They made a wet cold camp that night, and Andressat woke when the wind changed and blew colder through his damp cloak.

Dawn broke with high rose-colored clouds and a peculiar clarity to the air below that meant, Andressat knew, western weather for a day or so. To the north, clouds still lay in the Honnorgat valley, but where they rode, they could see the shape of the land, now sparkling with wet in the thin sun. Water trickled musically into every depression, along every possible watercourse. Wide stretches of turf, inlaid with bands of trees … a flock of sheep, a mound of dirty wool, moved across a slope west of them.

They were almost to the border of Andressat, coming up through the bands of gray rock, when attack came. From behind a row of the rough gray stones, five men rose, two with bows in hand. Instinctively, Andressat slid off his horse on the off side; the animal squealed and plunged as an arrow struck its neck. Behind him, he heard arrows shattering on the rocks. Dort had been hit; he fell from his mount. Burek called commands Andressat did not know; the others were around him in moments, swords and shields out. He had the same, but he’d failed to grab his shield when he dismounted, and he’d never used a short sword in his life.

Someone else grabbed the shield from the fallen man’s horse and handed it to him. “Heart-hand—hold it up like this,” the man muttered. It was heavier than Andressat expected. “Sword’s for stabbing. No fencing.” An arrow clanged on his helmet; Andressat heard Burek say something else he didn’t understand, and found himself shoved sideways by the others. They were now covering the body of their fallen comrade, who was not—Andressat was surprised to see—dead.

“Advance!”

That he understood. The attackers had come out into the trail now, leaving their bows behind. All but one carried medium-length swords, broad at the base. Burek held the right end of their own line; unlike the rest, he had an officer’s long sword. Andressat glanced at the men on either side of him and tried to understand what he was supposed to do.

As the lines came together, instinct took over. Andressat had never fought in close formation, but he had seen Phelan’s and Halveric’s soldiers both drilling and in battle. That heavy shield gave not at all to blows by the enemy’s swords, and his own short blade thrust forward as fast as those of his companions. One of the enemy fell, then two more. A thrown dagger zipped past and hit his helmet, stinging his arm as it fell away. Burek—he had no time to watch Burek. Then he heard the clash of blades behind him; he dared not turn and look, for the enemies in front. A blow in the back staggered him. He felt a body sliding down his.

Two of the three men in front of them continued to fight, but one turned away; Andressat recognized one of the archers. “Get him!” he said. “He’s going for his bow …” Beside him, his two companions surged forward, and he moved with them; the two remaining enemy swordsmen fell. One of his companions ran over the dying and stabbed the enemy archer in the back. The man fell with a choked cry.