Amos sat next to Arutha as the Black Slayers cut down a pair of riders. “Ten,” said Amos, counting the remaining riders. As they rode for the gate, Amos said, “Nine, eight,” then, “seven.” Upon the dusty plain a wave of black-armoured riders overwhelmed a half-dozen fleeing soldiers and Amos said, “Six, five, four.” Then, with a note of anger in his voice, he shouted, “Close the gate!”
As the gate began to swing shut, Arutha continued his count. “Three, two . . .” The last two riders from the raiding party were cut down.
Then from above came the sound of catapults launching. A moment later the screams of dying moredhel and horses filled the air. As the inner gates opened, Amos spurred his horse forward and said, “At least the bastards paid. I saw at least four chieftains down, two clearly dead.” Amos glanced back, as if he could see through the massive gates. “But why didn’t the bastard use magic? That’s what I don’t fathom. He could have had us, you know?”
Arutha could only nod. He also wondered. He gave his horse to a boy detailed to care for the mounts and hurried up the stairs to Guy’s command location. “Damn me!” greeted him as he joined the Protector.
Several prostrate figures in black armour were rising, in jerky awkward motion, moving back toward their own lines. Quickly their movement smoothed out and they were soon running as fast as if they had been uninjured.
“When you told me of those . . .” began Guy.
“. . . you couldn’t believe,” finished Arutha. “I know. You have to see it to understand.”
“How do you kill them?”
“Fire, magic, or by cutting their hearts out. Otherwise even the pieces find a way to rejoin and they just get stronger by the minute. They are impossible to stop by other means.”
Guy looked out at the retreating Black Slayers. “I never had your father’s fascination for things magic, Arutha, but now I’d give half my duchy - my former duchy - for a single talented magician.”
Arutha considered. “Something here has me concerned. I know little of these things, but it seems that, for all his powers, Murmandamus does little to truly trouble us. I remember Pug - a magician I know - telling me of some things he has done . . . well, they far outstripped what we’ve seen so far. I think Pug could pull the gates from the city walls if he’d a mind to do so.”
“I don’t understand such things,” admitted Guy.
Amos was standing behind them, having approached at the last. “Maybe the king of pigs doesn’t want his army relying too heavily upon him.” Guy and Arutha both regarded Amos with open curiosity. “It might be a matter of morale.”
Guy shook his head. “Somehow I think it more complicated.”
Arutha watched the confusion in the enemy camp. “Whatever it is, we’ll most likely know soon.”
Amos leaned on the wall. “It’s been two weeks since your brother and the others left. If all has gone as planned, Martin’s at Stone Mountain today.”
Arutha nodded, “If all has gone as planned.”
Martin crouched down in the depression, his back tight against wet granite. The scraping sound of boots on the rocks above told him his pursuers were looking for signs of him. He held his bow before him, regarding the broken string. He had another in his pack, but no time to restring. If discovered, he would drop the weapon and pull his sword.
He breathed slowly, attempting to stay calm. He wondered if fate had been kind to Baru and Laurie. Two days before, they had reached what appeared to be the Yabon Hills proper. They had seen no sign of pursuit until today, when, a little after sunrise, they had been overtaken by a patrol of Murmandamus’s riders. They had avoided being run down by climbing up into the rocks alongside the trail, but the moredhel had dismounted and followed. By poor chance, Martin and the others were on opposite sides of the trail and Laurie and Baru were forced southward, while Martin ran to the west. He hoped they had enough sense to continue south toward Yabon, and not to attempt to rejoin him. The chase had lasted throughout the day. Martin glanced upward, noting the sun moving behind the mountains. He judged only two more hours of light left. If he could avoid capture until dark, he would be safe.
The sound of boots grew faint and Martin moved. He left the shelter of the rock overhead and scampered along at a half-crouch, half-run, following a rill upward. He judged he was close to Stone Mountain, though he had never come there from the northeast before. But some of the landmarks looked vaguely familiar, and had he not had other concerns to occupy his attentions at this time, he was sure he could easily find the dwarves.