“But if you’re ill—”
“I can’t be,” Dain said. “My eldin blood would protect me from common malady.” Sir Terent’s face turned red, and he slapped a hand around his sword hilt. “Then these eldin have enspelled you—” “Easy, sir,” Dain said to restrain him. “Someone is trying to do it, but it’s not the eld-folk.”
Alexeika’s intelligent gaze was intent as she leaned forward. “No, it can’t be,” she agreed. “I sense none of their type of magic near you.” “Hush, lass!” Sir Terent said gruffly to her. “This discussion has no need of your opinion.”
For an instant she looked hurt; then anger flashed in her eyes and she jumped to her feet. “Wisely spoken, sir lout!” she said contemptuously. “Since you are foreign-born and too stupid to know magic when it’s burning your ears, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Alexeika!” Dain called after her, but she turned so fast her long braid of hair swung behind her. Away she strode into the night.
Thum and Sir Alard kept silent, but Sir Terent showed no remorse. “Good riddance,” he said in satisfaction, rubbing his hands. “Bold as brass and a tongue of vinegar. Now, sire, about these eldin—” “She was absolutely right, Sir Terent,” Dain cut him off coldly. “This could not be their magic turned against me.”
“Don’t see why not,” Sir Terent replied stubbornly. “No friendliness in them, and the lass told us they refused to help you.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re trying to kill me,” Dain said.
“Kill you!” Thum exclaimed in horror. “You think someone intends your death?” “Aye.” Frowning, Dain rubbed his chest. “It’s like lying in a snowdrift for hours, unable to move, and growing colder all the while. But it’s worse than that. It’s feeling everything sinking away, fading . . .” He sat in silence a long moment, trying to shake off the confused memories. “It comes from afar.” “From who?” Thum asked. “Who attacks you like this?” Dain shook his head. “Choose from my enemies, since they’re so plentiful. But this is strange magic. I don’t know it, and yet I . . .” He frowned, but the thought that had almost come to him vanished and would not return. Frustrated, he sighed. “All I know is that it’s getting stronger.”
His men exchanged uneasy glances. Sir Alard had pulled out his Circle and was turning the brass piece over and over in his fingers.
Thum’s hazel-green eyes held horror. “But what can you do to stop it? You must know something!”
“I don’t. I never know when it’s going to overtake me.” Dain’s frown deepened, and he shivered despite his nearness to the fire. “With the Nonkind, I often have some inkling, but this is nothing of their ilk.”
“Can you not sense when it will strike again?” Thum asked.
Dain met his eyes with a sense of foreboding. “Nay. I only know that it will.” That night he dreamed of riding through driving sleet, the air so cold it burned his nostrils and fingers. He dreamed of hurlhounds—red-eyed, acid-slavering beasts that surrounded him so that there was no way out. He dreamed of fire and smoke, hearing Thia’s screams, feeling her life force ebb away as he gripped her in grief and denial. He dreamed of a place harsh and terrible, where the wind blew sand that abraded his face and choked his breath. And he dreamed of his father, ghostly pale astride his darsteed, blood streaming from terrible wounds, his sword, Mirengard, glowing white in his hands.
“Father!” Dain called out desperately, racing after Tobeszijian. There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he needed to know. “Father! Wait for me!” But Tobeszijian seemed not to hear him. Moaning in pain, the great king reeled in his saddle as though he would fall from it. On his ungloved hand, the Ring of Solder glowed brightly against the gloom. Dain saw his father hesitate, nearly swoon again with a shuddering grimace, and mouth words that Dain could not overhear.
A blinding explosion of sparks enveloped him, and in an instant he vanished into thin air. Only a few golden sparks lingered in the air, raining down slowly where he had been a moment before.
Dain felt an overwhelming sense of loss and dread. “Father!” he called. “Come back! Please!”
But Tobeszijian did not return.
The next morning, they arose and broke camp in dawn’s bleak light. Dain felt tired and heavy-eyed from poor rest. He caught the others glancing at him in concern, but with a frown he brushed aside their inquiries and climbed into the saddle.
