Chapter 12: Close to the Edge (Part 1)

Justin woke with a start. His alarm hadn't gone off, for some reason. He was going to be late for-

The toe of a boot spurred the vulnerable spot between his ribs and pelvis.

"Ow!" he yelped, sitting up.

"On your feet!" barked Zechariah. "Never have I met someone who spent so much time on the ground!" He reared back to kick Justin again, and Justin scrambled, fleeing from the boot.

"Hey, I'm up!" he shouted. "What's the rush?"

"They have stopped to rest," growled Ahlund. He was on his steed. His face was blank. Emotionless. "And they still don't know they are being followed. If we ride hard, we'll catch them within the hour."

Within the hour? thought Justin.

He hurried to his steed while Zechariah mounted up. Again, Ahlund did not wait for them. He set his steed galloping over the grasslands.

"Is he going to fight them?" said Justin as he climbed into the saddle.

"No," said Zechariah. "We are going to fight them."

Justin tried to wet his lips, but his mouth was sticky and dry again. "Can't I stay here?" he asked. "You guys can come back for me when it's over."

"For your sake, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," said Zechariah with a frown. "Have some honor, boy. Show a little backbone! Are you ready?"

"No!" said Justin.

But Zechariah tugged on the reins, and his steed took off. When the old man made the clucking noise in his cheek, Justin's steed followed. Justin nearly fell off the animal's back at the change in momentum.

"No, wait-turn around!" Justin pleaded with the animal. "Whoa, pony, whoa! Halt. Stop. Slow down, Seabiscuit! Um... about-face? Please?"

He looked over the side of the steed and considered abandoning ship, but they were already moving so fast that the ground whizzed beneath him like rushing water. He dared not jump.

His heart was in his throat, beating nearly as quickly as the steeds' hooves. His mind replayed Zechariah's little stabbing motions with the dirk, his imagination adding blood-spurts with every thrust.

"It's just a dream," he told himself. "Wake up!"

It seemed like only minutes had passed when they rode over a small rise, and Justin gasped at the sight of the enemy camp less than five hundred yards away. Suddenly, battle was no longer an idea. It was a reality.

Men scrambled for their weapons and rushed to their steeds at the sight of Ahlund's approach. He was halfway there before any of them managed to get on steedback. At the far side of the camp, a woman was pushed onto the back of a steed, and its rider took off with her. The rest mounted up and charged at Ahlund with blades drawn. The tall mercenary drew his longsword, and a moment later, Justin heard his bellowing war cry.

Ahlund never slowed. Like barreling into the burning building the night before, he plunged headlong into the enemy.

The first rider brought his sword down at Ahlund in a lumberjack chop. Ahlund dodged it casually. Their steeds grazed shoulders as he passed. Two more riders closed in on him from either side. Steel reflected summer sun as one swung his sword and the other stabbed. Ahlund jerked with a wicked block and knocked the first attacker from his steed to hit the ground in a bone-snapping roll. Before the second enemy's blade could land, Ahlund slashed him across the chest. The rider dropped his weapon and slouched in the saddle.

The rider carrying the woman hazarded a look back, and Ahlund's hand whipped forward. A hunting knife pinwheeled through the air and found its mark with a thump in the soft tissue between the rider's neck and shoulder. His body tensed, and he tumbled from the saddle, leaving the woman alone on the steed.

Justin couldn't breathe. He was so close now that he could see the riders' faces-the colors of their eyes, the plaque on their teeth, the tangles in their beards, the blood spilling from the man Ahlund had slashed with his sword. Half of the remaining riders pursued Ahlund. The other half faced Zechariah and Justin. Some wore faces contorted with fury. Others appeared relaxed, almost businesslike.

Zechariah drew his sword and charged at them. Justin, out of no desire of his own, followed right behind him. Intelligent thought escaped him, replaced by pure, crystalline terror.

"It's a dream, wake up," he heard himself repeating, almost shouting, as vomit bubbled at the back of his throat. "It's a dream! Wake up!"

An enemy rider closed in on Justin from the side. The man raised his sword, taking aim-as if he were a major-league batter sizing up a pitch and Justin's head was a juicy, hanging curveball.

Zechariah flew in, catching the attacker off balance. Faster than a man of his years should have been able, Zechariah redirected the man's strike and stabbed him below his collarbone. The man dropped his weapon and retreated, clutching the wound. Another rider came at Zechariah. The old man dodged a potential killing blow, then cracked the rider in the face with the butt of his sword's hilt, stunning the man enough to knock him out of his saddle.

A rider advanced on Justin from the opposite side. Justin turned away out of reflex. In the process, he inadvertently tugged on the reins in his hands. His steed stepped sideways in response, and a stab from the enemy's blade glanced off the animal's hindquarters instead of hitting Justin.

The steed reared. Justin lost his grip, and he fell from the saddle.

He hit the ground amid stamping hooves. A few more enemy riders fell beneath Ahlund and Zechariah's blades, and the cries of the wounded and the dying hurt Justin's ears as he struggled to his feet. Soldiers surrounded Zechariah, now. A blade caught the old man in the shoulder with a splash of red. He retaliated by burying his sword halfway to the hilt in the rider's midsection and twisting upward. The rider fell, gargling.

"It's a dream," Justin said. "It's a dream." His heart now pounded in his chest so hard he thought it would split like overripe fruit.

Zechariah's eyes found Justin. "Behind you!" he shouted.

Justin turned on weak legs. An unseated rider-the man Zechariah had cracked in the face-was coming at him. Blood from a broken nose soaked his mustache. He raised his sword as he ran at Justin.