The Swordbearer - By Glen Cook Page 0,64

sides. Like she wants both armies decimated."

"Why would she want that?"

The dwarf shook his head. "Beats me. But don't let her control it. If she does, this field is going to be knee-deep in blood. Get her and it'll end."

Gathrid glanced at the dwarf's back. Why would Rogala care how much blood got spilled? He was a puzzle, that runt. He refused to be consistent.

The Mindak smiled at Gathrid. "I understand," he said.

"What?"

The moment passed. Ahlert said, "You take Nieroda."

"Was there any question about that?" Nobody else dared try.

"I suppose not."

Gathrid peered at the enemy command post. He could not pick Nieroda out of the crowd. What surprises would he encounter this time? Despite Daubendiek's reassurances and growing blood-greed, the youth was apprehensive. Nieroda was too damned cunning.

"Now," Rogala told Ahlert. The infantry had disengaged. Their officers had received orders and were standing by.

The Ventimiglian cavalry advanced in two waves. The first was to open a hole through which the second could charge Nieroda. They were to give that hole over to the infantry, then join the assault on the enemy commander.

And so it went. To a point. Nieroda's infantry proved more stubborn than expected. They refused to let the one cavalry force follow the other. Ahlert's horsemen engaged Nieroda's at a severe disadvantage.

Gathrid rode at the shock point. Daubendiek wailed malevolently, downing enemy after enemy. Ahlert rode on his right quarter, dealing almost as much death with a captured Toal sword. But the numbers began to tell. Impetus vanished. The Mindak's men mingled with Nieroda's riders till all unit integrity vanished. Nieroda's locally superior numbers gradually overcame Ahlert's superior Power.

Once again, as during that skirmish before the Karato, the Toal closed in on the Swordbearer.

"Don't wait for them," said the ghost of Tureck Aarant. "Take the fight to them. Get them one at a time. Reduce the odds."

Gathrid spurred toward the nearest, chopping his way through a living wall. Ahlert tried to stay with him. Rogala clung to his wake.

Fear distorted the dwarf's features. His gaze darted from Toal to Toal. He called out for Suchara's aid. His cries were carried off by the thunder of battle.

The first Dead Captain tried fencing with Gathrid, stalling so the others could close in.

Gathrid glanced uphill. Less than a quarter-mile away, behind his opponent and a thin screen of horsemen, Nieroda leaned on a huge black sword that might have been Daubendiek's twin. If he could break through . . . .

He sprang to the attack. With Aarant to show the way, he was able to guide the Sword. The Toal went down. It was as cold and evil a spirit as its brethren.

Another battled into his path. It, too, fenced, attempting delay. It, too, went down.

Aarant handled the spiritual input while Gathrid fought.

He was a hundred yards nearer Nieroda.

Now there were two Dead Captains. A third was trying to force its way past Ahlert.

Nieroda picked up a javelin. She bounced it in her hand like an athlete getting its feel. She cast it too quickly to follow. Gathrid brought Daubendiek round to deflect it.

He was not its target. It slammed through his mount's breastplate. The animal dropped instantly. It never made a sound.

Nieroda relaxed against her sword. Gathrid cursed her as he disentangled himself from his mount while fending a blizzard of Toal swords. His armor hindered him. He cursed Rogala for having talked him into wearing it.

Loida was watching from Ahlert's one-time command post. She saw the javelin fly. She saw Gathrid go down. She squealed in dismay.

Rogala had left her Gacioch to baby-sit. The boxed devil remarked, "So it goes. They've got him now. The old witch has worked another trap."

"No." Loida did not know what impelled her. The will of Suchara, perhaps. Or that of Chuchain. Or something within herself. Whichever, she seized an imperial standard from its startled bearer, leapt onto a horse and raced toward the ruin of Kacalief. Gacioch whooped like the master of ceremonies at a devils' convention.

Some of the repulsed cavalry heard the demon, saw the standard, followed. One of the two reserve infantry brigades did the same. People were too confused to think.

Loida swung round Nieroda's right flank, trampling friend and foe alike. Gacioch hooted merrily and thundered orders that crashed over the rumble of battle. The effect was salutary. Loida and the horsemen passed through the lines unscathed.

The girl rose in her stirrups, searched for Gathrid. There he was. Alive still. Nieroda's creatures swarmed over him like maggots on a dead