There were only three of them, Mikahl saw, with a flood of relief. He would soon have an easy shot on the one with his arm in a sling. The man was off of his horse and moving closer, as he inspected Loudin’s mocked-up camp.
If Loudin could take out one of the two still on horseback, then Mikahl felt certain that he would have time to draw and loose on the other one before he could get too close. Ironspike was leaning against the tree nearest him, but he didn’t want to have to draw it from its sheath and use it unless he had to. He was already going to have to explain why he had it to Loudin. The hunter had been struck speechless when he’d seen the jeweled hilt. Then, he had grown angry thinking he had conspired to help a common thief elude the sword’s proper owners. Only after Mikahl had sworn a blood oath that the sword wasn’t stolen, and had promised vehemently that he would tell the whole of his situation to Loudin if they survived this encounter, did the old hunter relent.
[_
p.
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The fargin bastards are nearly standing on top of me, Loudin thought to himself. He hoped they weren’t too close for him to attack. He had heard the sound of steel ringing free from its scabbard. There is nothing else that even resembles the ringing hiss of quality steel being freed, and the sound electrified something in his blood. The other had a bow, he heard them say. That’s the one he would go after. He wished he knew how many of them there were. Even though he felt as if the boy had betrayed him somehow, he would do his best to keep these people’s arrows out of him. Just then, he heard the unmistakable thump of Mikahl’s arrow hitting the first man. A heartbeat later, Mikahl yelled, “THREE!”
For an instant, Mikahl felt wrong about putting an arrow into an unarmed, and unsuspecting man, but a glance at King Balton’s sword steeled him to the task. He stood up as calmly as you please, loosed his arrow at the startled fellow, and then yelled, “THREE!” so that Loudin would know how many they faced. The arrow he’d loosed, he saw, had gone most of the way through the wounded man’s chest.
Loudin burst from his shallow leaf covered grave, startling the swordsman’s horse, so that it charged right at Mikahl. The tattooed hunter’s spear drove up at Garth’s side, but only grazed him.
Mikahl’s heart was exploding in his chest. A wild-eyed destrier was almost on him, and its semi-armored rider was, of all people, the infamous Coldfrost Butcher. Mikahl recognized him, and panicked. He threw away the bow and grabbed Ironspike, and then dropped to the ground behind the lizard skin blind, and rolled. It was a foolish gamble of a move, made in haste, and Mikahl realized this as soon as he was committed to the action. The Duke’s horse wouldn’t try to leap the blind. It was too high, and the color and texture would confuse the animal. Mikahl could only hope that he rolled to the side opposite that which the horse chose to take around it. If they went the same way, then he was sure to be trampled. It was too late to stop when he saw that he had chosen wrong. All he could do was clinch his eyes closed, and wait to feel the battle horse’s steel shod hooves crushing into him.
By some stroke of luck, or maybe divine intervention, when Mikahl rolled into its path, the heavy horse leapt completely over him, instead of trampling him. He barely had time to get to his feet and draw Ironspike from its sheath. The terrifying man that King Balton himself had nicknamed, “The Butcher,” was already turned, and about to run him down.
Loudin managed to dodge the single arrow Garth loosed at him, but the man had the advantage of being mounted, and quickly spurred his horse out of Loudin’s weapon’s range. Rather than try to dodge the next arrow that Garth was already nocking, Loudin launched his weapon at the horse, and charged. The blade of this spear hit the horse in its rump, and sunk deep enough to make it buck, and scream. Garth was thrown from the saddle, and ended up landing badly. Before he could get himself up, Loudin was there to deliver a running boot to his face. The kick had enough force behind it to render Garth unconscious, but Loudin took no chances and pounced on the fallen man. In one fell swoop, Loudin drew his dagger, and cut Garth’s throat wide open.