“What made you join us?” Jason asked Tristan.
“I was never proud of my decision to come here,” Tristan panted. “Seeing men with the courage to defy Duke Conrad and forgo the protection of the castle inspired me. I resolved yesterday that if you won your duel, I would go with you.”
“Glad to have you,” Jason said, a little worried that Tristan was getting out of breath so soon.
“You realize we are about to die,” Drake said.
“Probably,” Tristan agreed. “But this is a better way to go.”
Jason kept silent.
From behind, dogs began baying in an exuberant chorus. The four men looked back and saw nearly twenty eager mastiffs and boarhounds tearing after them, followed by a horseman.
“They don’t waste much time,” Jason muttered bitterly.
The four men broke into a sprint. Tristan discarded his pack. On the far side of the alfalfa field they vaulted a low wooden fence. Tark caught his foot on a post and went down hard, scrambling back up with the adrenalized vigor of a man about to become dog chow. The next field was a wide expanse of knee-high grass. Jason glanced back. The pack of fierce canines was already halfway across the alfalfa field. The man on horseback was now visible as Kimp, cantering along easily behind the dogs, a flanged mace in one hand.
Already Tristan was breathing in ragged gasps, his face red and sweat-glossed. His pace was beginning to flag. Jason slowed his pace to stay with him. Tristan angrily motioned him forward. “Go on,” he wheezed.
Drake had the lead. Tark raced with remarkable speed for such a compact man. Jason could barely keep up with them. He concentrated on his feet beating against the grassy ground, trying to lengthen his stride and make his legs pump faster. The yowling of the pursuing dogs was rising in intensity.
Jason already felt a stitch forming in his side, like a screw twisting inward. He rubbed at it. Tark was a couple of steps ahead, his short legs churning desperately.
Glancing back, Jason saw that Tristan had turned to face the approaching dogs, longsword clutched in two hands. The dogs were almost upon him.
Jason witnessed Tristan’s last stand in a strobe of backward glances.
Tristan slashing a leaping mastiff.
Tristan down on one knee, hacking at a boarhound, whines now mingling with the vigorous baying.
Tristan fighting to his feet, fists swinging wildly.
Tristan on the ground with dogs swarmed around him, gutting a mastiff with a dagger as a boarhound found his throat.
Jason stumbled and went sprawling on the dewy grass.
Tark skidded to a halt and yanked him up.
A dozen dogs still pursued them. Jason had dropped the billiard ball in the fall. The only weapon he now bore was his poniard. Tark had his knife. Several paces ahead Drake held his sword.
Out of a grove of trees on one side of the field came Jasher on a splendid black charger, riding straight toward Jason and Tark. He was leading a gray horse.
“Prongs!” shouted Tark, swerving to the left.
“No! He’s a friend!”
Jasher raised a crossbow. He fired a quarrel. It was a long shot to the dogs. Jason glanced back. A boarhound pitched forward, a shaft protruding from its chest.
Jasher discarded the crossbow and produced another one. A mastiff fell. The crossbow went into the grass, replaced by another. Another mastiff went down with a yelp.
Jasher was almost upon Jason and Tark as he produced a fourth crossbow. “Take the horse,” he ordered, releasing the reins.
The freed horse thundered straight at Jason. How was he supposed to stop a speeding horse? He dove out of the way, reaching back halfheartedly for the loose reins. He missed the reins, and the horse raced past, gradually slowing.
Jasher leveled his crossbow and shot another boarhound.
“Turn and fight!” Drake called. He flung a short sword end over end. The blade stuck in the ground at Jason’s feet, and he seized it.
Jason and Tark whirled to face the remaining dogs. With a fifth crossbow Jasher reduced the dogs to seven as he bolted past them to intercept Kimp.
Drake trotted away from Tark and Jason, creating some space. Brandishing his sword, he shouted at the onrushing canines. Four of the dogs veered after him.
Three dogs—two boarhounds and a mastiff—charged at Jason and Tark. Jason sidestepped the leap of the mastiff, slashing its head as it soared past. A bounding boarhound rammed Tark into a backward somersault, taking his heavy knife through the chest in the process. The second boarhound came at Jason low, sweeping his legs out from under him with its rushing bulk.
The boarhound tore at the leg of Jason’s pants, teeth penetrating to the flesh. Suddenly the mastiff he had slashed was upon him as well, going for his throat. Jason gave it his forearm instead. He had dropped the short sword. With his free hand he desperately pushed against the writhing bulk of the ferocious canine.
The boarhound was no longer savaging Jason’s leg. Then Tark tackled the mastiff. Arm pistoning frantically, Tark stabbed the dog repeatedly, until it went limp.
Sitting up, Jason observed that the boarhound at his feet had also been dispatched by Tark. Off to one side, untouched, Drake stood calmly with a bloody sword in hand, surrounded by four dead dogs. Turning his head, Jason saw Jasher and Kimp closing on each other. Jasher held his doubled chain. Kimp brandished his flanged mace. Both horses galloped wildly.
As they reached each other, Kimp sprang from the saddle, straight at Jasher. Jasher swung his chain, but it was too late—Kimp collided with him, and both men flew off the back of Jasher’s horse to roll in the grass.
Both men arose immediately. Kimp used his free hand to intercept Jasher’s chain on its way to his tattooed head, while simultaneously swinging his club with a quick, one-handed backhand that struck Jasher in the chest.
The hasty blow from the mace was not particularly forceful, but it was accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. There came a brief glare of intense light, and then Jasher blew apart in a roaring explosion that hurled Kimp backward in fiery ruin.
Jason gaped in disbelief. Some distance away a flock of birds took flight. Smoke mushroomed up from the blast. Kimp lay motionless, his clothes aflame. Just like that both men were destroyed.
“Jasher was a seed person,” Jason gasped, sprinting toward the fallen warriors.
Tark followed.
“His seed pops out when he dies,” Jason told Tark. “If we find his amar, we can save him.”
“Be quick,” Drake warned, scanning the surrounding area as he hurried to join them. “Others will come after us. We’re losing our chance to flee.”