As had become their custom, Alexeika walked over to climb up behind Sir Alard, but Dain stopped her.
“Ride with me today,” he said. “We will turn westward and set a hard pace.
Soleil is better able to carry two than is Sir Alard’s steed.” Alexeika’s cheeks took on a pale tinge of pink. In silence, her red chain mail looking vivid and outlandish against the frosty gray backdrop of the woods, she climbed behind his saddle.
“I’m sorry for Sir Terent’s words to you last night,” Dain said quietly for her ears alone.
The color in her cheeks intensified. Her blue-gray eyes were fierce with resentment as she nodded stiffly to him. “The apology is not yours to make, sire,” she said.
“Perhaps not,” Dain said. “But he is my man and I am responsible for him. He never means to be as rough as he sounds.”
“Your majesty is wrong!” she said sharply. “He means exactly what he says. But I need no protecting from the bigotry of your men. I can take care of myself.” She was so prickly that Dain was tempted to drop the matter, but he could hear genuine hurt beneath her bravado, and he remained troubled by the look that had crossed her face last night. It was the first sign of vulnerability he’d seen in her, the first sign that she was neither as tough nor as hard as she tried to appear.
“I faced their bigotry myself not so long past,” he told her mildly. “Few Mandrians will accept anyone of eld blood in their company. Gaining their loyalty did not come quickly . . . or easily.”
“I suppose your majesty is telling me that in the fullness of time they will befriend me too?”
“Aye.”
She snorted. “Why think you I want their friendship?”
“Everyone needs friends, Alexeika. Even you.”
She fell silent at his back, and Dain added, “Besides, we’re comrades. It’s best to be on good terms before battle.”
She ducked in unison with him as they rode beneath a low-hanging branch. “Battle won’t come before the thaw of spring. We—” She broke off with a gasp of alarm. At that moment, the stench of fetid decay filled Dain’s nostrils.
He nearly stood in the stirrups as he drew Truthseeker. “Terent, Thum, Alard!” he shouted. “Nonkind!”
Just as Dain shouted his warning, a pair of hurlhounds burst from the undergrowth and came bounding straight for him. Black as eternity they were, their hides scaled and oily, and their eyes glowed with red fire. Venom dripped from their slavering jaws, and they stank of the grave. At his back, Alexeika shouted a war cry and drew her sword, which was glowing white in the presence of evil. Dain spurred Soleil forward, intending to meet the onrush of the two hurlhounds with steel, but his beautiful steed had been bred in the gentle stables of Savroix, far to the south where monsters such as these were unknown. Soleil was only a courser, trained to the hunt, and no horse of war.
Just as Dain leaned over and swung, intending to use his horse’s momentum to drive his sword with additional power through the spine of the nearest hurlhound, Soleil squealed in terror and sprang away from the snarling, snapping monster. Truthseeker whistled harmlessly through the air without striking its target, and Dain nearly tumbled from the saddle. Righting himself with an oath of frustration, Dain pulled hard on the reins, and tried to turn his panicked horse back toward the fray.
Then Sir Terent came galloping up on his heavy charger. With a shout, he beheaded one of the hurlhounds before it could leap at Dain. Coming up on the other side, Sir Alard attacked the second monster. Their ordinary swords could not prevail, however. Refusing to fall over, the headless hound went staggering back and forth until at last Dain was able to stab it with Truthseeker. Flames shot forth from the blade, and the hurlhound burst into ashes with a thin, wailing scream.
Sir Alard was still hacking at the other monster, mercilessly cutting it to pieces until his charger finally reared and brought both forefeet down on the hurlhound’s skull with a mighty crack of bone. Only then did the monster fall. A terrible quiet fell over the wood, broken only by everyone’s harsh breathing. Jets of white wreathed from their mouths, and there was no need to say aloud what they were all thinking: where two hurlhounds were to be found, a whole pack would surely follow.
Alexeika gripped the back of Dain’s cloak. “This horse of yours is a fool!” she said in fury.
