Free The Silent Enemy by Richard A. Knaak Page A

form rode by. Nermesa heard the figure grunt something unintelligible. The anger in his tone was very clear, though. The Aquilonian remained perfectly still as the rider took a look around, then finally moved on.
    The moment that the area was clear again, the knight worked on descending. The chase had forced him in a direction nearly opposite to that in which he wanted to journey. He would now need to waste precious minutes just to work his way back to where he wanted to be.
    He squeezed through a break in one man-sized boulder, his breastplate scraping against the rock. Nermesa gave thanks that he was not quite so encumbered as a Poitainian knight. How they managed to maneuver so fluidly in their full plate was beyond him. He marveled that Prospero had given his pursuers such a hard time clad so, but then, Prospero was known for his epic deeds. Nermesa could only hope that in this particular case he could somehow emulate the legendary knight.
    The storm continued both to benefit and bedevil him. It kept him hidden from his adversaries, but at times put him in positions almost as precarious. More than once, his boots slipped on the wet rocks. At one ledge, Nermesa nearly tumbled off into a small but very jagged ravine.
    Fortunately, the path finally seemed to turn in his favor. The ground ahead gradually flattened out. In the distance, Nermesa saw some sort of flickering light. Hoping that it might originate from Gregorio’s men, he doubled his pace—
    And nearly ran straight into the horse and rider coming out from another gap.
    Startled, the gray horse reared. The rider fought to regain control, giving the Aquilonian the opportunity to come around at him.
    The man swung wildly at Nermesa, in his anxiousness nearly taking the Aquilonian’s head off. The knight crouched, then lunged. His blade bit into the hooded figure’s thigh.
    “You damned—” the rider began, then slashed furiously at his quarry. The advantage of height enabled him to force Nermesa away. He then tugged on the reins, turning his mount toward the Aquilonian with the clear intent of trying to herd him back. Clearly, the rider had finally recalled that Nermesa was still wanted alive.
    Utilizing that advantage again, the Black Dragon rushed up to the horse. As he expected, the rider kept the animal from rising and kicking at the Aquilonian. That, in turn, enabled Nermesa to get on his adversary’s other side and away from the sword.
    He brought the point of his own weapon up to the figure’s waist. “Surrender!”
    Despite common sense dictating that he obey Nermesa’s demand, the hooded man attempted to twist around in the saddle and attack. Nermesa had no choice but to thrust.
    His blade sank deep, the blood spilling from the wound immediately washed away by the torrential rain.
    Nermesa started to reach for the dying man, but some sixth sense made him look over the neck of the horse. There, to his frustration, three more assailants were emerging from the rocky hills.
    Cursing, Nermesa pulled his sword free and left the bleeding villain gasping for life atop his mount. The Aquilonian ran toward the hills. Despite the fact that he had wanted to reach the plains, at this moment, they afforded him no protection, nowhere to hide. Nermesa was no coward, but likewise was he no fool. There was nothing to be gained from standing against such numbers . . . nothing to be gained by him , at least.
    The other riders paid their dying comrade no mind, Nermesa evidently of much greater value. The Aquilonian slipped through the winding trail, for the time being vanishing from sight of the sinister band.
    His path grew more treacherous again as the knight was forced to ascend a particularly jagged area. Nermesa had to watch each step. Fortunately, if the others wished to follow, they would have to leave their mounts behind.
    His foot abruptly slipped.
    Nermesa attempted to compensate, but failed. With his free hand, he grabbed for a better hold. The wet stone