Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(170)

"Pickets here!" called Fierral. The newest guards- Denize, Liethya, Miergin, and Quilyn-served as pickets, holding mounts ready, as the more experienced guards, or at least those more trained, swarmed up the ropes already fastened in place on the slope.

Nylan nodded as he dismounted and handed the mare's reins to Quilyn. Maybe things weren't so disorganized. He and Ayrlyn were the last on top of the ridgelike overlook.

"Down," whispered Ryba.

Nylan went to his knees. So did Ayrlyn.

Ryba had lined up the guards in two rows, sitting or kneeling, behind the low scrub on a flat ledge that overlooked the widening opening of the second canyon. Fierral was crouched at the uphill end, Ryba at the lower end.

Nylan studied the placement-hardly ideal, since the canyon walls were too steep for anything but a mountain goat farther uphill and since Gerlich's troops only would be in a field of arrow fire for a short time.- Still, if attrition were the idea, it might work, because it would take time for Gerlich's armsmen to circle the hills, assuming they knew from where the arrows came.

"Listen!" hissed Ryba. "You fire four arrows-just four- as accurately as you can. You know which row to aim for. Then you bat-ass down to your mounts and form up, just like we practiced. Now .. . quiet. We wait."

Nylan had no bow. That was no great loss, since his accuracy with the weapon was less than most of the guards, especially at a distance, and the number of bows-the good composite ones-was limited. Besides, with everything else, he had scarcely practiced with the bow since winter.

He looked at Ayrlyn, also without a bow, and motioned to the ropes behind them. "We leave after they start to fire," he mouthed.

She raised her eyebrows.

Nylan repeated his words, and she nodded.

The sun, early as it was, warmed Nylan's back, but the end of the canyon remained in shadow.

Nylan nodded again as he realized Ryba had planned better than he had thought. Gerlich's troops would come around the final turn in the canyon with their eyes facing right into the rising sun. Nylan bet the big hunter hadn't even considered that fact, but he hadn't the slightest doubts that Ryba had. When it came to using force, she tried to consider everything.

The sun climbed a bit higher, and the air remained still. Not even a bird chirped, and Nylan worried about that. Would Gerlich sense the unnatural quiet?

The faintest of clinks echoed across the rocks.

Ryba raised her hand, and nearly a score of guards nocked arrows, but Ryba kept her hand just above shoulder level.

A single rider turned the corner into the low-angled sunlight, his hand up to shield his eyes. Two more followed, their mounts walking easily. Ryba's hand remained up until more than a score of armsmen squinted their way into the sunlight.

Then her hand snapped down.

The second snap was that of bowstrings.

Nylan saw several riders pitch forward and one reach for a shaft through his upper arm.

"Arrows!" came Gerlich's bellow. The big man dropped down low on his mount almost as the shafts flew. "Follow me!"

Nylan scrambled back and down the rope, noting just as he ducked that the armsman he thought was Narliat had 'gone down with at least two shafts through him. The white wizard and his mount vanished, just as the one had in the very first battle on the Roof of the World.

Nylan came down the hillside in a haze of dust and struggled up into his saddle, trying to get the mare moving toward the canyon mouth, realizing that, for all Ryba's training, the guards might be too slow if someone weren't near the canyon mouth to slow the attacking armsmen.

He leaned back and whacked the mare's flank, and she jumped forward so quickly that Nylan almost lurched backward out of the saddle. He grabbed the front rim of the saddle with his free hand and levered himself forward, wondering what he was doing trying to hold off a charge of horsemen by himself.

Another horse drew up beside him on his right. "Demon-damned way to run a battle," yelled Ayrlyn. "Not exactly the best people to blunt an attack," he answered without looking at her, just doing his best to guide the mare around the rocky hill and toward the mouth of the canyon.

He glanced ahead to his right. The canyon opening was ahead, and none of the attackers had emerged. Maybe Ryba had planned it right. He hazarded a quick glance over his shoulder. At least a handful of guards were mounted and following them.

He looked back ahead, and the first armsman came charging out of the canyon, almost without seeing Ayrlyn, lost in the glare of the early sun. Although the invader turned toward her and raised a long blade, she slipped under it, and her own blade flashed, driving into the angle between chest and neck. Blood welled up everywhere, as did a white haze that shivered the healer where she rode, even as she beat back a feeble thrust from the dying armsman by instinct.

"Back off!" called Nylan, knowing that she could not see. That white impact of death had seemingly shivered against him, against his blade, but he shook it off. He hadn't done the killing, and that helped.

Another handful of riders rode out of the canyon, circling south, so as to avoid riding straight into the sun, and reforming into a line.

Behind him, Nylan could hear hoofbeats. He hoped there were enough.

An arrow arched over him and toward the invaders, but passed through them. Nylan half wondered who was good enough even to shoot while riding. That took two free hands, and half the time, he needed one hand to grab the mare's mane or the saddle to keep from getting jounced off.