briefly, thinking.

‘Right, listen close, we’ve only a few moments while they catch their breath, gather their courage. This is the way it is going to be,’ he said, fixing Alona with his gaze. ‘Ronan, Ised, when I give the nod you are to lead the girls into the forest. Ised, you’re the van; Ronan, rearguard.’ Both warriors grunted.

‘Me, Alwyn and Taren here, we’re going to buy you some time.’

‘No, Tull. .’ Alona blurted.

‘It’s the only way. They’ll take you otherwise,’ he said. ‘And the rest of us’ll still be dead.’ He reached out and covered her hand with his. ‘If you run, live, then our deaths will have worth.’

They looked at each other a moment, then Alona nodded.

‘Good,’ Tull said soberly. ‘You might want to throw another of those knives tucked in your belt, girlie,’ he said to Cywen. ‘With me, lads.’

Then he was gone.

He charged forwards, no roaring battle cry this time, the enemy seeming almost inattentive. A rush had been the last thing they expected. Taren and Alwyn, both older warriors like Tull, followed the first-sword of Ardan. They ploughed into their attackers, swords and shields swinging, smashing men to the ground.

‘Now, quickly,’ Ronan hissed, tugging at Cywen’s cloak.

She freed another knife from her belt and cast it at a man poised to hamstring Tull. The man howled, staggered backwards, trying to reach the blade lodged in his back.

Ronan grabbed her hand, squeezed it. ‘Please, come,’ he exhorted, one eye on Tull. She realized he was crying. She nodded and then they were dashing into the trees, branches whipping at their faces, following Edana’s cloak into the twilight. Cywen looked over her shoulder once, heard Tull roar his defiance, caught a flash of red cloaks at the centre of the glade, then she could see no more.