they are inside the hill as well, waiting for you. They will take you hostage.’
‘Hah!’ he screamed, not a laugh, an encouragement to his chariot horses. They bolted back to the fray. Larene performed the Feat of the Four Points, but it was a magnificent act that would end his life. I saw Kymon duck as a spray of blood coated him from eyes to waist, Larene losing his life along with his head as one of the enemy somersaulted across the chariot, cutting down in the same movement.
I see it bleached. I see it bone .
If Urtha should return alive, I would not have been able to look him in the eyes if bleached bone was what greeted him, his son’s among them. Kymon had forced his chariot through the hacking zone and was whipping the horses towards the Bull Gate.
Almost at once, war-horses spilled from hiding behind the walls, flowing out on to the plain, their riders the same grey-cloaked knights who had previously pursued Kymon from his taunting stance before the high enclosure.
I saw Cimmenos and Caithach ride quickly to his aid. I chased after the boy myself.
But though a group of these horsemen encircled the raging youth, they kept at a distance; the rest of the knights formed a barrier between the general affray and the king’s son. Kymon charged and wheeled, striking with all his might, but the knights kept back, containing him.
Their leader rode quickly up and down the line of men that separated the circle from the plain, his grey eyes fixed on me: he saw me clearly now. I was certain of it. I opened my ears a little and heard him whispering, ‘Go away from the hill. The boy belongs with us…’
I recognised the voice. This was the man who had come into the fort in the rain—the man with Urtha’s look about him.
By now my chariot was in full attack. A javelin struck its side, and an arrow pierced the neck of the slightly built horse who pulled on the left. If the animal was aware of its wound, it showed no sign of it. Kymon became aware of my approach. He shouted for me. Mailed men leapt at me. I used nothing but my arm to strike back at them.
Caithach, Cethern, and four others of our foedor had withdrawn from the fight among the stunted trees, and lined up ready to support me. The tall man on his heavy horse galloped round to block my access to the whirling, screaming boy, a boy desperate to fight, one hand on the reins, the other wielding his sword.
I thought briefly of summoning the wolf. I was no charioteer. A wolf could have leapt the ranks, grabbed Kymon and taken him to safety. I was prepared to do it, had even started to summon the charm that would enable me to run like a wolf, have the strength of that animal, and blind onlookers by seeming to appear in that form.
Kymon saved me the effort. I saw him bounce high into the air, then somersault. He did this twice, then leapt over the wall of knights, again bounced this way and that and flung his small sword with wounding effect at one of the men who were now riding down on him. The blade quivered in the rider’s chest and he reared up, falling from the saddle. Bounding and leaping, Kymon flung himself into my shattered car. He grabbed my plain-faced shield, left the chariot for a moment, twirled where he stood, three times round, and sent the shield skimming across the flattened grass, striking the man who was familiar to me, knocking him from his war horse.
If the shield had been scallop-edged, blade-sharp, the man would have been cut in two by the strike! That was how fast young Kymon despatched the oval of wood and bronze.
He somersaulted back into the car, blood-drenched and wild; he had been badly cut across the chin. His eyes were brimming with tears and he shouted, ‘Lost! We are lost! My father will be ashamed of me.’
‘Not lost … just delayed. Your father will be proud!’
I turned the horses and sped us through the tall grass. Behind us, eleven only of our host came running or cantering after. Though the cloaked knights were
‘Hah!’ he screamed, not a laugh, an encouragement to his chariot horses. They bolted back to the fray. Larene performed the Feat of the Four Points, but it was a magnificent act that would end his life. I saw Kymon duck as a spray of blood coated him from eyes to waist, Larene losing his life along with his head as one of the enemy somersaulted across the chariot, cutting down in the same movement.
I see it bleached. I see it bone .
If Urtha should return alive, I would not have been able to look him in the eyes if bleached bone was what greeted him, his son’s among them. Kymon had forced his chariot through the hacking zone and was whipping the horses towards the Bull Gate.
Almost at once, war-horses spilled from hiding behind the walls, flowing out on to the plain, their riders the same grey-cloaked knights who had previously pursued Kymon from his taunting stance before the high enclosure.
I saw Cimmenos and Caithach ride quickly to his aid. I chased after the boy myself.
But though a group of these horsemen encircled the raging youth, they kept at a distance; the rest of the knights formed a barrier between the general affray and the king’s son. Kymon charged and wheeled, striking with all his might, but the knights kept back, containing him.
Their leader rode quickly up and down the line of men that separated the circle from the plain, his grey eyes fixed on me: he saw me clearly now. I was certain of it. I opened my ears a little and heard him whispering, ‘Go away from the hill. The boy belongs with us…’
I recognised the voice. This was the man who had come into the fort in the rain—the man with Urtha’s look about him.
By now my chariot was in full attack. A javelin struck its side, and an arrow pierced the neck of the slightly built horse who pulled on the left. If the animal was aware of its wound, it showed no sign of it. Kymon became aware of my approach. He shouted for me. Mailed men leapt at me. I used nothing but my arm to strike back at them.
Caithach, Cethern, and four others of our foedor had withdrawn from the fight among the stunted trees, and lined up ready to support me. The tall man on his heavy horse galloped round to block my access to the whirling, screaming boy, a boy desperate to fight, one hand on the reins, the other wielding his sword.
I thought briefly of summoning the wolf. I was no charioteer. A wolf could have leapt the ranks, grabbed Kymon and taken him to safety. I was prepared to do it, had even started to summon the charm that would enable me to run like a wolf, have the strength of that animal, and blind onlookers by seeming to appear in that form.
Kymon saved me the effort. I saw him bounce high into the air, then somersault. He did this twice, then leapt over the wall of knights, again bounced this way and that and flung his small sword with wounding effect at one of the men who were now riding down on him. The blade quivered in the rider’s chest and he reared up, falling from the saddle. Bounding and leaping, Kymon flung himself into my shattered car. He grabbed my plain-faced shield, left the chariot for a moment, twirled where he stood, three times round, and sent the shield skimming across the flattened grass, striking the man who was familiar to me, knocking him from his war horse.
If the shield had been scallop-edged, blade-sharp, the man would have been cut in two by the strike! That was how fast young Kymon despatched the oval of wood and bronze.
He somersaulted back into the car, blood-drenched and wild; he had been badly cut across the chin. His eyes were brimming with tears and he shouted, ‘Lost! We are lost! My father will be ashamed of me.’
‘Not lost … just delayed. Your father will be proud!’
I turned the horses and sped us through the tall grass. Behind us, eleven only of our host came running or cantering after. Though the cloaked knights were
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