Dain didn’t bother to reply; he was too busy using his mind to soothe Soleil’s fear and bring the trembling horse back under his control. “I hear more coming,” Sir Terent said.
For once his hearing proved more keen than Dain’s. Lifting his head, Dain shook off his preoccupation with Soleil to listen, and now he heard the baying of more hurlhounds, coming fast. Worse, he heard the thunder of hoofbeats, and he sensed the minds of many riders. Some were filled with evil intent; others were simply empty. His mouth went dry.
“Believers and Nonkind,” he said hoarsely.
Sir Terent stood up in his stirrups, listening with all his might. “How many, think you?”
Dain’s mind was working rapidly. Not for the first time did he feel exasperation at being in a strange land. He knew not the lay of this country, knew not the streams, nor the ravines and hiding places.
“Sire?” Sir Terent said. “How many—
“Too many for us to fight,” Dain replied quickly. “Damne, but we should have ridden hard all night, gotten ourselves far from here. We—” “After your swoon last night, you were in no condition to ride,” Sir Terent reminded him gruffly.
“That’s my point,” Dain said impatiently, reining Soleil around. “Clearly my uncle’s agents have been hunting me since I left Savroix. Last night, somehow, they—or some sorcerel working in concert with them—managed to mark me.” “Mercy of Riva,” Alexeika whispered in dismay.
Ignoring her, he kept his gaze on his protector. “That must be why I fainted.” A deep crease furrowed between Sir Terent’s brows. While Sir Alard drew a Circle on his breast, Sir Terent stared hard at Dain. “You’re saying some kind of spell’s been cast o’er your mind?”
“Not to control me,” Dain assured him. “But these hurlhounds made straight for me alone. We’ve been found, here in the midst of nowhere. How else, unless they have marked me in some way?”
Alexeika gripped his shoulder. “If that’s so, then by camping here near where you collapsed, we’ve given these riders all night to catch up with us. Thod above, I never thought of that!”
Comprehension and worry flashed across all their faces, but there was no time to discuss it further. The sounds of pursuit were coming closer, a crashing thunder through the forest that made birds fly up from the treetops into the sky and set Soleil’s ears pricking nervously. A terrible howl rose in the air, and Dain felt his heart lurch in his chest, for he was the quarry.
“We’ve got to run for it,” Sir Terent said grimly, and Sir Alard was nodding with nervous glances over his shoulder.
“If you’re marked,” Alexeika said quietly to Dain, “then they’ll follow you no matter where you run.”
“I’ve thought of that,” Dain said. He forced himself to speak crisply, with no evidence of fear, in order to steady the rest of them. “I think I can make myself elusive and counteract whatever they’ve put on me. Quick, Alexeika, is there a place of refuge nearby? An old shrine, perhaps? A place to hide?” She was frowning. “I think so. About half a league that way.” She pointed. “There’s a little river, the Tan. On the other side are small hills riddled with caves. I’ve heard there are old shrines there.”
“Morde a day!” Sir Terent said in frustration. “What good is some pagan cave—” “A river!” Dain said in relief, paying his protector no heed. “That’s even better. Come—” “Wait, sire!” Thum said urgently, moving his horse to block Dain’s path. “Why take the chance of running that far when the eldin sanctuary is close by? If you hide yourself there, surely the Nonkind cannot follow you to that enchanted place.”
Sir Alard’s head whipped around, and hope flashed across his face. “Yes, that’s it! Go there now, while we hold them—” “Nay!” Dain said angrily, as Soleil bunched and pranced beneath him. He thought of the prophecy that said he would lead destruction to the eldin, and shook his head. “Not there. None of us are welcome, and I will not lead Nonkind to—” “Never mind us,” Sir Terent said gruffly. “Get yourself to safety at once, Dain lad. We’ll take a stand here to give you what time we can.” Dain met Sir Terent’s green eyes and saw in them all the man’s stalwart love and loyalty, offered with the gift of his life. “Nay! I’ll leave none behind. Quick! We ride toward the river.”
