Spell of Fate | Page 8

net settled over the horse.
Jurtan rolled back out from under the dangling corner of the net and
staggered to his feet as the steerhorn sounded again. Something
swooshed past his ear - an arrow! Whoever was up there was going to
hang back behind the ridge above and try to pick them off. But what if
Jurtan just tried to run away? He heard a crunch, a clatter, and a loud
grunt from his left, in the direction they'd just come from, and turned to
see a heavily built man with a wild black beard and a broadsword
getting his balance on the path; a spill of earth showed where he had
jumped and slid down into the gully.
Max landed inverted at the bottom of the pit, in a handstand, his arms
tangled in leaves and netting. The horse with its broken legs was
sliding in after him. Max let himself fall carefully backward.
Something narrow, scratchy, and tall pressed up against his back,
yielded, and then snapped with a crack. There were spikes, but
obviously not enough of them to carpet the hole. Max kicked another
spike over out of the way and sprang backward onto his feet, then
leaned forward to press himself against the side of the pit. Next to him,
the horse finished collapsing into the pit, impaling itself on the spikes.
An arrow thonked superfluously into its flesh.
There would be at least four of them, Jurtan thought. The hefty guy
guarding the path with his sword, the archer, the one with the steerhorn,
and probably another swordsman to watch the path on the other side of
the pit. Max had been tutoring him in swordwork, but even after Max's
usual intensive crash-course Jurtan didn't think he could take down all
of them with his blade, especially considering the tactical situation the
terrain put them into. The blade was scarcely the only weapon at hand,
though.
The music in his head left Jurtan an opening. Drawing his own sword,
he hurled himself forward at the hefty man, yelling out "Heda!" in tune

with the music.
A blare of internal trumpets matched him. The edge of Jurtan's vision
swam, but with the last month's practice behind him his concentration
locked solidly into place and held his consciousness together. Instead,
the man ahead of him reacted slowly, as though he'd fallen into a
sudden daydream, his eyes vague and sluggish as he began to adjust his
stance and bring up his sword.
Max and Jurtan had determined that vocalization wasn't nearly as
effective in projecting paralysis as the flute in Jurtan's pack or the
harmonica in his pocket. On the other hand, his voice was close to hand
and left both arms free. Jurtan slid past the man's guard and whacked
him on the side of the head with the flat of his blade. Music stabbed at
him; without thinking, Jurtan leapt back. Another arrow flashed in front
of him through the space he'd just left and punctured the falling man's
chest.
Max vaulted over the thrashing horse before it could crush him against
the wall and rolled upward out of the pit. Not pausing, he pushed out of
the roll and sprang up the side of the gully. Just above of him sticking
over the edge an arrow was being slapped into a bow. Max snatched at
an exposed root just below the lip, pulled himself closer, grabbed the
bow with his other hand, then let go of his grip on the root. As he fell
backward he pushed off with his feet and yanked. With a crazed howl a
man appeared in the air above Max, still holding his bow. The man
twisted over Max and followed his bow head-first into the pit.
Two sets of footsteps crashed above, retreating rapidly into the trees.
Max was scrambling back up the embankment to give chase when the
charging footsteps stopped and were replaced by first a whinny and
then a gallop. The path beyond the pit jogged to the left; presumably it
snaked around to the spot where the ambushers had their horses hidden.
Max dropped to the floor of the gully next to his own horse. "What?"
Max demanded of it.
The horse had its head cocked to one side and was giving him a
reproachful look from beneath its weighted net. The horse hadn't

moved a foot throughout the entire affair. "Be that way, then," Max told
it.
"Are you all right?" said Jurtan, from a location safely beyond Max's
reach.
"No thanks to you. Next time take better care of your horse."
Jurtan was relieved to note that Max's tone of voice was relatively mild,
for Max. "I don't think anyone's going to be taking too much care of
that particular horse in