Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,207

that slammed the edge of the blade against the knight’s breastplate.

The sword bounced harmlessly away.

The two riders pounded away from each other, the knight discarding his snapped lance and Luthien straightening in the saddle, taking up his sword in his right hand again and testing its grip. He noted the approving looks of the highlanders as he turned Riverdancer about, just short of their ranks. It was going well so far, the young Bedwyr realized, for they admired his courage, and probably they admired his horse. Riverdancer was much shorter than the Dark Knight’s steed, but wider and stronger. And Riverdancer was a Highland Morgan, as fine a steed as had ever been bred on the Fields of Eradoch. Gahris Bedwyr had paid a small fortune for the shining white mount, and in studying the approving nods now coming his way, Luthien realized that the horse had been worth every gold coin.

The opponents squared off once more. The Dark Knight reached for his sword, and had it half out of its scabbard, but then a sour look crossed his face. He regarded the sword for a moment, then slid the weapon away, taking up a flail instead. He lifted it above his head, swinging it effortlessly, the spiked iron ball spinning lazily on its heavy black chain. Better than the lance, Luthien thought, for at least he would be close enough to strike before he got struck this time.

Luthien sighed and wondered what good that might do. He had hit his opponent hard the first time, a blow that should have felled the man. Yet the Dark Knight hadn’t even grunted at the impact, and if he was feeling any pain now, he wasn’t showing it.

On came the man, and Luthien shrugged and dug his heels into Riverdancer’s powerful flanks. They passed close this time, close enough for Luthien to feel the puff of steam from the nostrils of the Dark Knight’s towering steed.

Luthien snapped off a short backhand, catching the knight under the arm as he lifted his spinning flail for a swing. Up went Blind-Striker in a quick parry, just deflecting the iron ball before it crunched Luthien’s skull.

This time, Luthien didn’t allow the pass. He knew that he had the advantage in mounts here, and so he turned Riverdancer tightly, coming around behind the Dark Knight’s steed. In a moment, he was pacing his opponent once more, and he got in three hard strikes with his sword before the armored man could turn about to retaliate. They ran the line together, side by side, hammering at each other. Luthien’s hits were mostly clean, while Blind-Striker took the momentum from the flail each and every time. Still, the heavy ball battered the young Bedwyr, and Luthien’s sword seemed to have little effect as it rebounded off the other’s heavy plating.

Finally, each of them breathing heavily, the opponents broke apart, Luthien cutting Riverdancer fast to the side. He could not win this way, he knew, for the mounted battle was too frenzied for him to find a crease in the knight’s armor. The Dark Knight apparently knew it, too, for he swung his mount about, aiming for Luthien.

“Pass!” he demanded, and on came the thundering charge once more.

Luthien bent low and whispered into Riverdancer’s ear. “I need you now,” he said to the horse. “Be strong and forgive me.” Off they charged, kicking up the sod, angling for another close pass.

Luthien hunched his shoulders close to Riverdancer’s strong neck and turned his mount right into the path of the charging opponent. The Dark Knight straightened in surprise, his horse breaking stride.

Exactly what Luthien had prayed for.

The young Bedwyr did not slow at all. Riverdancer plowed headlong into the Dark Knight’s steed, bowling the horse over so that it practically sat on the ground before it was able to regain any semblance of balance. The armored knight held on dearly, accepting the hit as Luthien thrust Blind-Striker around the tumbling horse’s neck.

Luthien, knocked dizzy from the impact of the powerful steeds, held on dearly as well. He focused squarely on his target, had known what he needed to do before he had ever begun the charge. His one attack, the sword thrust, was not for the knight’s breastplate—what would be the point?—or even for the slits in the man’s helmet, which were out of reach as the knight leaned defensively backward. Luthien swung at the man’s fingers, so that he dropped the reins. As the staggering Riverdancer shuffled to the