“Go to your folks,” Sir Terent said. “They’ll hide you. I’ll lay odds they know how to hide from the Nonkind better than anyone.”
The kind intentions of his friends filled Dain with frustration. There was no time to explain how he’d been treated by the eldin, and clearly Alexeika had not spoken of it to anyone.
Another howl filled the air, followed by fearsome baying, and Soleil reared in fright. Fighting with the horse, Dain shouted breathlessly, “I’m riding to the river, and all of you will follow. You can’t defend this ground. Come!” Not allowing them to waste more time by arguing, Dain wheeled Soleil around and let him run. Spurred by panic, the fleet-footed courser would have ordinarily left the heavier horses behind, but Soleil was carrying the weight of two, and that helped Dain slow him to a pace the others could match. They’d very nearly argued too long. A pack of hurlhounds came into sight, gaining rapidly on their heels, then splitting into two smaller packs that ran through the undergrowth on either side of Dain and his companions. Making no attempt to attack, they merely paced them, their black scaly hides flashing through gaps in the undergrowth as they ran alongside. “Sire!” Alexeika shouted in his ear, but Dain was watching the hurlhounds closely and made no reply.
He leaned forward over Soleil’s whipping mane, steadying the frightened horse all he could. The hurlhounds kept pace easily, never drawing closer, and Dain wondered why they did not attack.
A horn wailed in the distance behind them, and Dain’s heart nearly jumped from his throat. He remembered the day when Gavril had coursed him through the Dark Forest with hounds and men, all because he’d tried to steal a horse and a bit of food. And now he was the quarry again.
Battling down fear, he forced himself to think. They couldn’t ride at this blistering pace all the way to the river. Therefore, it was time for trickery. With determination, he reached deep inside his mind, seeking the mark that had been placed on him. Because he was no sorcerel, he could not work complex magic. He knew only the simple, instinctive spells of life and nature, but thus far simplicity had always served him well. He drew in a breath, then began to sing softly of salt.
“What are you doing?” Alexeika asked, but with a shake of his head Dain kept singing.
He sang of salt mines, places where the ground turned barren and salt lay white atop the soil. He sang of salt on food, salt on altars, salt on the tongue. He sang of salt in the sea, salt in wounds, salt to cure meat, salt for cleaning. He sang of the coarse grittiness of it, of its radiant sparkle in sunlight, of its white purity when finely ground. He sang of its flavor. He sang of its sting.
He sang until he felt the mark wither slightly, then he yanked the reins and veered Soleil toward the hurlhounds paralleling him on the right. Neighing in fright, the horse fought him, but Dain pressed at its mind with his own. Soleil leaped a fallen log, burst through a thicket, and nearly crashed broadside into one of the monsters.
Drawing Truthseeker, Dain struck fast and hard before the horse could scramble away from the hurlhound. Flames and ash flew in all directions, and the hurlhound was no more.
Behind him, Alexeika was wielding her own sword, chanting, “Severgard!
Severgard!” as she sliced through another creature.
Wild baying broke out. The hurlhounds that had been running on their left came to the fray, just as Sir Alard, Sir Terent, and Thum caught up and desperately joined Dain in the fight he’d started. For a moment there was only wild shouting and the frenzied snarling of the monsters.
Truthseeker sang in Dain’s hands as he caught another hurlhound in mid-leap and sent it crashing to the ground. He could hear Severgard singing as well, in a kind of peculiar harmony, as though the two blades—despite being forged so differently—were aware of each other.
A few seconds later, the battle ended, and all lay momentarily quiet in the forest. Weak sunlight filtered through the bare branches of the trees and glittered atop the trampled snow. Breathing hard, Dain felt Truthseeker still humming in his grasp. The sword glowed and rippled from hilt to tip, cleaning itself of gore and blood, which dripped off to hiss and steam on the ground. Dain sheathed the sword and glanced around swiftly to take stock. Alexeika slid off Soleil’s rump without a word and darted over to Sir Alard. Meanwhile, Thum was doubled over his saddle, wincing and gasping. Dain saw him clutching his leg, saw the claw marks and blood, now dripping onto the snow. Swearing in alarm, Dain reached into the purse of salt that he’d brought with him from Mandria and rode over to his friend. Swiftly he brushed Thum’s hand away from his injury and salted the wound.
