The Complete Legends of the Riftwar Trilogy: Honoured Enemy, Murder in Lamut, Jimmy the Hand. Raymond E. Feist

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СКАЧАТЬ side of the trail and back a couple of dozen yards were effective in keeping the enemy down.

      Asayaga waited a couple of minutes, trying to judge just how many were on the other side. If a dozen or less, perhaps his own archers could take most of them out. Two more minutes passed slowly.

      A few rocks arced over the wall but his men remained pressed against the side of the stockade and were safe. It was a stalemate.

      ‘We can’t stay here forever. I think our pursuers are close. If so they’ll slaughter us out here.’

      It was Tasemu.

      Asayaga nodded. ‘Pair up!’ he shouted. ‘Every other man vaults the wall. Get ready!’

      Tasemu started to sheath his sword.

      ‘No, I go first.’

      Softly, the old warrior asked, ‘Will you stop trying to get yourself killed?’

      ‘It’s my duty.’

      ‘Suppose you get killed, then Sugama takes over?’

      Asayaga shook his head and kept his eyes locked on Tasemu. ‘I have no intention of dying, and if I do, you decide who takes over. Now, cup your hands.’

      Tasemu grumbled but finally bent over and did as he was told.

      ‘Ready!’

      He looked along the wall. Most of his men had doubled up and were prepared, and there was no time to wait for the laggards.

      ‘Now!’

      He slammed his right foot into Tasemu’s cupped hands and at the same instant grabbed hold of his shoulders. Tasemu stood up with a grunt.

      Asayaga vaulted and grabbed the top of the barrier. He scrambled to pull himself over. He caught a glimpse of a moredhel, back turned, striking down with an axe, splitting open the skull of the man to Asayaga’s right.

      Asayaga rolled over the wall and landed on the rampart. The moredhel turned, letting go of the axe as his victim fell. He whipped out a dagger and with a snakelike hiss leapt on Asayaga. The two clutched each other and rolled off the rampart, falling half a dozen feet to the ground.

      The blow knocked the wind out of Asayaga but he hung on to his foe, blocking a slashing strike to his eyes with his cloak wrapped around his forearm.

      With his left hand Asayaga drew his own short blade and rammed it straight up, catching the moredhel under the ribs. He kicked himself free, stood up and, reaching over his shoulder, drew his long sword.

      What he saw made his heart freeze. At least thirty moredhel were deployed as a reserve, most of them armed with bows, ready to slaughter any who made it over the wall. Raising his sword he charged straight at the encircling foe.

      

      Perched on top of a cliff, Dennis watched the slaughter down below.

      ‘They’re losing,’ Gregory announced.

      ‘I don’t need you to tell me that,’ Dennis replied calmly.

      He couldn’t help but admire the mad idea of storming the gate as a human battering ram. It had failed, however, and the element of surprise was lost.

      He watched as the Tsurani spread out while on the inside of the pass the moredhel garrison poured out of the log barracks and formed up, ready to slaughter anyone who made it over the wall.

      ‘Around thirty of them,’ Gregory whispered.

      Dennis nodded.

      Damn.

      This was old territory for him. His father had built the barrier down below as part of the outer line of the northern marches. The moredhel had obviously reversed the gate and wooden ramparts, and put in the cabin on the other side – the original barracks Dennis’s father had built on this side of the wall had been burned down when Dennis had been a boy. Tactically it wasn’t a sound position; anyone who knew the area could easily flank it by scaling the ridge on either side from old trails that smugglers and other weapons runners frequently used. It was why Dennis’s father had eventually abandoned the position and built the small fortress that had become Brendan’s Stockade.

      It was just such a smuggler’s route he had decided to take, when they had closed to within spitting distance of the Tsurani a mile back.

      Even as the Tsurani hesitated then formed up for their attack he and his men went to the east of the pass, scaling the steep slope. The storm had driven the garrison inside as he had hoped, so there were no patrols waiting to ambush them.

      ‘Look.’

      Gregory pointed back to the south. It was hard to see, since wisps of cloud cloaked them, then parted, but he caught a glimpse of the main trail as it crossed a low ridgeline a couple of miles back.

      Riders, moving cautiously, but pressing forward. Then the clouds closed in again.

      Dennis’s men were coming up behind him. They were numb with exhaustion, soaked to the skin.

      ‘I was hoping one side could slaughter the other,’ Dennis muttered, ‘then we finish off what’s left. We need that shelter and the gate secured or we’re all finished.’

      Gregory nodded, staring at him, saying nothing.

      ‘Oh damn it,’ Dennis hissed, as he looked down. ‘This is insane.’

      

      The first of the moredhel archers fired, the arrow striking a glancing blow across Asayaga’s helmet. He charged in blindly, hoping that at the very least a dying thrust would take one of the foes down with him.

      And then he caught a glimpse of a moredhel staggering forward, the point of a spear sticking out of his chest. Another went down and then another.

      A shrieking battle cry echoed on the wind, a spine-tingling scream that sounded like the baying of wolves closing in on their prey.

      Looking up he saw Kingdom soldiers sliding down the near vertical wall of the pass. Several of them lost control on the icy slope and fell screaming, crashing to the ground, one of them landing directly on top of a moredhel, the blow killing both of them. Most of the soldiers managed to brake their fall by grabbing hold of stunted bushes that grew along the icy wall, stopping for a second, letting go, sliding again, braking, then finally alighting on the ground.

      The first to land safely drew a heavy two-handed sword from a scabbard slung over his shoulder and with a murderous cry charged forward. A moredhel turned, backing up, swinging desperately, trying to use his bow as a shield. A single blow nearly cut him in half.

      The leader spun around, catlike, ducking low as a moredhel charged in with levelled spear. In an amazing display of swordsmanship the leader delivered a backhanded blow while down on one knee, cutting the moredhel’s leg off at mid-thigh as he charged past.

      More and yet more Kingdom troops crashed down, some landing on the roof of the barracks, then leaping down from there.

      Asayaga looked back up СКАЧАТЬ