The Fists of Panaria

By John Lasiter III

Chapter 11

Ahren and Teneil bolted right off the road together and rode for the far end of the row, knowing a drainage ditch or access path had to be on the other side. When they achieved the small ditch both riders spurred into a jump that cleared the short wall and left them well beyond the bank of the diminutive waterway. Their pursuer also made the leap. But this led into open wheat fields, wherein he knew the speed and the maneuverability of the other mounts would normally benefit the women. He would normally turn and assist his fellows. But he started to suddenly gain on the two. In fact the women had stopped. Ahren and Teneil drew up their mounts short and Teniel gave up her reins to the other woman. She slid an arrow out of her shoulder quiver and knocked it. The knight was bearing down on them, lance poised for Teniel’s chest, shield up for protection. He was spurring the horse on. Teneil drew back and her eyes narrowed on the approaching rider. Ahren was making little ‘hurry-up’ noises beside her.

Then, it sped. The arrow lodged in the right shoulder joint of the thundering war-horse. It screamed in pain as the leg gave way. The momentum snapped the horse’s femur as the leg failed. The horse slammed head first into the hard frozen soil of the field. The rider, bearing the same velocity, was thrown over the horse’s head. The horse never even thrashed, it broke its neck on impact. The knight, through pure athleticism did not go ass-over-teakettle. Instead he stopped himself by breaking a leg in several places. Teneil knocked another arrow as the knight, unbelievably, tried to rise to meet her. She put the next shaft in the weakly armored throat. Ahren sighed in relief. She flashed a smile to her companion.

“Shit-for-brains,” scoffed Teneil. “This ain’t no tournament field.”

“Indeed not, bitch!” Teneil whirled as Ahren drew her sword.

Two squads of heavy infantry were deployed in the field. Their leather jacks were covered in wheat stalks tied by twine. Half bore crossbows. Teniel dropped the bow, it hit at the same time Ahren’s sword slid blade-first into the earth.

Lorry and Himmel bore straight ahead, into the gap created by the separating knights. The lance tips screamed past with barely an inch between Lorry and Himmel. The riders slowed and turned. Lorry and Himmel galloped on. They achieved the top of the hill. Where they promptly stopped. Before them was an armed encampment. Six tall pavilions stood on some grass by the road. Two full squads of men were stringing up Jask’s limp form. In the orchard, somewhere, a loud twang preceded a ‘shink’ as an arrow pierced mail; a terrible crash and the short stressed scream of a horse followed. Horses challenged one another in the orchard. Down below, someone spied them and an alarm went up. Men began to run forward. Lorry looked to Himmel, then back at the turning knights. Curiously, there was no sign of Fingers, who’d been lagging a bit behind.

“Well?”

“I think we’re fucked,” Himmel murmured. The intense red-haired man gave Lorry a sober look. The knights thundered closer.

“Well,” said Lorry quickly, “There’s a haven about five and a half miles from here in a thick stand of oaks—about two hundred yards off the road. If you make it, stay put and we’ll try and link up. Look for the Traveler’s Cairn at the road-marker.” The horses began to get skittish.

“Done. Left or right?”

“Right. Luck to you, Himmel,” said Lorry tersely as he spurred his mount. Lorry galloped at an oblique; heading towards the camp and angled away from the road. He could hear the thunder of hooves behind him—at least one of the enemy knights had followed.

His mind slid over his options as a squad of light foot spread out before him. Lorry curled his hand in a ball uttered the words which ignited an incandescent brilliance. He told the energy where to go and it flared out to explode a hole in the picket. The concussion he had added to the effect knocked snowy clods of dirt and debris into the air, staggering the foot soldiers. The concussive effect on himself was neatly bled off, but the drain from summoning the destructive force nearly knocked him unconscious. He swayed in the saddle, but gripped the forward cantle to steady himself. His mount, understanding more than a normal horse should, galloped through the hole in the enemy’s line and made her way across the snow-covered orchard. The pursuing knight was only yards behind, but the destrier labored under the sustained stress. The diminutive braches slapped at Lorry’s legs and he regained some of his energy. Behind him, men fought to follow the two riders, but their way was impeded by clinging branches which seemed to have a mind of their own.

Lorry watched the tree line grow nearer. His thoughts sifted out an old, nasty trick he’d learned from an old man in Tellaria years ago. Lorry urged his tiring mount onward. Seventy yards to the tree line and the knight was still close behind. Fifty yards and Lorry began to push his mind out into the surrounding vegetation. The slow, deliberate awareness of the oaks, the more colorful natures of two maples, and the timorous cacophony of the ground cover washed over Lorry. He communicated his intent to use an oak and a maple as the anchors for his purpose. The maple, he sensed, was immediately consenting; the oak took a bit longer to consider this request. Twenty yards to the trunks. The chittery voice of a sapling whizzed by as he approached the trees. Five yards. When affirmation came from the oak, Lorry immediately tied his will with theirs for an instance. He intertwined some energy of each tree and put his own in the mix. When he rode between the trunks, the pursuit was a good thirty yards behind him. Lorry activated the surprise as soon as he cleared the oak. Almost invisible to the knight, a ribbon of pure energy, sparkling emerald despite the overcast, winked into existence between the trunks. The oak’s solid energy was honed by the more strident nature of the maple to a fine point. The knight rode between the trunks and passed through that energy. His armor glowed red where it was neatly sheared. His flesh parted and resealed, acrid fleshy steam releasing into the biting air. The rider’s destrier screamed at the noisome aroma of seared meat. The knight fell dead—a piece to each side of his mount.

Ahead of the rider-less horse, Lorry heard fading laughter from the bed of ivy the knight landed in. Lorry released the energy link and collected up the war horse. He dared not rest, but went on instead to the proscribed meeting place at the grove.