Stiffening, Thum jerked back his head with a shout of agony that he bit off. Dain gripped his arm hard until the spasm eased and Thum began gasping and swearing.
Dain grinned at him, but Thum grimaced back. “I like not your tending,” he said.
“You’d like dying of poison less,” Dain said bluntly, and glanced at Sir Terent.
“Are you well?” he asked.
“Aye.” The protector’s gaze was shifting in all directions. “We can’t tarry here.”
“Bind his leg for him. And quickly.” Dain handed over the purse of salt. “Paste those cuts well with more salt first.”
“Morde! Nay,” Thum said shakily.
Dain looked at Sir Terent sternly. “Be sure it’s done. It means his life.”
“Aye, your grace,” Sir Terent said.
Dain nodded, then rode over to see about Sir Alard just as Alexeika was pressing the flat side of her sword against a bite wound in his arm. His mail sleeve hung in tatters, and he gritted his teeth in obvious pain, the cords in his neck standing out until at last she released him. Sir Alard’s aristocratic face turned as pale as the snow. He drew in several shuddering breaths before at last he recovered enough to lift his head.
“Does that work better than salt?” Dain asked Alexeika. She grinned. “The same, but while I can run out of salt, Severgard is always with me.”
Dain gave Sir Alard’s shoulder a little shake. “Well again?”
The knight’s brows rose. “If you call being branded alive a cure.” “If you can joke, you can ride.” Dain swung his gaze back to Alexeika. “Come, my lady. Back up behind me.”
She frowned, hesitating between the two of them. “Perhaps I should ride with Sir Alard and steady him.”
“I’m well,” Sir Alard said, straightening in the saddle.
“Come,” Dain said to her, listening to the wail of the horn coming closer. His heartbeat quickened. “His horse carried you yesterday. Today ‘tis Soleil’s turn.”
Alexeika climbed on behind him, and they rode onward at a brisk trot. “Soleil,” Alexeika said in Dain’s ear, “is likely to buck both of us off before this day is over.”
Dain grinned, although it wasn’t much of a joke. Then three riders appeared ahead of them. Clad in dark mail and heavily armed, they made no noise, raised no shout. They ranged themselves across the trail, blocking it, and simply waited.
Alexeika moaned. “Thod’s mercy.”
“We can take them, sire,” Sir Terent said softly, looking grim indeed as he gripped his sword hilt.
Dain frowned and drew rein. “Nay,” he said in alarm. “There’s a trap here. Turn back!”
But as he whirled Soleil around, it was only to see another group of five riders block them from behind. This latter group was close enough for Dain to see that their mail was made from something that looked like black obsidian, yet that was flexible enough to allow them movement. He was reminded of scales on a serpent, or some Nonkind creature. Swiftly he drew his sword. Alexeika gripped his shoulder hard. “Fire-knights!” she whispered.
He frowned. “Believers?”
“Aye, the worst kind.”
The fire-knights slowly trotted forward from both sides, closing in on them. Dain’s men were brave fighters, but were outnumbered and tired. Even as Sir Terent and Sir Alard drew their swords, Dain turned Soleil southward and headed into the forest. “Come!” he shouted, and kicked his horse to a gallop. The others tried to follow, but one of the Believers shouted something in his bizarre, clacking language. Strange symbols drawn in flames appeared suddenly in midair before Dain.
Startled, he jerked involuntarily on the reins, and Soleil reared in panic. The flaming symbols cast off sparks and ashes that elongated as they fell to the ground. But instead of snuffing out in the snow, they blazed on the ground, cutting him off from the forest.
“Thod and Riva, have mercy on our souls,” Alexeika was praying at Dain’s back. He brought Soleil under control and wheeled the horse in another direction, but again the Believer shouted, and again fire symbols blazed in the air, cutting Dain off.
