Prince of Wrath by Tony Roberts Page A

Three riders were coming for him and he had time only for one shot. He selected the nearest man and the arrow sank into his heart, killing him instantly.
    He threw his bow aside and pulled his battle sword from the sheath on his saddle and stepped into the path of the two remaining riders. They came at him simultaneously, swords slashing down. Lalaas jumped to one side, and was knocked over by one of the equines. Amne cried out in horror, shrinking back against the wall. She looked round for a possible escape route. The house she was sheltering in was merely a shell with the roof lying in a blackened heap in the centre. In some places the charred beams piled up higher than the wall, but there was no visible route through to the other side.
    Lalaas staggered to his feet, his sword gripped in both hands. He grimly assessed the scenario. Two men on equines were wheeling round, seeking to finish him off. The others were gathering just beyond the limit of the scorched grass. With hardly time to think, he lunged, attacking the nearest man. The rider had the height advantage but Lalaas had more skill and was fitter. His body, used to years of outdoor life, was toned much better than the henchman mounted astride his beast. The rider slashed down hard, but he was unused to fighting on equine back. Lalaas deflected the blow, knocking the blade aside, laying the man open to Lalaas, who cut across the waist. The blade tore through the padded tunic into the stomach muscles, ripping them apart.
    Lalaas slapped the beast across the face, frightening it away. As it bolted, the wounded man toppled off onto the ground and lay there, groaning faintly, clutching his stomach. Lalaas stepped sideways, his eyes fixed on the last rider close by. The man turned, cursing. What should have been an easy kill had turned into a charnel house. Six of his men were down and his quarry was still standing there defiantly.
    Lalaas picked his bow up slowly. He stuck his sword point first into the ground. Now he grasped an arrow and began to fit it to the string. The rider looked at him and lowered his sword. “Give us the princess and we’ll leave you be.”
    “You know I won’t do that,” Lalaas replied, sliding the arrow across his left fist. He had not yet drawn the string back, but it would take no time at all to do so and loose his missile off at the man. He wanted to hear what he had to say.
    “We could – negotiate.”
    Lalaas’ eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that?”
    The rider smiled thinly. He had a grey-flecked goatee beard and a narrow, hard face. A man used to giving pain. “A remuneration, shall we say? What value your life?”
    “Less than the princess,” Lalaas said and began pulling back on the string. “You cannot bribe me with promises of wealth. I need nothing.”
    The rider regarded Lalaas, noting the warrior’s physique, the cool determination in his blue eyes, the lean, smooth face, the fair hair. A Koros partisan, to be sure. “All we want is her,” he nodded at the half-seen Amne. “You can go free if you hand her over.”
    Lalaas sneered. “And if I refuse?”
    “Then both of you will die.”
    “That statement tells me you intend killing her, so if I hand her over all you’ll do is slay her. I have vowed to protect her unto death, and that is what I shall do.”
    The rider sighed. He looked up at the sky. “Very well, fool, if you insist on sacrificing yourself to one who would stab you in the back the moment you’ve outlasted your usefulness, that’s your decision.” He turned and slowly walked his mount away towards the waiting group of men.
    Amne slid round the corner of the wall and came up to Lalaas, one hand gripping his upper arm. “Shoot him, Lalaas!”
    “In the back?” Lalaas looked at her in surprise. “Not my style. He’s not going to attack for the moment. They’ll confer. Have you checked the rest of the building?”
    “Ruins. All blocked with rubble and fallen beams. There’s one