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Stung by that, Dain frowned. Before he could speak, however, Sir Terent went
on:  Remember this, sire.  Tis said that King Tobeszijian was a man who liked
to do things his way, in his own good time.  Tis said that he wouldn t pay
enough mind to his duties, and that s how his brother took the throne away
from him.
The fire that kindled in Dain s chest burned its way up into his face. He felt
as though he were being strangled.  Who who told you that? he asked
hoarsely, his fists clenched at his sides.
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 We common knights hear a lot, here and there.
 Did the Netherans at Savroix tell you that? Or is it just a Mandrian lie?
Sir Terent s eyes flashed at Dain s deliberate insult, but he kept his temper.
 I couldn t say, sire.
Dain glared at him a moment longer, then he turned on his heel and strode off
into the darkness. Sir
Terent followed, his big feet crunching on the frozen mud. As Dain picked his
way through the camp toward Pheresa s enclosure, his anger slowly dissipated.
He knew, in his heart, that what Sir Terent had said was true.
Yet how could he be expected to turn his back on Pheresa s plight? She had
drunk the poison meant for him. Did he not owe her something for that?
He loved her, no matter what Sir Terent said. And stubbornly he kept walking
toward her tent.
The morning dawned bright and fair, with no hint of the previous day s rain.
Sunlight sparkled on frosty leaves and grass. Dain, Sir Terent, and Sir
Polquin left the road and cut first across marshland, then fields harvested
and gleaned, to take the shortest route to Thirst Hold.
Behind them, Gavril s expedition was still camped on the roadside. Like a band
of nomads, Dain thought scornfully. Despite Sulein s being successfully
substituted for the dead guardian, the royal physicians said that Lady Pheresa
should not be moved as yet. Not even to nearby Thirst. In the meantime, Dain
seized the opportunity to visit his hold. Much business awaited him there, and
it was long past time that he attended to it.
Having galloped across an empty field, Dain reined up inside a small wood to
give the horses a breather. Woodcutters had been at work in this grove,
leaving stumps in their wake.
Thirst land, Dain thought, inhaling the mingled scents of woods and autumn
with pleasure. It felt good to come back, and
Sir Terent and Sir Polquin were grinning like boys.
Soleil tossed his proud head, flinging his golden mane and pulling on the
reins.  Steady, Dain crooned to him, laughing at the chestnut stallion s
fiery spirit  You can t race the wind all day.
Sir Terent pointed northeast  Just over the next rise past these trees, and
we ll 
An arrow sang past Dain s face, so close the fletchings brushed his skin, and
thudded into Sir Terent s shoulder. The protector reeled in his saddle with a
hoarse cry of pain.
Sir Polquin drew his sword.  Get out of this! Ride, sire. Ride! I ll hold
them.
More arrows came raining down on them, but Dain knew they had to stick
together if they were to
survive. Rearing Soleil to make himself less of a target, he shouted,  Sir
Terent, can you ride?
The protector s knight was pale with strain, and he was barely keeping himself
in the saddle. Ignoring
Dain s question, he glared at Sir Polquin.  Get him out of here!
Sir Polquin wheeled his horse toward Dain.
 Ride, Terent! Dain commanded. Leaning forward, he pulled his sagging
protector upright.  Ride to the field!
An arrow sliced across the top of Dain s hand, cutting his heavy glove and
bringing pain like fire.
Ignoring it, he kicked Soleil hard, but as the three of them retreated from
the grove, another volley of arrows came at them. One hit Sir Polquin s horse
in the flank.
Squealing in pain, the animal shied violently, and Sir Polquin came off. He
thudded hard against the ground and lay there un-moving.
Cursing in alarm, Dain drew up and wheeled his horse around to go racing back
for him. By then Sir
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Polquin was sitting up, trying to wave him away.
 See to yourself, sire! he shouted gruffly.  I ll do.
 No, you will not, Dain replied grimly.
The sporadic hail of arrows stopped, and just as Dain noticed this, a
half-dozen riders emerged from the trees to surround them. Several of these
men wore red mail. Helmeted with their visors closed, they wore no surcoats to
identify themselves.
 Bandits, damne! Sir Polquin said, scrambling to his feet.  Get away! I ll
hold them as long as I can.
Dain flung back his cloak to free his arms and drew his sword.  It s too late
for that, he said grimly.
Beside him, Sir Terent snapped off the arrow still sticking out of his
shoulder, swore with shrill vehemence, and drew his sword.  For Thirst and
Dain, he said, pasty-faced and sweating.
 Aye, for Thirst and Dain! Sir Polquin echoed grimly.
Dain swallowed hard.  For Thirst!
At that moment their attackers charged, yelling in a language Dain did not
understand. From that point forward, there was no chance to think, but only to
fight.
In seconds, Dain found himself flanked by two foes. Desperately wheeling his
horse around to get out from between them, Dain swung his sword at the closest
man. His blow was parried with a resounding clang of steel. For a split second [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]