Sir Terent swore a string of violent oaths. “Here’s where we fight these devils, sire.”
“Aye,” Dain agreed grimly, and brandished Truthseeker. It was not humming with power, and neither was Severgard aglow. Whatever these fire-knights might be, they were not Nonkind. Thod only knew what they were. “Thum,” Dain said rapidly to his friend. “Get you away into the trees.”
“Nay, sire.”
“Do not engage!” Dain said angrily. “You’ve no armor. You’re not required to fight.”
Holding his sword, Thum looked grim indeed as he positioned his horse beside Dain. They were arranged now in a tight circle, facing all four directions as the Believers closed in. “I doubt these creatures understand Mandrian rules of combat, sire,” he said in a tight, strained voice.
“Squires do not fight,” Dain said harshly. “I’ll not put you at risk. As soon as we engage, slip away and—” “Nay!”
“Hush, the pair of you,” Sir Terent muttered, just as he used to when they were fosters in training. He drew the sign of a Circle on his breast, as did Sir Alard.
With shouts, the Believers charged at a gallop. Dain lifted Truthseeker. “For Nether!” he shouted. “For Faldain!” his men roared in response. Then they were surrounded, and the crash of swords rang through the trees. Sir Terent’s war charger reared up and struck with deadly forefeet, driving one Believer back just as the protector swung his sword at one of the foes closing in on Dain. Then another opponent rushed at Dain, and he had no more chance to see what was happening to his companions. Looking massive in the black stone armor, this Believer kept his helmet visor closed, and Dain could see only darkness where his eyes should have been.
Fear stabbed through Dain, but he pushed it away as he met the Believer’s attack. God-steel collided with iron, and the Believer’s sword shattered in the first blow. The Believer stared at the broken weapon in his fist, then shouted something and hurled it at Dain like a knife.
Dain batted it away, but by then the Believer had drawn a curved dagger that flashed in the final slanting rays of sunlight. As he charged again, Dain swung his ancient sword with both hands and struck the man at the base of his shoulder.
Obsidian plates cracked into tiny slivers of stone that went flying as Truthseeker cleaved the Believer in twain to his waist. As the Believer fell, blood gushing from the fearsome wound, Dain sought another opponent. Sir Terent was hacking lustily away, and Sir Alard was holding his own, but Thum was outnumbered by two Believers, who were ignoring his squire status entirely. While one kept Thum’s sword engaged, the other hit him from behind. Knocked from his saddle, Thum went crashing to the ground and lay there unmoving.
“No!” In a fury, Dain attacked the Believer who’d struck his friend down, thrusting Truthseeker through his back. Screaming, the Believer toppled over. Dain twisted Truthseeker desperately to keep it from being wrenched from his hand, but before he could withdraw his weapon, the fire-knight who’d been fighting Thum hurriedly pulled the dead man from Dain’s reach. Truthseeker, still lodged in the dead man, was wrested from Dain’s grasp. With a laugh, the Believer galloped off, dragging the corpse and Truthseeker alike.
Armed now with nothing more than his dagger, Dain gulped. For a moment he was too horrified to think.
“Two down to our one,” Alexeika shouted over the clang of weapons. “Six now against our four.”
Dain looked at Thum, who was still lying on the ground. Dead or stunned, Dain knew not, but he feared the worst. Grief swelled through him, and with it came fresh anger.
“I’ll take his sword,” Dain said, and started to dismount. Alexeika, however, gripped him in warning. “Look!” He turned his head and saw another Believer approaching him at a gallop, sword brandished aloft. Straight at Dain came this new opponent, looking huge in his stone armor, his black cloak billowing from his shoulders as his horse jumped Thum’s body. The Believer’s horse was snorting jets of white breath, and tendrils of smoke curled through slits in the Believer’s visor.
Desperate to get Thum’s sword, Dain again started to dismount, but Alexeika reached around him to press Severgard into his hand. “Take mine!” she shouted, and jumped off before Dain could stop her.
