Page 55 of Dragon Slayer

And then the rocks on the hillside beside them moved, and stood up, and revealed themselves as men clad in brown and gray, faces wrapped, skin around their eyes painted black.

The cry went down the line: “Ambush!”

“Val, run!” Vlad shouted.

Val spun Dancer – tried to. He yanked the reins around, and she collided with the mount of the guard behind them. The mare shied hard, tripped, and Val gripped the saddle tight with his legs to stay aboard.

Scrape of steel on leather as swords were drawn; shouts of men, frantic; blooming scent of anxious sweat.

Attackers leapt down off the hillside into their midst, dozens of them, like the land itself coming alive and rolling over them like a landslide.

Val froze, pulse drumming in his ears, hands going wet and weak on the reins. Dancer tried to bolt, tried to squeeze past the horse behind and make a run for it. But the way was blocked.

Dancer reared.

And a hand latched onto Val’s foot, which had come out of the stirrup in the madness, and strong arms dragged him down out of the saddle.

The world tilted. He screamed, or thought he did; he could hear nothing but the awful hammering of his heart.

He hit the ground with a teeth-rattling thud, all the breath leaving his lungs. Flat on his back, shocked into stillness for one horrible, critical moment, he saw a face appear above his own, blotting out the light. Another, and then another.

He finally sucked in a breath. “Vlad! Papa!”

He wanted his mother, a powerful, instinctual urge to press his face into her throat and be hugged.

He tried to flip onto his belly, tried to get away. Men shouted, horses screamed, dust swirled around him.

Then a foot caught him in the ribs.

Pain exploded in his head, and then he was gone.

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