Midwinter

Silverdun was a trickster, not so much a swordsman. He would taunt and goad his opponent into a corner from which the creature could not maneuver, then pin him with a short, quick thrust. He cajoled and shouted at the creatures, constantly trying to keep them off balance.

Raieve's chief weapon was her speed. None of the bugganes could touch her; her thin blade whipped and flashed in the morning sun, always finding her enemy's blade before it could find her. She twirled and danced around two of them at once, picking away at them until they fell.

Gray Mave took one buggane at a time, swinging his heavy sword almost like a cudgel. He was slow; but his blows, when they struck, were almost always lethal. His face was blank as he fought, years of martial training as a guard guiding his motions.

Satterly was impressed that Mauritane had somehow assembled what must have been the best team of swordsmen in all of Crete Sulace, not that he was an expert on such matters. How had he known how well their styles would interact? From where he stood, the fight was a foregone conclusion. The bugganes didn't stand a chance. Watching Mauritane, Satterly thought that he might have been able to take on all of the bugganes himself.

He watched Mauritane move, taking on three attackers at once while simultaneously ensuring that his companions were not surrounded or attacked from behind and guiding the melee away from where Satterly stood with the horses. Though it was difficult to see his face for all his movement, Satterly could swear that Mauritane looked almost pleased, as though fighting for him was like breathing for anyone else. He moved without apparent effort, whirling his blades around him with perfect fluid grace, as if he were demonstrating the art of sword fighting, rather than engaging in it.

"Try to remain uphill of them," Mauritane shouted, lashing out with an elbow that caught one of the creatures on the forehead, dropping it to the ground.

Gray Mave cried out, a low guttural sound, as his opponent caught him in the chest with a slash of its thin blade. Mauritane, not able to reach him, took his own attacker by the throat and lifted it off its feet like it was made of straw. He hurled the creature headlong toward where Gray Mave stood clutching his torso. The flying buggane slammed heavily into Mave's adversary. The two creatures' heads crashed together and blood sprayed from between them.

By then, only four of the bugganes remained. At some point, their leader had been slain and they began to fight warily, backing away rather than advancing. They started looking over their shoulders.

"Shall we let them run?" said Raieve, kicking one in the knees.

"No," said Mauritane. "Kill them all."

At that, two of the creatures began to flee. They were surprisingly swift. Silverdun hit one of them between the shoulder blades with his thrown dagger, but the other cut around behind a stand of trees and vanished.

"Streak!" shouted Mauritane. The horse cried out at Satterly's side and ran toward its master. Mauritane caught a stirrup with a raised left leg and swung his body astride the horse before the beast could stop. He kicked Streak forward, shouting, "Go!" He slapped the horse's flank with the flat of his sword.

"What's he doing?" shouted Satterly, as Gray Mave and Raieve finished off the remaining bugganes.

Silverdun shrugged. "I guess they made him angry."

Satterly watched as Mauritane chased the fleet creature, its long thin legs carrying it across the densely packed snow of the valley nearly as fast as Mauritane moved on horseback. Mauritane closed on it, came around slicing with his sword. The creature ducked, stumbled to the ground, and Mauritane fell on it, hacking with his blade.

When he returned, his chest was covered in the thick purplish blood of the thing.

"Why did you chase the creature down?" asked Raieve angrily. "It was retreating."

Mauritane wiped the blade of his sword on one of the fallen creatures' garments. "Bugganes travel in packs of up to a thousand. It wasn't retreating," he said. "It was going for reinforcements." He let the rag fall to the ground. "Gray Mave, how badly are you injured?"

"Not much more than a scratch," said Mave, touching the wound on his chest. "It got beneath the skin, but not by much."

"Put a poultice on it and watch it. The last thing we need is for you to die from an infected wound."

A strange look appeared on Gray Mave's face as he prodded the skin around his cut. "Yes, of course," he said.

"Good then," said Mauritane. "We need to get out of here. Quickly."