Far up on a distant hillside, he saw a cluster of buildings. Would the residents help?
“If I get off the wagon,” he said slowly, “I can try to slow them. Maybe you can get to that steading up there.”
“Slow them? On foot?” asked Marguerite dubiously. “How—no, never mind, I know how. That’s suicidal! One man on foot against five horsemen?”
Shane shrugged. “After a point, a horseman is simply a larger target.” He didn’t enjoy killing horses, but the black tide did not distinguish. When the Saint of Steel had still lived…well, that was
before and this was after and there was no point in dwelling on it.
“I’m more concerned that they aren’t going to stop and fight you,” said Ashes, her eyes still on the road. “You’re not the one they’re after. I expect a few of them will simply go around you. Possibly all of them.”
“That is my fear,” Shane acknowledged. “You’ll have Wren here, but if they all break around me…”
Wren looked at Shane, then at Davith, then back at Shane. She nodded.
“Ah…you know, I think maybe I’ll come with you,” said Davith. “Buy the ladies some time, right?”
Marguerite put her hands on her hips. “You are both out of your—"
Something zipped by Shane’s head with a crisp zzzzzip! and one of the mules let out a scream of pain and surprise. An arrow had buried itself in the animal’s haunches. It bucked, kicking out wildly, then tried to run away from the pain, which set the wagon careening sideways.
Had it just been a matter of controlling the maddened mule, Ashes Magnus might have proved equal to the task. But the wagon went off the curve of the road and down the boulder-strewn hillside, and no amount of skill with the reins could overcome the massive stone looming before them.
“Bail out!” shouted Magnus, and with remarkable speed for her age, flung herself off the seat.
Shane swept Marguerite up in his arms and threw himself after. He saw Marguerite’s mouth make an O of surprise, then the sky became the ground became the sky and he landed on his back and skidded, still clutching Marguerite in his arms.
Wood crashed somewhere nearby and the screams of the maddened mule ended abruptly.
There was a very long moment while the dust settled and then Marguerite said, faintly, “Ow.”
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I don’t think so?” She pushed herself up on her arms and looked down at him. Her lips curved in a sudden wry smile. “Ah, memories…”
Shane would have liked to take a moment to dwell on this, but the enemy had at least one archer.
Marguerite appeared to remember this as well, because she sat up. This put pressure on several of his ribs which wanted him to know that they did not appreciate what had just happened. He grunted and Marguerite rolled hastily off him. “Are you hurt?”
“Bruised ribs,” he lied. At least one was probably cracked, but they couldn’t do anything about it now. He rolled to his knees and bit down on a hiss of pain. “Is everyone else okay?”
“Not dead,” said Wren.
“You didn’t need to throw me out, you know,” Davith said, from somewhere nearby.
“You weren’t moving fast enough.”
“I was moving plenty fast, thank you, before someone put their elbow in my eye.”
“If you’d like to get back in the wagon and try again, I’ll be sure and let you crash this time.”
Shane looked around, staying low in case the archer took another shot at them. Davith and Wren
were both moving. Davith’s left eye was red and already swelling, but that seemed to be his only injury.
He was most worried about Ashes. She was far too old to be flinging herself off wagons with aplomb. But when he turned, she was already up on her knees beside the shattered wagon.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, moving toward her. The boulders were going to be their only hope of cover. He gestured for the others to follow. He couldn’t see the horsemen from his position downslope, but he could hear hoofbeats.
Ashes glanced back at him. Blood was streaming down her face and he started forward, but she waved him away. “Nicked my scalp. I’m fine, it just looks like hell.” She jerked her chin toward the mules. “Better than them, anyway.”
One of the mules was clearly dead. The other was alive, but pinned flat by the weight of the shattered wagon on its harness. Ashes had a knife out and was sawing away at the traces to free it, while it tried to rise and then fell back, frightened and baffled.
“We’ve got to get under cover,” he said. “These boulders—”
“Good idea.” She kept sawing. Her knife was barely two inches long and possibly the worst sort of blade for the work.
He tried again. “If they shoot at us again—”
“Young man, if I leave this poor beast here to die, an arrow is the least of what I’ll deserve.”
Shane gritted his teeth. He approved in principle, but not when his job centered on keeping the artificer alive. “Get to the rocks,” he said. “I’ll cut her free.”
She sat back on her heels and gave him a brief, searching look, then handed him the knife.
Marguerite and Wren were already behind the rocks.
The mule heaved against her restraints. Shane didn’t know enough about horses to know what exactly he was cutting, or if it was even the right thing, but having a half-ton animal thrashing around certainly wasn’t helping.
“Easy, girl,” he murmured, patting the animal’s shoulder. “Easy. We’ll get you loose. Just give me a minute…” She settled, but only slightly.
Davith appeared beside him and took the knife. “You keep talking,” the man told him. “I’ll cut.”
Shane decided not to argue. The skin on the back of his neck was crawling, waiting for the next volley. I might as well be wearing a sign on my back that says ‘Insert Arrow Here.’
“Good girl,” he told the mule, petting her nose. “I know this is scary. It’ll be over soon. Just a few more minutes…”
“If you’d like to pet my nose and reassure me next, I could really use it,” said Ashes from the other side of the boulder. Marguerite laughed the loud, slightly mistimed laugh of someone under great strain.
An arrow shattered against a rock a few feet away.
“I hate this,” Davith remarked, to no one in particular, but he didn’t stop cutting.
“Good news,” said Shane. “It’s a crossbow.”
“That’s good news?”
“It explains why it’s taking them so long to reload. They’ve probably only got one, and it’s harder to do on horseback.”
The mule bucked again and was suddenly free. She thrashed her way to her feet, while Davith and Shane retreated behind the boulders. Her flanks were scraped and bleeding, but all four feet were hitting the ground evenly. Shane could tell this because she immediately broke into a gallop, putting as much distance between herself and the hated wagon as possible.
“Well,” said Davith, as the mule fled, “at least somebody’s getting away.”
Another bolt hit the ground. Shane pushed farther back into the tangle of stones. The crossbowman was going to have to circle around the stones to get a clear shot. And if they’re sensible, that’s exactly what they’ll do.