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exactly what this first installment of the parias meant。 Almost contemptuously he blocked an outlaw's slash and drove the man staggering back with a counterblow。
It was all beginning here； with him and this small pany。 The men of Jalona would be ing back south once more； again and again。 The long tide of centuries was turning； and it was going to sweep all the way through Al…Rassan to the southern straits。
First； though； there was this matter of bandits in a defile。 They ought to have broken by now； Nino thought again。 Grimly he hacked and chopped； with more space to move now； and even； at moments； room to advance a few paces。 They were brave enough； these outlaws from the south； but Jaddite iron and Jaddite courage were going to prevail。
Someone fell with a grunt beside him； Nino pivoted and thrust his sword deep into the guts of the man who had just killed one of his soldiers。 The bandit shrieked； his eyes bulged。 Nino twisted his blade deliberately before hauling it free。 The fellow's hands clutched at his oozing； slippery intestines； trying to keep them from spilling out。
Nino was laughing at that； as it happened； when the fifty new riders swept into the defile。
They were Jaddites； he saw that much in the first astonished glance。 Then he saw…and tried desperately to understand…that their mounts were small； nondescript horses of Al…Rassan。 Then he realized； with a cold pressing of blackness against his heart； that they had e not to aid him but to kill。
It was in that frozen moment of revelation that Nino recognized the first of these riders by the image of an eagle on the crown of his old…fashioned helmet。
He knew that emblem。 Every fighting man in Esperana knew of that helmet and the man who wore it。 There was a paralyzing weight of disbelief in Nino's mind。 He experienced an appalling sense of the unfairness of things。 He raised his sword as the eagle…helmed horseman came straight towards him。 Nino feinted； then swung savagely for the man's ribs。 His blow was parried； casually； and then； before he could right himself； Nino saw a long； bright； final blade e scything and he left the world of living men and fell down into the dark。
Idar； fighting beside his father； had been struggling to summon the courage to suggest retreat。
It had never happened before that his father had persisted this long with what was clearly a failed assault。 They had established their name； their fortune； their castle at Arbastro； by knowing when to engage and when…as now； surely！…to withdraw and fight another time。
It was his brother's wound； Idar knew； laboring with his sword in the trammeling press。 Abir was dying on the hard ground behind them and their father was out of his head with grief。 One of their men was beside Abir on his knees； cradling his head； two others stood by； to defend him should any of the accursed Jaddites break free of their tight circle。
Their father was a wild； terrifying figure beside Idar； frenzied in his attacks on the ring of their enemies； oblivious to circumstance and need； to the devastating fact that more than half their number were dead。 There were barely thirty men doing battle now with almost as many of the dung…eating Horsemen。 Their weapons and armor were less good； their style of bat was not and never had been this kind of savage face…to…face confrontation。
The ambush had almost succeeded but it had not quite been enough。 It was time to break free； to run south； to accept that a huge risk had nearly worked； but had not。 They had a desperately long way to go to get home to Arbastro； on evil winter paths； through mud and rain； and with the wounded to slow them。 It was past time to pull out while they could； while yet some of them lived。
As if to mark the truth of his thought； Idar was forced in that moment to duck swiftly down and to one side as a burly Jaddite with a studded mace stepped forward and hammered a sideswung blow at his face。 The Jaddite was armored from head to calves； Idar wore a leather helm and a light chain breastpiece。 What were they doing fighting face to face？
Twisting under the lethal mace； Idar chopped sharply at the back of the Jaddite's ankle。 He felt his sword bite through the boot and into flesh。 The man screamed and fell to one knee。 They would say it was a coward's way to fight； Idar knew。 They had their armor and their iron。 The men of Arbastro had decades of experience in the tactics of cunning and entrapment。 When it came to killing or dying there were no rules； his father had drilled that into them from the beginning。
