Free Before The Mask by Michael Williams Page B

centicore here for the ravens and kites. The
     beast is a shameful kill.”
    Verminaard could not believe his bad fortune.
    He'd had scarcely a second's exulting, scarcely a moment to look across the churned and
     broken ground to the steamy, hulking body of the beast, to revel in his courageous act.
    It was Aglaca's fault, the Voice soothed, gliding into his deepest thoughts as he sulked
     in the saddle. He could have joined the ceremony, closed the circle of the hunt with a
     simple cast of the spear. He refused, out of a stupid and blind loyalty to a vanished god
     . . . and Osman died for Aglaca's pride and his helplessness. If he'd been man enough to
     kill the centicore ...
    Verminaard rode home in the middle of the column, Aglaca beside him. Over the mile and a
     half from the box canyon to the edge of the plains, the smaller lad never spoke, but when
     they reached the foothills and the narrow pass that led through Taman Busuk and south
     toward Castle Nidus, Aglaca finally addressed him. The brisk
    wind that met them erased all memory of the grasslands, the rank smell of centicore, and
     the sweat of terror-stricken horses.
    “Your father will come around, Verminaard,” Aglaca soothed. “He's wounded over the loss of
     Osman, but he'll see soon enough that your act was courageous, that you were only trying
     to help me out.”
    Verminaard winced at this new needling but kept silent, his eyes fixed on the path in
     front of them. Once, maybe twice, Aglaca thought that his companion was ready to speak,
     but each time the other lad shook his head and sank back into a gloomy quiet.
    They passed over a stone bridge, wider by far than Dreed, where the horses walked three
     abreast and the riders, forced to dismount and lead the animals, trudged over the causeway
     of rock and gravel, exchanging muted conversation and stories about Osman's bravery.
    “What's this bridge called, Verminaard?” Aglaca asked. “Bandit's Bone” came the answer,
     muttered and clipped. “Is there some burial ground here?”
    Verminaard was about to loose a tirade upon Aglaca, to berate him for his pride and
     smugness and self-righteous, bloody-minded ways, when suddenly the air bristled with
     arrows. Rising from the rocks on the far side of the bridge ahead, a dozen archers aimed,
     fired, and reloaded as the rider at the front of Daeghrefn's column toppled over the
     bridge and into the gorge, the black shaft of a Nerakan arrow run through his back.
    “Nerakans!” Daeghrefn roared. “Ambush!”
    From the rocks behind them came a second group of bandits, also armed with bows, and
     instantly another deluge of arrows poured down on Daeghrefn's party. The relentless
     barrage eclipsed the midday sun, and the warriors on the rock bridge milled in confusion,
     while men before and behind Verminaard toppled into the gorge, some shot through several
     times.
    Daeghrefn whirled in the saddle and shouted orders to his men. Verminaard strained to hear
     his father through the strange, aggressive yells of the Nerakan archers as they launched
     volley after
    volley upon the trapped hunters. But then the lad's eyes brought him the news as all the
     men turned their shields toward the far

Dragonlance - Villains 1 - Before the Mask
    Chapter 5
    side of the bridge and, risking the arrows that whined and clattered on the stones behind
     them, lurched angrily toward the homeward side of the gorge like a long, armored serpent.
    Slowly they moved toward the bandits, toward the ragged men who now discarded their bows
     and drew forth long knives and rusty maces. When Verminaard reached solid ground, there
     were ten of his party ahead, swords locked with their Nerakan adversaries, and the drift
     of battle was already shifting toward Daeghrefn, toward the commander of Castle Nidus.
    Verminaard looked behind him. Aglaca leapt off the stone bridge and found safer footing,
     but past him lay a sprawl of bodies. A dozen of