From a copse of trees to his left, the lead rider, with his black-plumed helmet, raised his shield, pointed with his spear and screamed. Five more horsemen in steel helmets, chain mail shirts, and tatterdemalion surcoats charged toward him.

Still more riders galloped from the trees.

Eowain drove the bronze-capped butt end of his spear into the soft, pine-coated soil. "Set spears!" He dropped down on it with his knee, levered the point up to receive the charge, and raised his shield.

The cavalry charge thundered down on him. The black-plumed rider swerved at the last moment. His horse whinnied in protest.

Like a hammer, something thudded into Eowain's back. It drove the wind from him. He lurched forward. The second horse in the charge reared up, impaled on the blade of his father's spear. That shock drove him back. Another blade shuddered his left arm as third rider tried to overreach his shield.

Steeds thundered past and kicked up clods of mud. His personal guard howled from the trees behind him, straight into the bandit's mounts.

Eowain staggered backward to his feet, away from the hooves of the screaming horse. The spear of Eowain's father, sturdy ash, had held firm. Eowain yanked it free of horse's chest, turned it around in his grasp and surveyed the situation.

The horse's rider had broken his spear on Eowain's shield and been unseated in the tumult.

The horsemen with crossbows desperately reloaded their weapons. Two of Eowain's men on the left were down, one with a bolt in his leg, another with his head smashed under horses' hooves. Two more of the bandit riders were down. The cavalry charge had carried the bandits rearing into the teeth of Eowain's second line of hard-bitten guard. He could hear them cry, "To the King!" as they slashed at the bandit riders. Eowain's third line, the archers, took advantage of the short range and the rider's elevation over the heads of their fellows. A volley of arrows buzzed from the trees like a hive of hornets.

The riders, in a swelter of confusion, reared and wheeled their horses, slashed about them with hastily-drawn swords. The black-plumed rider knew his bloody work well and laid about him with his sword, then reared his horse to strike with hooves, and spurred the beast loose from the mêlèe.

On the ground beside him lay Tnúthgal's spear, the blade coated in blood. Tnúthgal was nowhere to be seen.

Eowain hefted his shield and winced. His left shoulder felt as if he'd been struck by a mallet. He looked again at Tnúthgal's spear. My blood, he realized. The bastard tried to spear me in the back.

The rider he'd brought down staggered to his feet, drew his sword. Eowain ran the man through the gut and snarled his rage into his wide, round eyes.

A shout arose. More bandits came out of the wood on foot and shook spears and swords at the men of Droma.

The black-plumed rider retreated to his own men as Eowain's guard fought past the bandit's horsemen. Scar-faced Gaeth and barrel-chested Mahon, with three more of Eowain's men, formed a battle square around him.

Eowain's archers came out of the trees in a sudden hurry, shouting. Several had their bloodied swords in their hands, as if they fought a withdrawal.

The cold realization of treachery dawned on him. Tnúthgal's men. Eowain had arranged them behind his archers. "To me!" His shout rallied the archers. Men in Tnúthgal's livery, the river salmon surmounted by an upturned crescent, came out of the trees.

And there was Tnúthgal, in their lead.

He found Eowain on the field, cursed, and charged toward him with a handful of men.

Across the small clearing, the bandits too howled and charged.

"Defend the King!"

"Nay! Tnúthgal is mine!" Eowain exchanged spear for sword and sprang from his surrounding men like an outraged bear from its den.

Tnúthgal roared, spittle flew from his mouth. They crashed together. He parried aside Eowain's blow with his shield. His blade laid Eowain's right arm open.

Stupid. Eowain cursed himself. His cousin was no stranger to war. Think, damn it.

They parried, thrust, feinted, and slashed. Eowain's sword rang from his cousin's helmet. The point of his cousin's sword stabbed against his jack of steel-ringed leather, then cut down and slashed at his right leg. Eowain sliced his cousin across the forearm.

"You never should have crowned yourself." Tnúthgal bounced on the balls of his feet, feinted, and grinned as Eowain flinched. "You and your brother, you die here. Today."

Eowain turned as if to attack, then turned again. Tnúthgal stepped away from the thrust, then swung. Eowain parried it away with the flat of his blade and punched with his shield. His cousin knocked the punch away and came in for a thrust.

Eowain stepped aside, then leaped and stabbed. The point of his blade found its mark in Tnúthgal's shoulder.

On they went, thrust and parry, blade screeching from blade, shields clashing. Tnúthgal landed a swing against his back. Eowain sliced his cousin's thigh, then rang the bell of his helmet again.

Eowain saw his own men had the better of the bandit's and his cousin's men, despite being out-numbered. From north and south, more of Eowain's and Tnúthgal's men were coming through the trees to join the fray. Confusion reigned when they found their fellow-men had turned blades and spears on each other.

With a rush, Tnúthgal's slingers and spearmen broke from the trees. Eithne, spear red with blood, chestnut steed lathered and frothing, drove Tnúthgal's men into the glade.Her father and their horsemen, with her footmen behind, followed her with a roar.

He caught a glimpse of red hair, and the ban-shynn keen of her battle crychilled his blood—then conjured his veins to a heat he'd never known before.

Tnúthgal and his men sought to keep him from his land and his tribesmen. They strove to keep her from him.

With renewed vigor, he swung once more at Tnúthgal. I'll make these bastards pay.

Men and horses pressed between Eowain and his cousin. Eowain lost sight of his cousin and found himself carried across the field and threatened by bandits. He parried, snapped the spear of one in half, and laid open the throat of the other with his blade.

Then a horn blew. Some of the bandits sought to make an orderly withdrawal. Others turned and fled. Their abandoned fellows were soon overwhelmed or chased off.

In the confusion, Tnúthgal's men either surrendered or fled as well. Eowain was left with command of the field. His cousin was gone.

Eowain put his hands on his knees. His breath came in harsh gasps, this thighs burned with exertion. Gingerly, he probed at his left shoulder. Broken rings and split leather met his touch. His fingers came back bloodied. Thank the Gods for my cousin's poor aim. The wound hurt like hell, but the armor had done its business well enough and he still had a shoulder at all.

Eowain reorganized the men. Many had been injured, aside from himself. A few had been killed. He'd always intended to stay the night at Maraydanayd, but with wounded to tend, it seemed then the best choice in any event.

"I told you I could fight." Eithne lifted her chin and leaned her head backward toward her shoulder blades. Her cool green eyes rolled and looked askance at the field around her. The corner of her mouth tightened on one side, dimpled, and pulled toward her ear.

Eowain looked about at the field. The bodies of Tnúthgal's men spoke eloquently for her prowess. Nearby, scar-faced Gaeth and barrel-chested Mahon raised their eyebrows at him.

"Yes," admitted Eowain. He put his fists on his hips and nodded to her. "You certainly can."

—33—

Look for the next installment in this Continuing Tale of The Matter of Manred: The Romance of Eowain.

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