This would end badly for him. He still fought to turn Gemmell full circle, and his field of vision was obscured by the darkness of the shadowed entrance to the barn. Another yank on his armor by the accursed hook rent it further. He felt the night air seep through the leather and links, which were now punctured and open.
Someone threw a dagger at him. He felt the blade hit his back, but he’d turned at the last moment, and it struck metal instead of leather. He struck another man with his blade. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the fellow with the pole and hook, who followed the turn of the steed and kept wrenching his pole to wrest Ransom off his horse.
More shouts, more blows. Ransom felt something strike his helm. It rattled him, making him dizzy. But he was finally facing the right direction. Someone grabbed his arm, but Ransom hoisted the man off his feet and launched him atop the saddle before his strength gave way. The man squirmed, trying to get free, but Ransom swatted Gemmell’s flank with his sword. His rouncy charged, knocking aside two men who had moved to bar the exit. The horse screamed, a deathly, horrible cry as it charged. Both men were flung aside. The man with the pole and hook was dragged by the horse as they left the barn, but he let go. Ransom felt the loss of weight on his back and realized he was free. The man on his saddle horn tried to grapple with him, but Ransom clubbed his skull with the pommel of his sword. He flung him off and heard the impact of his body hitting the road.
Ransom’s heart raced as dread and relief battled for dominance in his chest. He’d almost been killed by the Brugians, but he’d made it free of the barn. He leaned forward, gasping for breath, experiencing a dull emptiness in his chest. A void. It was eerie and frightening. He’d been utterly alone during that fight, weakened in a way he couldn’t explain or identify.
Gemmell slowed from a gallop to a trot, snorting, grumbling, heading back toward Lord Kinghorn’s encampment. Ransom stroked the rouncy’s neck as he leaned forward, grateful the horse had saved his life.
“That was close, Gemmell,” he panted. “That was much too close.”
The trot ebbed even slower, as if the rouncy’s strength was flagging more than Ransom’s. That was most unusual for him.
“Almost there. Come on. I’ll get you some oats. Hmm? Does that sound good? We’re both tired tonight.” His gaze lifted to the horizon, watching the sky slowly brighten.
Gemmell slowed and stopped. Ransom sat up, worried, and lifted the visor of his helmet. He looked backward, seeing the barn in the dim light. His arms trembled with exhaustion.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Ransom whispered, rubbing his gauntleted hand across Gemmell’s neck again.
He could feel the muscles of the beast quivering. Ransom kicked loose from the stirrup, afraid his horse might collapse and pin him to the earth, but he didn’t dismount. If he got off the horse, he might not be able to get back on it again, not without help. He looked back again, wondering if the Brugian men-at-arms could see him.
Gemmell grunted. It was a different sound, almost a wheeze. Ransom did dismount then, his instincts telling him something was very wrong. With his visor up, from the perspective of the ground, he quickly found the horse’s wound. Gemmell had been speared by one of the soldiers.
“No,” Ransom said, aghast, gazing at the animal’s bloody flank. There was a trail of dark blood in the road. The steed swayed, trying to steady himself. Ransom had seen wounds like this after the first battle. The horses hadn’t survived.
Gemmell swung his neck, and his huge eye looked at Ransom. He looked afraid.
Ransom shook his head in disbelief. He’d trained with Gemmell for the last five years. The horse had been a gift from King Gervase. Pain bloomed in his heart. He heard sounds coming from the barn. He looked back and saw the men-at-arms were stalking up the road toward him. At least eight men, each holding weapons. Did they know his horse was wounded?
Gemmell knelt down, thrashing his mane and letting out an unearthly shriek. The animal’s suffering wrenched Ransom’s heart. The eye stared at him almost pleadingly. For a moment, Ransom just stood there, sword still in his hand, while tears of anger and anguish seared his eyes. Keening, the animal lay down, and Ransom knelt beside him. He didn’t want to deliver the mercy blow, but the spear thrust had probably been fatal from the start. If he wanted to live, he needed to move, and he could not, would not, leave Gemmell behind to suffer. Tears streaming down his cheeks, he delivered his trusted horse from its anguish.
Ransom rose, debating whether he should let the men-at-arms reach him. He wanted to kill each and every one of them. But the emptiness inside him deepened. He knew, in his core, that if he waited for them, he would die. So he trudged away, leaving behind Gemmell and all his coin and gear, walking back to the camp a defeated man.