Now, if I was the commander of those bastards, I’d -
And suddenly figures flashed into view, scimitars and round shields, swathed faces and ululating warcries. Fiddler threw himself down against his horse’s withers as a heavy blade slashed, slicing through sand-filled air where his head had been a moment earlier.
The Wickan mare lunged forward and to one side, choosing this precise moment to buck its hated rider from the saddle.
With profound success.
Fiddler found himself flying forward, his bag of munitions rolling up his back, then up over his head.
Still in mid-air, but angling down to the ground, he curled himself into a tight ball-though he well knew, in that instant, that there was no hope of surviving. No hope at all. Then he pounded into the sand, and rolled-to see, upside-down, a huge hook-bladed sword spinning end over end across his own wake. And a stumbling horse. And its rider, a warrior thrown far back on his saddle-with the munition bag wrapped in his arms.
A surprised look beneath the ornate helm-then rider, horse and munitions vanished into the whirling sands.
Fiddler clambered to his feet and began running. Sprinting, in what he hoped-what he prayed-was the opposite direction.
A hand snagged his harness from behind. ‘Not that way, you fool!’
And he was yanked to one side, flung to the ground, and a body landed on top of him.
The sergeant’s face was pushed into the sand and held there.
Corabb bellowed. The bulky, heavy sack was hissing in his arms. As if filled with snakes. It had clunked hard against his chest, arriving like a flung boulder out of the storm, and he’d time only to toss his sword away and raise both arms.
The impact threw him onto the horse’s rump, but his feet stayed in the stirrups.
The bag’s momentum carried it over his face, and the hissing filled his ears.
Snakes!
He slid on his back down one side of the mount’s heaving hindquarters, letting the bag’s weight pull his arms with it. Don’t panic ! He screamed.
Snakes!
The bag tugged in his hands as it brushed the ground.
He held his breath, then let go.
Tumbling clunks, a burst of frenzied hissing-then the horse’s forward charge carried him blissfully away.
He struggled to right himself, his leg and stomach muscles fiercely straining, and finally was able to grasp the horn and pull himself straight.
One pass, Leoman had said. Then wheel and into the storm’s heart.