Jerdren kneed his horse again, bringing the blade around hard as he rode past red-beard then checked and turned back. The hill pony reared. A bright-red arc of blood shimmered in the early sun as his rider slid down the beasts withers and fell to the road, where he lay still, sword still clutched in his fingers. The pony bolted back past the carts.
A quick glance assured Jerdren that the footmen hadn’t comeany nearer. There were men down beyond the carts and north of the road. He didn’t dare take count just yet. One man lay limp across the neck of his ponyand just beyond them, Blorys was fighting the last of the riders. Someone back along the wagons was howling in pain.
One of his hired men shouted, “All but two of ’em down, backhere!”
“Stay alert!” Jerdren bellowed back.
A wail of agony was cut short as Blorys brought his hand down hard, two-handed, and cut deep into the man’s neck. The pony spun halfway aroundand bolted back toward the rough line of bandits still waiting up-road, dragging his rider. The foot fighters drew back, and several of them turned to run.
Jerdren’s exultant laugh stopped them. “Going somewhere?Cowards!”
Two of the men turned back, their faces dark with anger, but the third-a thin, beardless creature clad in greasy leathers-caught his breathon a sob, threw down his spear and fled down the middle of the road. The mercenary laughed again and urged his mount into a gallop, left hand wrapped around the reins, sword in his right.