Idar killed the fallen giant with a slicing blow to the neck； where the helmet did not quite meet his body armor。 He thought about grabbing the mace； but decided it would be too heavy for him； especially if they had to run。
And they did have to run； or they were going to die in this defile。 He watched his father； still wild with rage； pounding his blade over and again against a Jaddite shield。 The Jaddite withdrew； one pace and then another； but the shield arm held； steady and resilient。 Just beyond his father Idar saw the Jaddite captain； the yellow…haired one； dispatch another of their men。 They were going to die here。
It was in that moment that the second wave of Jaddites came galloping up behind them； the hooves of their horses like sudden thunder in the defile。
Idar wheeled about； aghast。 Too late now； he thought； and in his mind he saw a swift； vivid image of a white…faced； black…haired maiden ing for him； her long fingernails reaching for his red heart。 And then； a pulsebeat later； Idar realized that he understood nothing at all of what was happening here today。
The leader of this new wave of Horsemen came sweeping through the outlaw line。 He rode straight up to where the yellow…haired man wielded his heavy sword。 Leaning in the saddle； he blocked a thrust and then； curbing his horse tightly； swept his own long blade down with incisive mastery and killed the other Jaddite where he stood。
Idar became aware that his mouth was gaping open。 He closed it。 He looked desperately towards the red…smeared figure of blood and grief and fury that was his father and he saw the sharp…eyed clarity that he remembered…that he needed…suddenly return。
〃We have been used；〃 his father said to him then； quiet amid the roiling chaos of new horses and dying men in front of them。 He had lowered his sword。 〃I am in my dotage。 Too old to be allowed to lead men。 I ought to have died before today。〃
And； amazingly； he sheathed his blade and stepped back； seemingly indifferent； as the new Jaddites killed the first ones without mercy or respite； even though swords were being thrown down in the circle around the gold and men were crying aloud for ransom。
No one's surrender was accepted。 Idar； who had killed many men in his time； watched in silence from where he and his father had withdrawn beside his dying brother。
The men from Jalona； who had e south for a fortune in parias gold； who had ridden foolishly into a trap and then survived it by main courage and discipline； died that morning； every one of them； in that dark place。
Afterwards it was quiet； save for the moaning of injured outlaws。 Idar realized that some of the new Jaddite archers were shooting the wounded horses； which is why those sounds had stopped。 The animals' screaming had been going on so long he had almost blocked it out。 He watched as the undamaged horses were rounded up。 They were magnificent stallions； no mounts in Al…Rassan could match those from the ranches of Esperana。
Idar and his father and the others laid aside their weapons； as ordered： there was no point resisting。 They numbered barely more than twenty； all exhausted and many wounded； with nowhere to run； facing fifty mounted warriors。 On the ground beside them； his head now pillowed on a saddle cloth； Abir breathed raggedly； dealing with pain。 The wound in his thigh was too deep； Idar saw； it was still bleeding despite the knot tied above it。 Idar had seen that kind of wound before。 His brother was going to die。 There was a kind of blankness in Idar's mind because of that； an inability to think properly。 He remembered； quite suddenly； the vision he had had when the new Horsemen had appeared： death as a woman； her nails raking for his life。
It wasn't his life； after all。 He knelt and touched his younger brother's cheek。 He found that he could not speak。 Abir looked up at him。 He lifted a hand so their fingers touched。 There was fear in his eyes but he said nothing at all。 Idar swallowed hard。 It would not do to cry。 They were still on a battlefield。 He squeezed Abir's hand and stood up。 He walked a few steps back to stand beside their father。 The old man's blood…smeared head was high； his shoulders straight as he looked up at the new men on their horses。
Tarif ibn Hassan of Arbastro； captured at last after almost forty years。
The outlaw who had bee more a king…and who had always been more a lion…than any of the myriad pretenders to royalty since Silvenes fell。
The numbness in Idar extended to this as well。 Their world was ending in this defile。 A new legend to go with the old ones about the haunted Emin ha'Nazar。 His fath