Severgard protested by nearly twisting itself from Dain’s hand. It was all he could do not to drop it. By then Alexeika had darted behind the fire-knight to seize Thum’s sword. Holding it aloft, she went running to rejoin the fray, and there was no chance to swap weapons with her. Desperately Dain managed to force his fingers around Severgard’s silver and gold wire hilt just as his opponent struck.
Despite mustering a desperate parry just in the nick of time, Dain knew himself to be in trouble.
Severgard was not forged for him, was never destined for his use. Its weight and balance were off; having held Truthseeker only moments before, Dain was painfully aware of this fact. He struggled with the sword, fighting it as much as he fought his opponent, who kept him hard pressed. Severgard was a magicked blade, but it had none of the advantages of god-steel. It did not shatter the Believer’s weapon. It could not cut through his obsidian armor. With every blow, Dain felt the Believer’s strength jolt through his blade, his wrists, and his arms. He was tiring, sweating heavily inside his hauberk, and all the while in the back of his mind he was cursing himself for having foolishly thrust Truthseeker into that last man. How many times in sword drills had Sir Polquin taught him and the other fosters never to run a mounted man through? Always cut, but never stab. Not while in the saddle.
He’d made a terrible error, a green boy’s error, and now he was paying for it. It was only by Thod’s grace and Alexeika’s generosity that he was still armed and able to fight at all.
Determined to prevail, Dain stopped defending himself and instead swung aggressively, feinting, then striking low, just above the fire-knight’s hipbone. The blade bounced off the stone armor, unable to cut through it. Had the man been wearing normal chain mail, it would have been a mortal blow. Ignoring his disappointment, swiftly Dain reversed his swing and brought Severgard up to meet the Believer’s response.
The sword was no longer fighting him, but it remained something lifeless in his hands. Dain sent his mind to it in appeal.
Nothing in Severgard responded to him.
The Believer got in past Dain’s guard and struck his upper arm. It was a glancing blow that did no damage, but the jolt of it was a warning. Gritting his teeth, Dain swung back in a fury, striking again and again with all his skill and might.
The Believer faltered a little. His guard slipped more than once, only to recover before Dain could take advantage of it. Clearly the Believer was tiring too, although not as much as Dain. With leaden arms, Dain forced himself to keep fighting. When he saw smoke curl through the slits of the fire-knight’s visor, he felt a weary stab of alarm. What was this creature if not a man? And if he was Nonkind, why didn’t Severgard’s magical power come alive? Nearby, the others fought equally hard. Heartened by the shouts and ringing steel, knowing his comrades refused defeat, Dain kept on, but he was grunting now with every blow he delivered and feeling a burn in his arms that warned him he had little strength left.
Knowing that he would soon falter from exhaustion, Dain sang Severgard’s song raggedly, although such notes were hard for his throat to imitate. He sang them anyway, panting between notes as he sweated and fought against his indefatigable foe.
Severgard shuddered in his hands. He felt its power come reluctantly to life, flashing from hilt to sword tip in an instant, and making the blade glow white. The Believer shouted something in Gantese and tilted his head away, as though it hurt him to gaze on that glowing light. Seizing his momentary advantage, Dain swung Severgard with all his strength.
The blow overpowered the Believer’s defense. He went reeling back, toppling from his saddle to roll over in the snow. The advantage was now Dain’s. Kicking Soleil faster, he swung Severgard high and charged. The fire-knight regained his feet, but he did not parry, did not even look up at Dain. Instead, he shifted his stance as Soleil came at him, and with one powerful blow sliced through the horse’s throat a split second before Dain’s sword hit him. A spray of blood splattered the snow and blew back across Dain’s thighs. In mid-stride, Soleil went down, crashing to his side and kicking his legs convulsively as his powerful heart pumped his life away. Knocked flying from the saddle in the fall, Dain hit hard and tumbled over twice from the impetus of impact.
Although his mind urged him up, he lay there a moment, half-stunned. Blearily he saw Soleil lying on blood-soaked snow, the horse’s strength, beauty, and speed gone forever. It was impossible to believe, too terrible to believe. Dain wanted to close his eyes and just lie there, but he knew better. Somehow he forced himself to his hands and knees, shaking his head in an effort to get his wits moving. He saw a shadow rushing at him, and desperately lifted Severgard.
He was too slow, too dazed from his fall.
The Believer he’d been fighting knocked Severgard from his hands, then kicked him hard in the ribs. Wheezing from having all the wind driven out of his lungs, Dain toppled onto his side and knew he was finished. “Dain!” Sir Terent bellowed in the distance. “Dain, no!” Looming over him, the fire-knight lowered his sword, and Dain expected him to drive it through his heart in a final thrust. Instead, he nudged Dain’s leg with his toe.
“Up,” he said.
At first Dain could not believe his ears; then he realized he was to be made a prisoner.
A sickening sense of defeat flowed over him as he floundered unsteadily to his feet.
A short distance away, Alexeika was screaming defiance. Dain saw her crouched with Thum’s sword in her hands, turning while a Believer circled her. They sprang at each other and engaged in a swift flurry of blows, but a moment later she cried out in pain and her sword went spinning from her hand. She drew a dagger and hurled it, but the Believer batted it aside and grabbed her. Shrieking, she tried to stab him with her remaining weapon, but could not pierce his armor. Then she was knocked to the ground and pinned there by her opponent’s foot.
Only then did Dain see Sir Alard lying on the ground and Sir Terent kneeling in defeat with two opponents holding their weapons on him. Blood streamed down his face, and his head was bowed.
Dain dragged in a breath of relief. At least the man was still alive. It was a mercy any of them had survived.
The Believer who had defeated Dain held his sword aimed warily at Dain’s throat, as though he expected Dain to give him more trouble. “I am Quar,” he said. His voice was rough and guttural. “You are my prisoner, Faldain of Nether.” Dain gritted his teeth and forced himself to speak calmly. “Raise your visor, Quar. Let me see who has captured me.”
He intended to hurl his dagger into the man’s eye if he could get him to raise his visor, but Quar only laughed. It was a low, horrid sound, like stone grating on stone. Smoke curled forth from beneath the man’s helmet, and Dain caught a whiff of something charred.
“My face is not for you to see, Faldain,” the Believer said. “I have walked through the fire of Ashnod. I live in fire, for his glory. And for his glory will your blood be served to him.”
Dain swallowed hard. “You’re taking us to Gant?”
“You, I take to Gant. You will be served to Ashnod.”
“Then let my friends go,” Dain said quickly. “You have no need of them. Spare their lives and release them.”
Turning partially away from Dain, Quar gestured at the men standing over Sir Terent. “Ch’t kvm’styk mut!”
One of the Believers reached down and yanked off Sir Terent’s mail coif. The other swung his sword in one swift, flashing blow.
Sir Terent’s head went rolling across the ground beneath the feet of a horse.
While the animal neighed and pranced in fright, Sir Terent’s body toppled over. Dain stared openmouthed, unable to believe it. So swiftly, so cruelly had it happened, he could not absorb the horror of it. Sir Terent had been their prisoner, disarmed. He had surrendered and was at their mercy. The casual brutality of Quar’s order stunned Dain.
He slowly wrenched his gaze away from the gruesome sight of the man who had befriended him, trained him, protected him, and served him with the most loyal heart of all. Quar met Dain’s gaze steadily but said nothing. That’s when the rage came, a fury that burned away everything inside Dain and left only a white-hot force. He felt the anger flash through him, then he shouted, and his rage came forth like flames of power, knocking Quar reeling. Ducking recklessly under Quar’s sword, Dain drove his shoulder into the man’s gut, pushing him backward with all his might as he drew his dagger. Still shouting words that cracked and trembled in the air, Dain struck at Quar again and again, but his dagger point skidded harmlessly off the stone armor. Quar’s fist, sheathed by an obsidian-encrusted glove, smashed into Dain’s face. The world blackened and shrank in an instant. Dain staggered backward, feeling as though he’d been sucked into a vortex. It pulled him down before he could even struggle, and he was smothered in dark nothing.